The Irish Princess

by Amy J. Fetzer

  Flinching, she moved away, struggling with the laces of her gown, and Gaelan caught her shoulders, turning her about.

  She faced him, shoving to no avail. "I need not your help."

  "You will ruin it." He pushed her around and held her firmly in warning, then opened the row of cord leading down her spine. She was bare beneath, no shift. That she'd lacked the bit of cloth all evening sent imagines blossoming through his tired brain and he brushed the fabric off her shoulders, his sword-roughened hands lingering over the curves. She turned sharply, clutching the garment to her breast. Trapped in her gaze, he let the back of his hands graze the tips of her breasts covered in green wool. Her indrawn breath filled the large chamber.

  "A war with you is most intriguing, Siobhàn."

  Her knees softened every time he said her name, husky, as if he wasn't certain he had the right. "I want peace."

  He met her gaze. "And what will you forfeit?"

  "What will you offer?"

  His expression hardened with irritation and he turned away, grabbing a blanket from a stack atop a chest and throwing it before the fire. "You have no right to bargain, Irish." He added a log to the blaze, taking up the iron, stirring warmth into the cold, damp chamber.

  "I should sit on a pillow whilst you plow through our villages, leaving a marker to point the way for your damned king?"

  He looked up. She was on the far side of the bed, her back to him as she lowered the gown, revealing the slender dip of her spine, a shadowy glimpse of her breast, before she slid beneath the bedclothes.

  "I do as I must." Gaelan yanked his shirt off, dropping to the floor and wondering why he simply did not live up to the ogre she claimed him to be and climb into that soft bed with her.

  "So shall I." She snapped her fingers and Culhainn dropped to the space between Gaelan and the fire—and Siobhàn and her bed. He eyed the dog, leaning out, but it growled, massive jaws snapping, its pale blue eyes glacial with warning.

  His gaze flicked to her. The smug little wench sat like a prim sprite in the center of her grand bed, her hair flowing over one shoulder, the covers at her chin and he knew the delights the bulky fabric concealed. 'Twas the source of his trouble, for once tasted, Siobhàn O'Rourke was a woman no man could ignore. Not and sleep well, he groused, adjusting his position on the stone floor.

  "Go to sleep, princess." A pillow hit him in the head. He glanced up, a faint smile softening his scowl as he stuffed it under his head. She flopped onto the down, her body vanishing under the thick bedclothes. Thank the Gods, for if he saw but an inch of skin, he would be on the bed, his body inside hers without thought to the consequences. Bless me for my honor, he thought.

  He'd scarcely closed his eyes when a ruckus beyond the door alerted him. He was there, sword in hand, before Siobhàn sat up.

  "Reese!"

  "Sir, she wants in," came from the other side of the door.

  "Siobhàn? Are you a'right?" a female voice chimed in.

  The sister, he recognized. "She is fine!"

  "I'm to believe you, war maker?"

  "Get to your bed, woman, afore I lock you in irons!"

  "I will do harm to your squire," she threatened.

  "Open the door," Siobhàn hissed. "She will wake the entire keep!"

  Gaelan glanced at her, saw her rebellion and gave in, too tired to argue. He jerked the heavy porta open and glared at her sister, Reese blocking her way and wearing only his trunks. Rhiannon grabbed the lad by the hair, and though she was nigh a hand shorter, flung him aside and stepped into the room. Gaelan blocked her path.

  "What have you done with her?"

  He stepped back a fraction so she could see. "She is alive and well and nay, I sleep on the floor." He looked at Siobhàn. "Tonight." Her color heightened, yet her gaze thinned with angry warning.

  "Rhiannon, find your bed," Siobhàn pleaded, praying none of the keep knew he was here.

  "The people will demand recompense, sister." Her gaze shifted to the Englishman. "You cannot remain in here, knight. Brehon law. She chooses who shares her chamber."

  He looked at the princess. "Recompense from who?"

  "You."

  "And what is this fee?" Gaelan asked.

  "An honor-price to me and my family—"

  He groaned.

  "—and to the chieftains of the tuath, the kingdom."

  "What!"

  "If you were to bed her—"

  "Rhiannon," Siobhàn warned, then looked at Gaelan. "I forfeit my reputation with you in here. You pay the price."

