Forbidden Night with the Prince

by Michelle Willingham

  ‘Come and share food and wine with us,’ Rhys invited.

  Joan took her husband’s hand and squeezed it in silent reassurance. They took a place at the far end of the table while Lianna sat with her husband.

  Rhys’s face softened at the sight of his newborn son, and he took the baby once again. When the food arrived, he arranged Lianna’s knife and bread so that they were even with the edge of the plate. A softness caught Joan in the heart, for Rhys knew his wife’s desire to have everything in its place. Seeing them together was a glimpse of the future she wanted to have with Ronan.

  And it caught her heart, filling it with love once again.

  ‘Do you want Warrick and I to accompany you and your father to Clonagh?’ Rhys asked Ronan.

  ‘No. The worst of the danger is over, and we must meet with our brehons to decide what will happen to Eilis.’

  ‘Should I stay behind as well?’ Joan asked.

  This time, Ronan drew his hand to her back. ‘No, a stór. You are needed at Clonagh. The people must have a queen to replace Eilis.’

  Though she tried to nod acceptance, Joan still remembered Lianna’s earlier remarks, that she knew what it was to feel like a stranger among her husband’s people.

  Would the Ó Callaghans want an outsider to rule at Ronan’s side? It was difficult enough for him to bring a wife home, but she was Norman. If she brought men of her own to guard the people, they might resent her presence.

  Uneasiness unfurled within her, making her dread the journey on the morrow. But Ronan took her hand in his and squeezed it. She took comfort from his touch and reminded herself that he would be at her side to offer guidance. His father could help her, too. And she resolved to do her best to help the people. ‘I will try.’

  ‘We will leave in the morning,’ he said. ‘I have been gone for far too long. My father sent word to Darragh, leaving him in command for now, but I must go back.’

  She had known this, but Ronan did not appear eager to return. He knew, as his father had predicted, that his role would change once he arrived. The people would demand that he take the throne. And why not? He had saved their children and deposed Odhran with not a single Ó Callaghan harmed during the battle, save himself and Brodur. His bravery marked a man who put his people above his own safety, and she had no doubt that he would be chosen to rule. She could only pray that they would accept her, too.

  * * *

  They travelled most of the day and made camp for the night. Joan could feel the tension rising as they drew close to Clonagh. Her brothers had packed several wagons with her dowry and belongings, but it did feel strange to imagine Ireland becoming her home.

  When they were alone in their tent, Ronan brought several heated stones inside to warm the space. There was a small stone oil lamp to light the tent, and he set up a fur pallet for them.

  Joan knelt upon the ground, for it was too uncomfortable to sit. Her back was aching, and she rubbed it with one hand.

  ‘I have something for you,’ Ronan said quietly. From his belongings, he withdrew a cloth-wrapped bundle and held it out.

  Joan opened it and saw a silk bliaud in a rich sapphire blue. She touched the silk, not knowing what to say. It had been years since she had worn a gown of any colour at all.

  ‘Do you like it?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s beautiful. And...it’s been so long since I’ve worn anything so fine,’ she admitted.

  ‘I would like to see you wear it when we go to Clonagh,’ he said.

  She understood that this was about more than wearing a fine gown. It was about setting aside her fears and embracing a new life. No longer would she only wear white or let herself worry about a curse that did not exist. Wearing the blue gown was a means of showing that she had put the past behind her.

  ‘Will it bother your people to see me dressed like a Norman?’ She wondered if it would only draw attention to their differences.

  ‘They know who you are. You need not change anything about yourself.’ She folded up the gown and then rubbed at her aching back again. Ronan noticed it and said, ‘Why don’t you lie down and get some rest?’

  She knew he was right, but she did not want to sleep just now. It had been weeks since he had touched her, ever since he had learned about the baby. She yearned to have his hands upon her, and she asked, ‘Will you help me remove my gown?’

  He hesitated. ‘You might be more comfortable wearing it. It’s a cold night.’

