The Irish Princess

by Amy J. Fetzer

  He swallowed and lifted his gaze, scanning the group. Knights and Irish hovered over precious paper and trenchers of food, slaking their hunger as they considered each avenue. Gaelan was infinitely proud of these people, their camaraderie.

  The prisoner, Patrick, sat alone against the west wall, his hands bound at his back. He focused on the stone floor near his feet, his expression detached, and Gaelan wondered what a man thought of when his hours were numbered.

  * * *

  Tired of waiting, Gaelan pushed into the chamber, past the maids, and strode to the bed.

  Siobhàn smiled. "Good day, my love."

  He grinned hugely, climbing onto the bed and pulling her into his arms.

  Fionna motioned the maids to leave, gathering her things and following. She stilled when she found Ian standing on the threshold. The man stared, his shoulders stiff, as Gaelan and Siobhàn renewed their love in a heated kiss.

  Slapping a hand to his chest, Fionna shoved Ian back and pulled the door closed.

  "You have lost again, Maguire."

  His gaze snapped to hers. "You're taking a good deal of pleasure in that, aren't you?"

  "Aye." She swept past him.

  He caught her arm, forcing her around. "Is that what you want, Fionna, to see me brought low?"

  Her gaze slid over him from head to foot, a glance of pure disgust. "You are no lower than you were when you begged me to conjure for you," she snapped, twisting free.

  "What do you want from me? I cannot change the past. I am sorry you suffered, but the clan counsel ruled."

  "A counsel of Maguires, aye. You tolerated a bit of embarrassment, leaving till the wounds were soothed, whilst I lost my reputation, my family. My magic came back to me threefold and left me with these." She jerked on the neck of her gown, pulling it down to show the scars across her back.

  Ian could not be more shocked.

  "Tell me now why I should forgive you."

  She turned away, adjusting the gown as she headed belowstairs. Ian watched her go. Oh God, she'd been whipped.

  * * *

  On his knees on the bed, Gaelan could not stop kissing her, touching her, his mouth creating a warm, moist path down to the curve of her breast. "Oh God, I've missed you," he said against her skin and she clutched him, kissing the top of his head.

  "And I you, my love."

  My love. Gaelan would never grow tired of hearing that. He'd come too close to losing her too often and he never wanted her out of his sight, wanted her to lie with him, let him cherish her. And he pulled her between his thighs, aching to feel skin to skin, heart to heart.

  "I want you, Gaelan." She tugged the belt at his waist, tossing it aside.

  He groaned. "You are not well enough for this," he murmured, yet hooked the edge of her shift, dragging it down, bending.

  "I am, I am. Oh Gaelan," she cried softly as his lips closed over her nipple, drawing it deeply into his mouth. He played there, tasting her scented flesh, but her impatience for him could not be denied. She worked her hands beneath his tunic, feeling warm male flesh as she pushed it up, bending to lick his nipple and eliciting a dark groan from her husband. She shifted restlessly, pressing harder, her mouth wide and provocative on his skin as he shoved the tunic off over his head. She could feel him, heavy and warm against her, and jerked at his laces, shoving her hand inside.

  "Oh sweet merciful—" He thrust into her touch, covering her hand and meeting her gaze. "You seek to unman me?"

  "I seek to have you inside me, Gaelan," she whispered, then teethed his lobe. He shuddered against her. "And I will not wait a moment longer."

  She released him, pulling her shift off over her head, and Gaelan turned away to remove his boots and braies. When he turned back she was in his arms, climbing onto his lap. Naked and warm and eager.

  Gaelan cupped her buttocks and ground her to him. Her eyes flared and he ducked, bending her back and taking her nipple into his mouth. He laved and suckled, teased and licked, his velvet-rough tongue slicking a narrow band over her warm flesh. Vapor hovered over her skin like a fragrance and he spread his knees, spreading her thighs wider and dipping into her softness. Moist flesh slid over his touch and she gripped his arms, gasping.

  "Knock knock," he growled, circling the bead of her sex over and over, slick and ready.

  "Oh Gaelan," she moaned darkly. "Do come in."