  "Can you?" Rhiannon asked.

  He swung his gaze to her. "The question is—will I? And nay, I will not." Grabbing Rhiannon's arm, he bellowed for Sir Andrew, escorting her out with more force than necessary. "See that she remains with the child." He propelled her into the knight's arms, then glared at Reese. "Clothe yourself," he growled. "We are not in camp!" He slammed the door.

  The bedclothes tucked across her breasts, Siobhàn folded her arms and stared. "Are the English not compensated when you cause an accident? An unintentional death? Or like the injury Sir Owen inflicted on me?"

  "Aye."

  "Then why do you disregard our laws?"

  "Because 'tis the cost of war and the king rules here now!" He raked his fingers through his hair, his head pounding.

  "You have much to learn, sir." She tilted her head, considering him. "You chose who you fight for, mercenary. Surely there were other battles the king needed your army for? Why did you come here with no plan to remain?"

  Only Gaelan's gaze shifted to clash with hers. Because, he thought, I killed your husband and by right of court battle, what is his, is mine. Yet the words would not come, and it surprised him, this trickle of discomfort running through his chest. But he knew the source, for when she discovered the truth, she'd hate him as purely as she loved her people.

  And the thought wounded him down to his blackened soul.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  « ^ »

  Gaelan stirred on the cold floor, still tired. Every time he moved last night, her accursed wolf-dog growled, stealing needed slumber. Rubbing his hand over his face, he stretched, keeping eyes closed, his groin aching with the dull throb of unspent desire for the woman lying naked in the bed a few feet from him. Throwing back the blanket, he sat up, looking around, the sky barely lit with daybreak.

  Culhainn was gone.

  And so was Siobhàn.

  Leaping to his feet, he bolted to the door, jerking it open. Reese turned, his posture straight, his face freshly scrubbed.

  "Good morrow, sir." He held out fresh clothes.

  "Where is she?"

  Reese peered around his master. "Not with you?"

  "Would I be asking if she was?" Gaelan glanced back into the room, then ordered, "Find her."

  Snatching the clothes, he dressed quickly, strapping on his sword as he strode first to Connal's room, finding it neat but empty, then to the squints, a small portion carved out of the wall of the upper floor wall, enabling him to view the hall. Servants moved in their duties, popping in and out of doorways banking one wall. He'd yet to know where they all led. Where the bloody hell was she? And how did she leave the chamber without disturbing him? Or Reese?

  He started for the staircase and heard footsteps.

  A loaf of bread tucked under his arm, Raymond greeted him with a black look. "Well, you've made matters—"

  "Where is she?" he interrupted.

  Raymond's scowl deepened. "The princess? Heading to the kitchens last I saw."

  Gaelan braced his shoulder against the cold stone wall, raking his fingers through his hair and rubbing the back of his neck. He frowned at the chamber door again.

  Raymond shoved a mug of honeyed wine in his fist. "Damn you, Gaelan, the place is in an uproar about you sleeping in her chamber." He'd settled no less than four scuffles between soldiers and Irish this morn alone. It seemed when it came to defending their princess, the fact that there were nearly
a thousand foot soldiers about made little difference.

  "She will tell them the right of it." Gaelan watched the activity below, impatient for confirmation.

  "You mean, you didn't bed her?"

  The mug halfway to his lips, he reared back. "Sweet Jesu, even you?" With Henry's conquest on tenuous thread, the king would have his head if he planted a bastard in the princess when he'd no intention of remaining in Ireland.

  Raymond propped his foot on a bench and tore off a chunk of his bread, offering a portion to Gaelan. "You have been known to bed the prettiest wenches after siege."

  Aye, he thought, munching on the crust. Before he'd thought little of it if a willing girl gave him a look, but Siobhàn had not, not in the forest nor the stables, and he found he wanted her to admit to her desire, if but once. He wanted her to smile at him, touch him, for being touched by the woman was more pleasure than kissing her ripe mouth. He straightened, shrugging off his fantasies. He'd kissed a peasant then, not a princess.

  "Shall we seek out her highness and settle the terms?" Gaelan said. "The sooner the king's work is done, the swifter we are onto the next siege."