  ‘Then perhaps you will warm me,’ she said, leaving no doubt of her intentions. At that, his eyes flared with heat.

  He reached for her laces and slipped them free, one by one. Her breasts were fuller, and he brushed against them with his knuckles as he helped her lift the gown away. Beneath it, she wore a linen shift.

  Her breasts were sensitive, rising against the fabric in the cool air. His gaze locked with hers, and she removed the shift, letting him look his fill. ‘You steal the breath from me, a ghrá.’

  And with that, he kissed her, drawing her down to the fur pallet. She shivered from the cold, but he undressed, warming her with his bare skin. His hands moved over her swollen breasts, down to the slight rise of her womb.

  Then he moved behind her, and she felt the hard ridge of his erection against her spine. Her body went liquid against him, and a gasp shuddered from her when he caressed her breasts.

  ‘Your back is hurting, isn’t it?’ he guessed, moving his hands lower.

  ‘It is.’ But he was distracting her from the familiar ache as a craving filled her deep within. She wanted his body joined with hers, to lose herself in fulfilment.

  ‘I think I know how to ease you,’ he murmured, pulling back for a moment. She waited for him, her body feeling poised on the brink of anticipation. Though she didn’t know what he intended to do, she closed her eyes, letting her fingers graze against her swollen nipples. Instantly, she felt the pleasure gather between her thighs.

  And then Ronan was behind her, his slick hands moving against her lower back. He had coated them in oil, and he began massaging her spine.

  ‘Does that feel good?’

  ‘Yes...’ she breathed. Just now, she wanted to curl in a ball and moan with relief. The gentle pressure of his palm against the ache felt so good. But as his hands moved up her back, his touch aroused her even deeper. She wanted her husband so badly, and she reached behind her to curl her palm against his shaft.

  He froze at her touch, and she drew her hand up, sliding against his erection until her thumb stroked the blunt tip. He inhaled sharply.

  ‘Joan.’ He spoke her name as if he could hardly bear the caress of her fingers. She needed him badly, and God help her, she was so wet for him. This time, she parted her legs, guiding him inside until he was fully seated within her. For a moment, he held her in position, his chest pressed to her spine. She could feel his length stretching her, and she moved against him, loving the sensation of him buried deep within.

  ‘Do you want me to keep rubbing your back?’ he asked, his voice rough as he struggled for control.

  ‘You may touch me anywhere you want. As long as you are inside me.’

  At that, he drew both arms around her, sliding his slick hands over her flesh. She thrust against him as he circled her nipples with his thumbs, and cried out with the delicious friction. Ronan moved lower until his hand found the hooded flesh above where they were joined. He encircled it, penetrating her again as he did.

  From their position, he could not take her deeply, and she was overwhelmed by the shallow thrusts that stroked her. Every sensation was heightened, her flesh so sensitive, she arched against him as she convulsed. He kept the pressure gentle, but rubbed her swiftly, until she shattered, gripping his flesh inside her.

  Only then did he claim her fully, thrusting hard from behind. She met his penetrations, backing against him as he filled her and withdrew. Though
she tried to stifle her moans, she could not stop the high-pitched gasp as he took her deeply, plunging until he gripped her hips and emptied himself within her.

  For a while, Ronan lay with his arms around her, and she nestled against him. He kissed her hair and murmured, ‘I didn’t hurt you, did I?’

  ‘No.’ In the stillness of the night, she took comfort from her husband. It would not be easy to take her place among strangers, but at least she had Ronan at her side.

  Chapter Twelve

  They entered the ringfort with Brodur leading the way, while Ronan followed with Joan at his side. Two dozen men accompanied them, but there were only smiles of welcome from the Ó Callaghan guards. Even so, Ronan could see the weight of frustration upon his father’s shoulders as they entered Clonagh. Brodur appeared both resolute and melancholy.

  Earlier, he had asked his father what he wanted to do about Eilis. There came no answer, but he sensed what the answer must be. Yet he couldn’t begin to imagine how a man could sentence his own wife to death. If it were Joan, he simply could not do it.