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and, cupping her bottom, he lifted her. Her legs closed around his hips as he drove into her in one swift stroke. She moaned, fused with him, feeling him pulse through her to her soul. She met his gaze, her fingers sifting through his hair. "I love you," she choked on a breath.

  He rubbed her sides, fingered the curve of her spine as his gaze rapidly searched her face, followed the drape of her hair and wished she wore the bells, before coming back to meet her gaze. His eyes glossed.

  And her expression crumbled. "Oh, Gaelan."

  "I … was lost…" His throat worked. "Without you, I am naught but a stray mongrel without a place to belong. I need you so badly. You've shown me what living is and without you, I merely exist."

  "I live to love you, Gaelan." She stroked his hair from his temple. "Come, welcome me home." She laid back, taking him with her, her gaze locked with his.

  Braced above her, he withdrew fully, the moment suspended, his arousal brushing, taunting. He plunged and retreated, never breaking eye contact. It was more intimate than they'd ever shared, though bodies melted, yielded, hearts sang and opened wide for the pour of new love. Gaelan made love to her soul as well as her body, exquisitely, with great care to her pleasure. His every touch spoke of how much he adored her, how he missed her smiles and the sound of her voice, that he never wanted to be apart from her like that again.

  And she heard him, heard the sound of his heartbeat, felt it pulse with every smooth stroke of his body into hers. Strong and ruthless, in her arms he was gentle, in their bed he let himself be vulnerable, shedding the cape of his title and be the man she loved. The man who filled a room full of jewels to please her and left her heritage untouched in a dusty chamber. The man who let her challenge him with a javelin and so easily loved a lonely little boy.

  Her eyes teared as she smiled up at him, touching his lips, the column of his throat, felt the power hidden beneath the bronzed skin layered over his wide chest. And still she wanted more, and lured him in ways only she could, in the possession in her eyes, with the heat of her passion.

  She felt the motion of his hips, hers tilting to greet him, her legs wrapping him in her supple warmth. The mist rose, curling around them, cocooning them in the massive bed, her ancestors' bed, shielding them from the outside world, from the treachery and lies that could yet tear them apart. In love and fear and desperation for the spine-tingling rapture, Siobhàn clung to him, her breathy gasps spilling like spiced wine into his mouth.

  He drank of her, pushing, pushing, slick and strong. Savage.

  Her body clawed for him, voluptuous pleasure flexing around him.

  He chanted her name, called her daughter of the mist, his gaze never leaving hers as he drove her across the sheets—as her body bowed beneath him in feminine splendor—as rapture exploded across her incredible face.

  She cupped his jaw, holding his gaze, and he shoved once more, disjointed Gaelic tumbling from his lips as the exquisite thrash roared through him and into her. He held her tightly, suspended in the dance, blood and sinew and muscle quaking with raw pleasure.

  His breath escaped in a long rush of pure masculine completion.

  Tender mercy in her eyes, she smiled, pulling him down for a kiss, and he came to her, rolling to his back, cradling her head in his rough palms and ravishing her mouth.

  "God above," he rasped. "I lose a piece of my soul every time that happens."

  "'Tis not lost, 'tis given in love."

  Slipping a coverlet over them, the lord of Donegal snuggled his lady in the protective shell of his body, and together they sank into needed
slumber. For a few precious hours, they ignored the world beyond and the secrets not yet uncovered.

  * * *

  Tucked to his side, Siobhàn watched him sleep, her heart smiling to be near him and whole again. Tears wet her eyes as she looked out over the chamber, sparse for its lack of use. 'Twas time to confess. Would he banish her here?

  He stirred, sitting up as she did, then frowning. "Why do you weep?"

  "I've a confession, my love."

  His heart skipped a beat. "Speak of it, love. I'll have no secrets atween us now."

  She looked at him then, and he knew that whatever she concealed, he would not be pleased.

  "I know why O'Niell tried to kill me, of the accident with the cart… 'Tis because of Connal." She lifted her gaze. "He is not Tigheran's son."

  "I know." Her features pulled. "I suspected as much when Driscoll said he was born in the abbey in late winter. Tigheran had only died in the spring, Siobhàn." After a few false starts, he said, "Connal is Ian's son."

