by Brit Darby
Alianor looked up, her clenched hand stilled in the midst of a throw. A pile of glinting coins rested beside her. She brightened when she saw him, unaware the mood in the hall had changed.
“William,” she exclaimed. “Do you dice?”
“Are you mad, woman?”
She chuckled. “No, I’m gambling.”
Flushed from excitement, Alianor’s eyes sparkled. Her hair was neatly confined in one long braid down her back, and a stray wisp or two framed her face. She wore one of her black gowns, but this garment fit like a glove to a hand. He could hardly ignore the sweet swelling of her breasts from his vantage viewpoint, nor could his men.
She opened her palm, proffering the dice and a smile. “Try it, William. It’s great fun.”
Liam scowled. There it was again, that cursed name. She did it to irk him, he knew, and with ease it accomplished the task, despite his determination not to let it. His men still watched them, lazing about, gambling, throwing their money away. It was too much.
His hard look turned to them, moving from man to man. “Haven’t you better things to do with your money and your time?”
Nods, a few chagrined mutters and they parted ranks, drifting in different directions to avoid the rage they knew lurked beneath the surface of Liam’s icy facade.
“It’s not their fault, William.” Alianor sat back on her heels. “I was bored.”
“Bored? My apologies, milady, I didn’t realized we’d been neglecting your social calendar during your stay with us.”
Alianor flushed and turned away. She did not respond to his sarcasm.
Her silence tended to irritate him, and another accusation slipped from his lips. “I told you to stay away from my men. Did you deliberately disobey me, or are you another Sassenach who conveniently forgets promises?”
She looked at him, if only to glare. “I may not have a choice about being here, but I do have a choice what to do with myself. You said I was free to go where I would within the camp. You cannot order me about like you do your men.”
“’Twas a foolish thing to do, Alianor. Your reckless disregard of my orders is dangerous. Malone’s behavior should have taught you a lesson, but I see it did not.”
She bristled. “We both know Malone wasn’t my fault, William.”
“Stop calling me William!”
“Well, William,” she went on, “you may be shocked to learn Malone apologized to me the next day for his drunken antics, and I accepted his apology. Your men are nothing but polite to me. Not one of them has been anything other than a gentleman, so you needed be concerned on my account. It seems we enjoy the same distractions and they kindly allowed me to join them.”
“What sort of distractions?”
“Cards, chess, dicing.”
“It seems you are full of surprises, Alianor,” Liam folded his arms, curious despite his anger. “Wherever did a knight’s lady learn to gamble?”
She rose and brushed off her dress. She studied him, as if testing for more sarcasm. She strolled away, arms wrapped around herself. Liam watched, wishing those were his arms wrapping about her instead. She paused near the hearth, staring into the dancing flames as if seeking the answer in their depths.
She pivoted around, her steady gaze meeting his. “Walter indulged me when he was alive. Not only can I read and write, but I have knowledge of many things forbidden to most women.”
“So I see,” Liam glanced down at the stack of coins she had won. “And what other surprises can I look forward to?”
She gave him a begrudging smile. “A lady must keep a few secrets, else she holds no mystery.”
“Like your wicked way with a dagger?” he said, his fingers touching his throat in remembrance.
“Speaking of which — thank you for returning it,” she said. “It means a great deal to me.”
The dagger, or his gesture? Liam wanted to ask, but was determined not to betray his interest — or his weakness. Maybe they were one and the same. Instead he asked her, “Where did you learn to handle weapons?”
Tightness entered into her voice when she answered. “I don’t like feeling helpless. It isn’t easy being a woman in a world controlled by men. So I asked Walter to teach me how to defend myself.”
Liam fought back the urge to go and gather her in his arms. To tell her he would protect her; she needn’t try and pretend she was a fortress. It dawned on him how he longed to hold her, not only now, but every waking moment since meeting her. He did not move, but his hungry gaze sculpted her proud figure.
What made this remarkable woman open up to him? Alianor had every reason to fear and hate him; yet, he knew she did not. How extraordinary she was, unlike any woman he’d ever known. She understood her own needs and had the conviction to follow them, no matter the consequences. Admiration flooded him.