  Raymond forced a smile and nodded. But Gaelan didn't move, his gaze on the hall below.

  * * *

  Ordering a swine slaughtered for the evening meal, Siobhàn left the cook house, crossing the yard and through the narrow corridor leading back into the hall. She caught a man as he, passed. "Sprinkle this on the rushes," she said, pressing a sack into Davis's hand. "And get those flea-bitten hounds out of here." She gestured to the dogs snapping at servants as they passed.

  He looked at her, a spark of fear in his old eyes.

  "If PenDragon has an upset, then he can clean up after them." Davis snickered and nodded, shuffling off. "Meghan, open the shutters, please. Crowley, the hearth needs a good sweeping, if you don't mind. The men will be about and hungry soon, my friends. We must prepare."

  "I don't see why we must feed them."

  "We must keep the peace for a bit, Moira," she said to the elder woman with a touch to her arm. "And if a bit of bread and ale will suffice"—she shrugged—"so be it." She rushed to a servant trying to move a table, pulling her away from the chore. "Nay, Jana. Have you no sense?" She nodded to her pregnant belly.

  Jana swiped the back of her hand across her brow and exhaled tiredly. "I did not want the PenDragon thinkin' I am not working my share."

  Siobhàn hid her irritation. Did he not see what havoc he wreaked with just his presence? "Worry not, friend. What does a wandering knight know of overseeing a keep? Now"—she wrapped her arm about her waist, guiding her from the chore—"I want you lifting no more than a loaf of bread, and in an hour's time I expect to see you resting in the weaving house." She looked at a young man, one of Gaelan's pages. "You there, help move this to the wall." He appeared as if he'd disobey and her gaze narrowed.

  "Do it," came a quiet command, and Siobhàn looked up. PenDragon stood at the upper portal, Sir Raymond at his side. Resplendent in a brown leather tunic, he nodded cordially, a strange look on his handsome face. She dipped her head in acknowledgment, remembering how he looked lying on her floor, his features soft in slumber, his beautiful body long and powerful. Then she recalled how much she'd wanted to touch him and she broke eye contact.

  The page obeyed, and Siobhàn turned to Meghan, asking her to watch over Jana.

  "Mama!" Connal rushed to her from the buttery, smiling happily. She scooped him up in her arms and gave him a noisy kiss. He giggled, then cupped her face, suddenly looking too serious for one so young.

  "I feared he would hurt you."

  Her love for him doubled in that instant, for his imagination must have tormented him last night. "You needn't, my prince. I can take care of myself."

  He pouted a bit. "I am not a prince anymore, aye? He comes and takes that."

  Siobhàn's heart sank to her stomach and, ignoring the knight's gaze following her like a beam of light, she carried her son to the hearth, setting him in his favorite chair. Kneeling, she gave him a bowl of bread soaked in sweetened milk as she spoke in low tones. "You are a prince of Erin. 'Tis in your blood and will never change here." She tapped his narrow chest. "You cannot allow it, for Ireland's history will be lost to the invaders lest we forget." He nodded solemnly, spooning soft bread into his mouth. "I've work to tend. Behave for Moira, and you may search for Dermott. I trust you will bathe him this morn?" He made a face, then finally agreed as she motioned to Moira. The older woman's sour mood lifted the instant she looked down at Connal. "Moira has chores too, son, so do not think to connive her into games." Connal grinned up at the woman, catching her wink. "You bend to her, not she to you." Siobhàn stood, tipping her head to whisper, "He's to stay away from the English." Kissing her son, Siobhàn left the hall, the morning sun shining through the short corridor beckoning her.

  Gaelan watched her go, envious of these humble Irish folk, for their princess gave her love and caring freely, her smiles lighting the dim hall. Gaelan recognized that he had to gain control over her somehow and quickly. Although not a drop of blood was shed, he had lost authority by entering without battle. Without the sworn fealty of the princess, Donegal was not in the king's true possession.

  And he wondered which of them would sacrifice the most for this scrap of land.