  Her lips quirked a fraction, almost in amusement. Therein lies the dark seeds of his jealousy, she thought. "Nay, he is not."

  His brows drew tighter.

  "He's Rhiannon's."

  He surged to his feet. "What! This cannot be. He is not even yours?"

  Flinching, she turned her face away, crushing the bedclothes in her fist, and instantly contrite, he sank to the mattress again, taking her hands, bringing them to his lips.

  "Forgive me, love. Speak what you will."

  "Rhiannon was betrothed to a laird in the north, in Antrim, but he died unexpectedly. She'd already left to meet him and did not learn of his death till her arrival there. She was escorted back by the overlord's captain of the guard. And she fell in love with him. When she reached the abbey he was summoned to return. She found herself with child and abandoned. 'Twas then she sent for me."

  His gentle smile soothed as he said, "I thought there were no bastards in Ireland?"

  "Aye, but there must be a claim, Gaelan, support and acknowledgment in the honor price, or she is shamed by the lack."

  "Did she not try to send him word?"

  "'Tis much to trust anyone with such information when 'twas secret still. But aye, she sent word without response and assumed he did not want her or the child. He denied it, insisting he'd gone to the abbey, but the sisters would not speak to him. Because they had already given their faith and secrecy to me."

  "He told her? Then they have corresponded." A horrible sensation slithered through him.

  "He is here, Gaelan, wanting to claim Connal as his son and Rhiannon as his woman."

  "Connal is my son!" Gaelan stood abruptly, turning away from the bed and jamming his legs into his braies. "And I will be damned if I let that traitorous bastard get near him!"

  "Gaelan, remain calm, please." He turned back to her then, sweeping her off the bed and into his arms. For an instant he simply held her, seeking peace in the sudden turmoil of his mind. "You know of him, how?" she said, cupping his face and holding his gaze.

  "'Twas the eyes that were familiar, so like my lad's."

  My lad's. He loves him so, and she did not know how to break his heart over this. "He was the man in the glen, my love. The Fenians, the false ones you thought were Maguires."

  His features tightened and slowly he released her. "Aye, and I suspect we owe him a debt with a runaway cart." He pushed his fingers into his hair, then rubbed the back of his neck. "But he is also a traitor."

  Siobhàn's eyes widened. "Nay," she whispered, falling back on her calves.

  "Patrick sides with O'Niell, Siobhàn. O'Niell threatened to kill his kin if he did not war for him."

  Her eyes glossed. "Oh Gaelan, all those people, slaughtered like animals. Oh, if only they'd come to us."

  "Why would he think we would help? We had his son. Two caught have been dealt with." She winced at the finality of that. "And Patrick arrived with Ian." He waved, as if to dismiss the matter for the moment, and sat beside her. "Tell me, love, why did you do this? Why would Rhiannon give her son to you to raise?"

  She sighed, fidgeting with the edge of the sheet. "Word of Tigheran's death reached the abbey first. Donegal's leader, their king, was dead, and I was scarcely keeping the people from feuding amongst themselves when he first left for England. Tigheran made no secret of his love for Devorgilla and his distaste for me." Her lips twisted sourly. "They followed his lead and would turn on the MacMurroughs again if I did not do something." She gripped the sheet so hard it tore. "Then all I'd suffered would have been for naught. Tigheran was dead and Donegal needed a leader. They needed an heir." She lifted her gaze to his. "Rhiannon was in a precarious position. She birthed the child and handed him over to me."

  "You returned with the heir and ruled in his stead."

  "Aye."

  His shoulders drooped and he stared at his hand clasped around hers. "'Tis why you begged me to accept him, to care for him if aught happened to you. You were afraid Patrick would try to take him back and reveal your secret."

  She nodded, sniffling.

  "He won't, Siobhàn. He has no rights after his crimes. And Rhiannon must be punished for her secrets. Though I do not believe she understood 'twas O'Niell behind it, she was aware of the treachery and her silence cost lives." A pause and men, "Will Rhiannon admit to being his mother?"

  "Never. If only to protect me from the lie born those years past." Siobhàn shifted off her knees to sit beside him, the sheet scarcely concealing her lush body. "What will you do to her?"