Liam crossed the hall to where she stood looking pensive and alone, and laid his hands on her shoulders, bringing her to face him. Her eyes held emotion he dared not examine too closely. He feared he would be swayed by it and forget his determination.
“Alianor, you are a courageous, remarkable woman. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with your strength, man nor woman. To endure a loveless marriage to an old man was bad enough —”
“Walter was no virile young man, true,” she said as her eyes flashed with anger, “but I loved him in my own way, and with all my heart.”
“Do not take offense. I meant to say you might have discreetly taken a lover. None would have thought ill of you for doing so.”
Her lip curled at the suggestion. “Well, I would. I could no more betray my husband than I could my own true self.” As soon as she spoke, Alianor paled and from the look on her face, he sensed a treachery of a different sort haunted her.
“You have not betrayed Walter by being with me.”
She said nothing and Liam knew he guessed the cause of her upset.
“Alianor,” he said, softer, “I am sorry for speaking a harsh truth, but Walter is dead. He is no longer your husband.”
She closed her eyes and he saw tears sparkling on her cheeks. With a sigh, he massaged his hands into the tense knots of her upper shoulders. “Alianor, you’re young and beautiful, and your body was designed to give and receive pleasure — it’s natural. Why do you find shame in what we did?”
She opened her eyes and looked at him. “I am troubled not by what we did, Liam, but the fact nothing can come of it. We betray not only ourselves, but those who look to each of us for answers and reason. Your mission is clear; to those here, you are the Emerald Prince. You must reject everything English or be labeled an enemy by the people you love.”
Liam traced her dear, stubborn little jaw line with his index finger, and wiped away the tears, one by one. “But,” he murmured, “how can you deny what we feel for one another? There is no ignoring it.”
“We must. It’s wrong.” She wrenched away from him, her voice shaking but her manner resolved.
His hands dropped to his sides. “There is nothing more I can say, is there?”
“No, there is not.”
To his surprise, her words caused him great pain, the hurt assaulting him with unexpected fierceness. He turned to leave and his boot knocked over the pile of coins on the floor. The jarring noise startled them both as they scattered across the stones.
“Don’t forget your spoils, milady.” Along with my heart, he thought. His retreat sent one of the coins rolling to the tip of her slippers, where it went round and round and settled at last with a clank of terrible finality.
Chapter Fifteen
ALIANOR WATCHED GOLIATH GLIDING across the sky, his wings unfurled against a backdrop of billowing white clouds in the blue expanse. Sunshine filtered through the clouds, warming her face. Goliath spiraled down and captured his prey in one swift strike, his triumphant cries drifting like a song on the wind.
“He’s a grand creature, colleen.”
Niall sat upon his mount beside her, hand shading his eyes as he watched the bird bri
ng a pigeon prize back to his mistress.
“Yes,” she agreed with pride, holding her arm out for Goliath. The bird settled there and Alianor removed the prey from his talons. To Niall’s astonishment, the pigeon was uninjured. She released it and in a frantic burst of gray wings it vanished over the horizon.
Alianor laughed. “I vow she’ll fly faster next time.”
Goliath’s golden eyes turned to his mistress, as if he understood her words. The tercel blinked with contentment as she stroked his feathered head.
Sensing Niall’s questions, Alianor said, “Goliath was one of King John’s prized birds, but his wing was broken in an accident. The King had no interest in a damaged bird and ordered him put down, but I couldn’t bear the thought. So when I begged the Queen to intercede, Isabella gave Goliath to me to care for.
“No one believed he would fly again, let alone hunt. But I found a healer, a man rumored to be a druid. He agreed to set Goliath’s wing, and we waited. It took time, but at last the injury healed. Now we hunt purely for sport, for it seems neither of us have the stomach for killing birds. When Goliath must feed, he scavenges for mice and other rodents. He seems to champion his own kind.”
“A fine champion he is,” Niall agreed with a smile. They rode awhile in companionable silence.