  They were welcomed by Darragh when they reached his father’s house. His friend seemed on edge, but at least his son Ailan appeared to be well and in good spirits. Joan smiled at the sight of the young boy holding on to his father’s leg.

  ‘I am very glad to see you are both healed from your wounds,’ Darragh said to Ronan and his father.

  ‘We were fortunate,’ Ronan replied. He addressed his father and Joan, asking, ‘Do you want anything to eat or drink, now that we are home?’

  Brodur shook his head. ‘Later, perhaps. I want to see Eilis first.’

  Joan deferred to his wishes, and Ronan understood that his father needed to confront his wife over what had happened.

  Darragh’s discomfort heightened. ‘I will bring you to her. But there is something you should know first.’

  Brodur shook his head in dismissal. ‘It can wait.’

  But Ronan saw his friend’s tension rising and intervened. ‘What is it, Darragh?’

  ‘You should know that our people obeyed your orders precisely. They did not lay a hand upon Eilis.’

  A sudden knot of unease tightened within Ronan. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She was the one who ordered Odhran to take the children as hostages. The rebellion was hers from the start, and the brehons met to decide what should be done.’

  ‘It is my decision and only mine,’ Brodur said darkly. ‘Take me to her now.’

  Darragh pried his son away and sent him back to his mother. ‘Follow me.’

  He led them away from the house and towards the far end of the ringfort. Ronan took Joan’s hand. ‘You may want to wait here.’ He didn’t know what had become of Eilis, but he wanted his wife nowhere near the queen.

  But she shook her head. ‘No. I think I will come with you.’ She walked alongside him and took his hand.

  He didn’t understand her reasons, but he said, ‘Eilis is unpredictable, and I don’t want her to frighten you.’

  Joan only smiled. ‘She can do nothing to me, Ronan.’

  Darragh brought them to the other side of the small stone chapel. Ronan expected his friend to lead them towards the souterrain passage where Brodur had been kept prisoner. Instead, he was startled when Darragh stopped before a freshly dug grave. ‘She is here.’

  Brodur went completely still. ‘What happened? How did she die?’

  Darragh was about to speak when one of the older brehons approached. The man leaned heavily upon a walking stick. ‘You gave orders that we were to hold Eilis prisoner, and no one should lay a hand upon her. That is exactly what happened. Not one person from Clonagh went anywhere near the queen.’

  Understanding finally took root and Ronan regarded the brehon. ‘She starved to death.’

  The old man met Brodur’s gaze. ‘Thirst, I believe. After she was imprisoned, we left her there for a sennight. No one saw her. No one spoke to her.’ He paused and added, ‘No one laid a hand upon her.’

  Brodur appeared to have aged several years in that moment. His complexion was grey, and Joan went to his side. She took his hand and murmured, ‘I am so sorry.’

  The king shook his head. ‘No. It had to be done. I would have sentenced her to death. She could not be allowed to live after what she did to the children.’

  The old brehon lowered his head. ‘We wanted to spare you that, my king. After we met, we spoke with the people, and all were in agreement.’

  ‘Give me a moment alone,’ Brodur said at last.

  Ronan took Joan away, and she moved into his arms. He translated the brehon’s words for her and his wife nodded. In a quiet voice, she murmured, ‘They wanted to spare him that decision. If he had exiled her, Eilis might have tried to rebel again.’

  Ronan knew she was right. ‘They were married for five years. He was lonely in his later years. She brought Odhran from his foster family only within the last year. But I suspect she never loved Brodur. Not if she was capable of such malice.’

  Joan walked with him back to the centre of the ringfort. The ground was wet from frost, and her breath formed clouds in the air. ‘Will your father be all right?’

  Ronan nodded. ‘I believe so. In time.’ He stood with her a moment. ‘I don’t know what will happen now that the rebellion is over. Or what will become of us.’ He rested his hand upon the small of her back as if to draw comfort from his wife.