  Gaelan tipped his head. "She is your sister and Connal's birth mother, but I cannot be lenient."

  She nodded, understanding the depth of her sister's hand in this. "I think O'Niell knows Connal is not Tigheran's son."

  Gaelan cursed.

  "Forgive me, but 'tis what he said."

  His eyes flared with fresh rage. "He visited you in that place? Damn the man for his arrogance!" He started to leave the bed and she grabbed his hand.

  "His accent was English, yet it must have been him."

  "Owen?"

  "Nay, I'd recognize his voice."

  "What did he say to you?"

  "All I loved will perish. The bastard will die." Gaelan was already at the doors, bellowing for his knights and giving orders to bring Connal to him at once.

  * * *

  Chapter 35

  « ^ »

  As usual when Gaelan was upset, he wore a rut in the floor. And though she had every confidence in Driscoll to keep her son safe, apparently her husband trusted only himself and wanted Connal with them. Quickly.

  Siobhàn watched, then called to him. He did not respond, rubbing the back of his neck and making another turn about the chamber.

  "Gaelan!"

  "What!" He jerked around, then sighed. "Forgive me, love."

  "Am I forgiven?"

  He lowered his hand. She looked so forlorn, sitting at the edge of the bed, her hands folded on her lap, a borrowed dressing gown wrapping her body. He came to her, going down on one knee.

  "There is naught to forgive, my love. You'd little choice and found a solution to a delicate problem." A little relieved moan escaped her and her eyes teared.

  "Oh, do not weep, love, shhh," he hushed. He felt helpless and tortured when she cried. "Your people had their heir to keep them together, your sister kept her reputation and Connal is well-loved, a fine lad. Would that I had a parent like you when I was a boy."

  She ran her fingers over his dark hair, touched his features. "You will have the chance yourself, Gaelan."

  His brows furrowed. He looked completely confused, so very male.

  "I carry your babe."

  The color drained from his face and he looked her over as if searching for signs before bringing his wide gaze to hers. He swallowed deeply. "We—we've made a child?"

  Her lips twitched a bit. "'Tis the usual result of so much loving, husband."

  "Oh merciful God." His voice fractured, broke, his hand trembling as h
e brought it to her belly, smoothing the tiny life shrouded inside, then very quietly, he laid his head there, his arms slipping around her waist. "Ahh, my princess."

  Her fingers sifted through his hair and Gaelan sighed, squeezing his eyes shut and thanking God for the day King Henry sent him here.

  * * *

  The meal was subdued, for all waited for the hours to pass and bring them to the moment of conflict. Yet Siobhàn and Gaelan had only eyes for each other, Ian thought, watching them. He fed her, poured her honeyed wine, and although his own experience proved PenDragon a fierce man, Siobhàn tempered his mercenary soul. A knight called to PenDragon, and he turned away to address him. Ian leaned close to Siobhàn.

  "You love him, don't you?" He knew the answer, had known it from the moment he'd first seen them together, yet chose to ignore it for an old love cheated away from him by war. A love he'd abused.

  "Aye." She glanced at Gaelan's back. "More than my life."

  Ian sighed, resolute. "Can you forgive me for the wrongs I've done you?"

  Her lips curved. "I forgave you years ago, Ian. 'Tis Fionna's forgiveness you must seek. You ruined her."

  Ian's expression darkened with shame, his posture stiff as he glanced at the dark-haired woman. As if sensing his gaze, she looked up, venom in her blue eyes.

  He deserved it, regretting his foolishness those years past and the price she paid. He would beg her forgiveness and prayed she'd accept. He turned his attention to Gaelan, his chair appearing small for his grand size, and Ian remembered his tenderness with a small motherless boy, the slow agony in his face when he was forced to wait for DeClare to wake and, when he'd discovered his wife was unprotected, the supreme control he exhausted. He could have killed the traitors on sheer suspicion, yet gave the matter over to a countryman. One he did not trust.

  "He is a worthy man."

  Tapered brows shot up.

  "He offered only fairness and trust these past days, Siobhàn, when I know he wanted to slaughter and rage to find you."