Alianor broached another subject in a burst of frustrated words. “Niall, why must Liam resort to dishonorable means? Why can he not earn an honest living, even if a humble one?”
He seemed neither surprised nor annoyed at her question. He shifted in his saddle, though, uncomfortable under the intensity of her gaze.
“Liam was not born a thief; Eire an’ Her hardships made him into one. But, in the end, ’tis simple; he raids and steals to help his people.”
Alianor considered this while she rehooded Goliath and secured his jesses to the saddle post.
“Why does Liam consider these outcasts his family? Why take on the caring and feeding of so many strangers? Shouldn’t the responsibility lie with the kings and lords of Ireland?”
A long sigh drifted to her on the breeze. Niall’s gaze focused on the distant rolling hills, as if the answers to her questions could be found there.
“So many noblemen, Irish or English, seem to take little heed of their people’s suffering. Not those who have no need of them, but the true people of the land. Those ordinary souls, like the mruigfher or farmer who labors to make a life from the hard-scrabble soil of Leinster, or herders in the woods of Killykeen. The poor an’ stricken no one wants to acknowledge. Liam’s different. He cares, an’ the noble blood running in his veins does not temper this feeling.”
“It’s true he’s the son of an Irish king?”
Niall laughed, glancing at her with twinkling eyes. “Aye, but none of us here hold it against him, colleen.”
“I see.” Alianor, too, stared off across the countryside. The beauty of this land lay in its never-ending color changes, she decided. A break in the clouds might transform the sky from dull saffron to bright, rain-washed blue; turn sunshine-streaked hillsides to emerald green; or dapple them with brown and tan and palest mauve. When the sun disappeared, it dashed the sky back to mournful lavenders and misty grays.
So, too, did Liam’s moods change, a never-ending enigma about the man and a testament to the land forming his character.
“Do you understand things better now, Alianor?”
Niall’s question drew her gaze back to him. “I think so. Liam’s a Prince of Thieves — no,” she corrected herself, a smile touching her lips, “a Prince of Wolves, and I am his prey, a means for him to help feed his people.”
“Not only those you see here, colleen, but hundreds more who cannot make enough from this unforgiving land to pay their rent an’ taxes an’ still feed their children. Legitimate folks who look to the Emerald Prince as their savior of sorts, if e’er there was one.”
Alianor felt her heart go out to these people, people she didn’t even know. She didn’t want to believe in the legend of the Emerald Prince. She didn’t want to love Liam Caomhánach.
As each day passed, she found it more difficult to remain aloof from the man, from his people, from his world. Every day she told herself she hoped de Lacy would pay a great sum to get her back. Liam, these people, this land — it all touched her more than she cared to admit. A new thought brought a nagging fear, and her brow furrowed with dismay.
“What’s wrong, Alianor?”
“Why would he take the risk? He could have taken my dowry and been done with it.” She smacked her palm down on the saddle pommel for emphasis. “What made him decide another ounce or two of gold was worth all the trouble he is bound to bring down upon himself? His imprudent actions will have not only de Lacy after him, but the King of England himself. It’s madness.”
Her angry outburst sobered Niall. “I don’t know why the big dowry wasn’t enough. You’ll have to ask Liam.”
Alianor looked at him. “And you, Niall. Why are you here, risking everything? It’s obvious you hold him in great affection, but is it worth your life?” She wondered if he would ever answer. When he looked at her at last, the twinkle was gone from his eyes.
“You know I’m Liam’s uncle, colleen. His mother was my sister.”
“Yes.” She felt feisty and tossed out a challenge. “But even blood doesn’t explain why you ride beside Liam as an outlaw, an outcast in your own land.”
He sighed. “I suppose not.”
She realized she was being unkind. “I’m sorry, Niall. I didn’t mean to poke into private matters. It’s none of my business.”
He smiled at her apology. “I take no offense. Sometimes, it’s better to let the past alone.”
“I only want to understand your nephew better.”