  * * *

  The sight of his men littering the ward and yard startled Siobhàn, her step faltering. They were fierce in their armor and mail, doing little except watching, prepared to kill at the slightest inclination. Archers lined the parapet, sporting long Welsh bows. Squires cared for knightly accouterment in small groups whilst pages scurried to carry water and meal for mounts, bring food and drink for their masters. We will have our larder stripped in a day, she thought, and how will we survive this winter? The inner ward gates were wide open, which was a regular event for the castle, but the sight of his legions camped in the outer bailey and beyond the curtain wall left her stunned. Last night, in the dark, the army did not look so numerous. His knights moved from archer to soldier, relaying orders, a few leaving the keep, and she could scarcely tell one from another.

  Lochlann was a fool to even attempt an attack on his patrols, she thought, and realized how fortunate he was to be taken alive. And released in the same condition. PenDragon's warning that more would come vibrated in her brain and she wondered at the validity of withholding her oath. Mayhaps if she swore oath they would leave Donegal alone? As they had O'Niell's land? Her heart twisted in her chest. She could not. The English did not believe women owned land or were capable of ruling, and if King Henry possessed her word of bond, he would give it to one of his favored lords. Nay, she thought, continuing across the yard, Culhainn at her heels. Her oath was part of her soul and that she never gave lightly.

  Silver-clad knights tipped courtly bows once they recognized her and she had to smile. 'Twas not often she dressed as she had last eve, her simple clothing favored for work. She acknowledged the knights, her intent on the garden behind the kitchens, yet before she reached it, several women blocked her path, the most formidable her sister.

  "Well?"

  "Good morn to you too, sister."

  Rhiannon reached out and touched her shoulder.

  "Rhi, please." She ducked away, irritated that her sister felt she could delve into her emotions without permission.

  Rhiannon's brows shot up. "He did not touch you." The women surrounding them sighed, relieved for her.

  Siobhàn flushed with embarrassment. Apparently there were no secrets in her house. "Evidently he retains a bit of knightly honor still. Culhainn would have eaten off a limb or two anyway," she said with a quirk of her lips, glancing at the women, her friends. "I thank you for your concern." She gave her assurances that the PenDragon said he would not send them all away and Siobhàn would bold him to that. Though she'd no idea how.

  "So another is to come and take over this keep in Henry's name?"

  "Aye, I believe so."

  T
he women returned to their duties, yet Rhiannon remained, her look suspicious. "He fascinates you, doesn't he?"

  "He does not." She brushed past. "He is an unmannerly ox with a pretty face, is all. His fair Raymond is of sweeter temperament."

  "Raymond has already bedded a dairy maid, I've heard."

  "If she does not come to me with charges, then she was willing." She shrugged. "I do not lend to gossip. And neither should you." She pushed through the gates, closing them after her, her eyes warning her sister to leave her in peace.

  She didn't. "What will you do, Siobhàn? Surely you cannot keep such a monstrous man at bay?"

  "I will go about my day as usual, Rhiannon. We all must."

  Rhiannon threw her hands up in frustration. "How can you be so calm?"

  "I am far from calm!" Siobhàn leaned over the gate, her fingers wrapped in the iron bars. "I fear for our kin every moment, but if they witness it, they will surely do something to bring down his wrath on their heads." Her fingers flexed, her worry showing in her white-knuckled grip. "I swore to them I would accept any price from the Englishman."

  "Your bravery is misplaced, Siobhàn."

  Her brows knitted tighter.

  "You will be the last person he would harm."

  She was taken aback. "What makes you believe that?" Then her eyes flew wide, her voice a secretive whisper. "Oh, tell me you did not touch his thoughts, Rhi. 'Tis his privacy you invade."

  Her features took on her defiance. "He invades our home. We have a right to know what comes. Do you not want to know what I discovered?"

  "Nay! Nay," she added more softly. "Gaelan PenDragon, be he mercenary or pauper, deserves to keep his own counsel."

  "He bears a dark secret that—"

  "Nay!" Siobhàn shoved away from the gate and walked the path. When Rhiannon called out, she waved overhead, refusing to hear anything secreted in the man's soul.

  For naught could be as heinous as the thoughts she disguised.

  * * *

  She was gone.

  Gaelan cursed and swung into the saddle. "You did not think she could be sending a message or meeting a conspirator!"