  She turned and embraced him. ‘We will stay together, Ronan. And we will raise our children in a home where they know they are loved.’

  ‘They will be loved,’ he agreed. ‘And I will guard them with my life.’ Though he had never imagined he would be a father, he found that the idea no longer bothered him. Instead, he was content to give his wife her greatest desire. Ronan drew his hand down to their unborn baby. ‘Would that my brother could have lived to see our child.’

  Joan kissed him lightly and smiled. ‘Somehow, I think he knows.’

  Summer

  It was one of the hottest days Joan could remember. Her hair was damp with perspiration, and all day, her back had been aching. She had wanted to wade in the shallow end of the stream for relief, but her ankles were so swollen, she could hardly leave their home. She had teased her husband that if she walked out to the pasture, others might mistake her for one of the cattle.

  Throughout the winter and spring, Joan had practised learning the Irish language. Being immersed among the people of Clonagh had helped, and she could now understand most of what they were saying, though she was aware that her accent was terrible.

  Ronan had summoned Aileen MacEgan to stay with her during the past fortnight, but there were no cures for Joan’s discomfort now, save giving birth.

  She walked outside, resting her hand against her spine. The baby had dropped low, and it felt as if she were carrying a heavy stone within her womb. Aileen was watching over her, while she made a cup of tea with herbs. ‘It won’t be long now,’ she predicted.

  ‘How can you know?’ It felt as if she had been with child for over a year.

  ‘Because you are already having labour pains,’ Aileen said. ‘Your back is aching with them.’

  It was nothing new. For the past fortnight, her womb had contracted with daily pains, though naught had come of them. And yet, she saw the look of worry on Aileen’s face.

  ‘Am I too old to have a baby?’ she teased.

  The young woman shook her head. ‘No more than I.’ Though she tried to smile, she brought the tea to Joan and said, ‘May I see if the child has turned yet?’

  Joan nodded, and sat down, letting Aileen feel her hardened womb. The child’s elbows and knees seemed to poke out, making it seem more angular.

  The woman sighed. ‘I did not want to make you worry, but you should know that the baby is breech. I was hoping it would turn on its own, but we may have to prepare fo
r a different birth than you imagined.’

  Joan rested her hands upon the unborn child, trying to push back the rise of fear. ‘It’s dangerous, isn’t it?’

  Aileen nodded. ‘For both of you.’

  She tried not to let the worry overtake her, but she had heard stories of difficult births from other women. And given her age, it might be even worse.

  ‘Can you turn the baby?’

  ‘We will keep trying,’ the healer promised. ‘Drink this tea to help relax you. If you are not so anxious, your body may allow the child to turn on his own.’

  Joan obeyed, sending up a silent prayer that the baby would indeed move into the right position. While she knew that many women survived a breech birth with a healthy child, there were also others who died in childbirth.

  ‘Do not tell Ronan,’ she warned as she rose from the stool. But no sooner had she taken a few steps when she felt a slight burst and her birthing waters broke. The fluid soaked through her gown down her legs.

  ‘Aileen?’ Her fear grew stronger, and she motioned towards the damp wool.

  The young woman seemed to transform before her eyes into a healing warrior of strength. ‘It will be all right, Joan.’ She reached out and took her hands. ‘Trust in me.’

  ‘I am afraid,’ Joan confessed.

  ‘Every woman is afraid.’ Aileen squeezed her hands. ‘But I will help you.’ She loosened Joan’s laces, lifting the bliaud away until she was clad only in the thin, linen shift. ‘You may keep your shift on, but you do not need all these layers.’ Then she summoned a maid, sending for both the midwife and Ronan.

  ‘I don’t think my husband will want to be here,’ Joan protested. She didn’t want him to know about the possible problems—especially when neither of them could do anything about it.

  ‘He deserves to know that you are in labour,’ Aileen said gently. ‘He need not stay here with you.’

  But the worried look in the healer’s eyes did not reassure her. She gripped her hands together to keep them from shaking. Her womb continued to contract, growing rock hard as she started to lie down.