He sighed and looked thoughtful. “Where do I begin …? Well, Liam was my sister Caireen’s greatest joy in life.”
“He calls himself a bastard. Is it true?”
“Aye, true enough that Liam was born out of wedlock. Caireen worked for the O’Connors, a charwoman. She was bonny enough to turn heads, Cathal Crovderg’s in particular. Noblemen aren’t always so noble, are they?”
Alianor thought of the King’s unwanted advances and nodded.
“When Caireen found herself expecting, but with no husband, our mother threw her out. So, my wife Sorcha and I took her in to live with us. My son Baethan had died a’fore he was two, so Liam was like me own. Sorcha doted on the lad, and when my two girls were born to us later in life, they loved him as an older brother.” Niall smiled at the pleasant memories those early years provoked. “’Twas a happy time indeed.”
It was strange imagining Niall a family man. Alianor realized something dire must have occurred, for he had never spoken of a wife or children before. “What happened?”
Niall seemed subdued, taken back to another time and place. His jaw set as he relived another, less pleasant memory.
“Caireen died of a fever when Liam was ’bout seven. Some years later, my Sorcha took ill. Me an’ the lad were working our fields when word came she had taken a turn for the worse. Remembering what happened to Caireen, I was determined to go for the physic at Roscomáin. Liam intended to head for An Longfort, where we knew of a healer, in case the physic could not or would not come. There would still be a chance to save my wife.
“We started to leave, but the worse luck plagued us. O’Connor’s son, one of Liam’s half-brothers, happened to be riding through the fen. Dermot was about fourteen, a year older than Liam. He stopped us, demanding we return to our work.”
He shook his head remembering the dark day long ago. “Liam had ne’er come face to face with any of the legitimate sons of the O’Connor a’fore. Though they looked nothing alike, Lady Duvessa’s sneering little nathair knew who Liam was on sight. His mother had made sure he had been crammed full of enough lies about Caireen and Liam. Needless to say, Dermot O’Connor’s resentment had simmered for many long years.”
Sadness sketched Niall’s rug
ged features and touched Alianor in turn. “The lad taunted Liam. As if Liam was responsible for their father’s actions. He even struck Liam before I could intervene, an’ ordered us back into the field. Dermot would not hear me as I tried to explain why we must go. He was too intent on hating Liam an’ what he represented. A lifelong threat to his inheritance, Liam was, in the eyes of Lady Duvessa and her spawn.”
“What did Liam do?”
“The worse thing he could have, colleen. When Dermot grabbed up a horse whip an’ slashed me across the face, Liam tackled the older boy from his fine horse and O’Connor’s precious heir landed on his arse.” Niall couldn’t help but chuckle a bit at the memory.
“They tussled about in the dirt, but Liam had the upper hand an’ held Dermot fast whilst he shouted for me to get the horse an’ ride for help. I realized a horse would cut hours off the trip an’ I was desperate to save my Sorcha. I did not stop to reason, but took O’Connor’s mount an’ rode for Roscomáin like the Divvle Himself nipped at my heels.”
“So you’re wanted for stealing a horse?”
“Aye, but there’s more to the story, Alianor. It only started the real trouble. Liam realized he could not hold Dermot forever an’ thought he would surely come around in the end. Too, he remembered O’Connor’s wishes he serve his half-brothers, an’ did not suppose any great trouble would come of the wee incident in the end. Liam was young and did not know someone could have so much hate in them.”
Niall grimaced as he relived what had happened next. “Dermot limped home in a white-hot fury an’ went crying to his mother, a woman who hates Liam with every fiber of her being. O’Connor was off fighting in the north, and I believe he would have intervened had he been there. But we shall ne’er know for certain.
“Lady Duvessa flew into a rage, an’ a woman’s anger is oft far deadlier than a man’s. She ordered the men O’Connor had left behind to ride out an’ find Liam an’ meself. She was not intending to invite us for a family reunion, colleen, as you might imagine.”
Niall sighed and Alianor remained tense, sensing the worst of the tale was yet to come. “Did you save your poor Sorcha, Niall?”
