"I speak the truth. You war on your own people!"
"I have done no such thing!"
In the face of his rage, she calmly arched a brow and gave him a caustic look. "Did you not serve DeLacy at Roscomon, against King Rory O'Connor?"
Connal felt himself go pale. 'Twas his forty days owed. His first battle.
"You slew your brethren, PenDragon. For King Henry. And now you come here to do his son's bidding and take more of Ireland from Irish hands."
"Ireland is ruled by England, Sinead. Conquered! Accept this and you will live longer!"
"Do not threaten me, PenDragon."
His scowl turned thunderous. "I make no threats to you, only the truth. Richard has spoken and 'twill be done!"
"Not as long as I am mistress of the Nine Gleanns. Go back to your mighty Crusades, back to your king's side, and fight his holy wars. You made your choice years ago. Ireland does not need you."
Connal felt as if she'd just sliced into his heart, and he bled inside, refusing to let her see how deep the cut sank. She was a stubborn, righteous female, and he was already weary of this argument. He pushed his fingers through his hair, muttering a curse, seeking calm in a sea of magical turmoil. "By God, Sinead, why do you fight this?"
"I cannot wed a man I do not respect."
Connal's head snapped up, his gaze locking with hers as he lowered his hand.
Her words struck like a fatal blow, and he did not think she could wound him more. Nor did he understand why her words scored his heart so deeply, but they did. And the cut of them spilled in his acrid tone. "I do not want a wild witch for a wife either, but I will be your husband," he said with a finality that scared her. "And I do not have to earn your respect."
She tipped her chin, her blue eyes cool and hard. The sight unnerved him.
"Nay, Connal O'Rourke of PenDragon. You do not." Her voice wavered, and Connal's insides shifted with a strange pain. "But if you wish a marriage with me for the sake of your king's word"—she lifted the sword, holding the blade point down, the hilt gripped between her palms and at her breasts—"then you must earn back my heart."
She tipped her head down and vanished.
Connal stared at the empty solar, a wisp of red smoke left behind as he stood there, helpless and seething with outrage. By the gods, in the course of moments she'd delivered more insults and degradation than he'd experienced in the past dozen years.
Slew your bethren. Ireland does not need you. A traitor. To your own people. A man she could not respect, he thought, plowing both hands into his hair and gripping the back of his neck. His heart pounded in his chest, anger pushing against his need to throttle her. He'd killed for less of an insult, and aye, he'd committed actions in his life that gave him no pride. Witnessed more that tore his insides to shreds and still left him to bleed. But he'd suffered the consequences.
Yet he'd suffer more now for a handful of Ireland to call his own.
He lowered his hands, forcing his hostility under control. He was a traitor to no one, but that the words came from Sinead, from a woman who was the very heart and soul of Ireland's magic, burned through him stronger than he'd thought possible. She thought him villainous, without conscience or respect for his past deeds, and in the silence of his mind he admitted that his future bride could have accused him of no greater crime against Ireland.
It gnawed at his belly, his pride. His honor.
'Twas something he could not accept.
Or forgive.
Connal strode to the door and flung it open, his gaze going to where the earl stood with his wife near the hearth. He moved to them.
Fionna looked past him to the solar. "Where is she?"
"Gone."
"Vanished?" At Connal's nod, she asked in a low voice, "What did you say to her?"
"The truth. We are to be wed and naught will change that."
Fionna groaned and looked accusingly at her husband. "Great Goddess, does knighthood breed insensitivity and callousness?" As Raymond scrambled for a suitable defense, her gaze shot to Connal. "What else?"
"Forgive me, my lady, but 'tis best kept atween us."
"Then you should keep your voices down," Galeron said from somewhere behind him. Connal glanced over his shoulder, his gaze sharpening on the man before he turned back to the earl.
"My lord," Connal began, trying to keep his voice pleasant, "why give a woman the robe of authority?"
Raymond arched a brow at being questioned.
"Why not a man?"
Fionna stiffened, her gaze sharpening on Connal. "Why, indeed? Women," she said tightly, "are less apt to go warring. There has been peace here since Sinead was handed the reins."
"With magic, I am not surprised."
Fionna's eyes widened. "Then be surprised again, PenDragon. For magic had little to do with peace. Free will is not an element to manipulate!"
Connal realized his error and bowed slightly to Her Grace, thankful the noise of the hall and preparation for the evening meal drowned out their conversation. "Forgive me, my lady, I did not mean to offend."
Her nod spoke her forgiveness. "You hold old hurts close when there are new ones folding over them, Connal."
Connal sighed and rubbed his forehead. Splendid, he thought. Infuriate another witch, and the earl, and Sinead, he thought, wondering how he lost control. Then he knew—Sinead and her insults and slurs. And when he'd sworn not to let her affect him, he realized 'twas impossible. The woman plucked at his nerves as if they were strings of a harp. He was already sore from the music.
"I need to speak with her, now."
Fionna caught his elbow before he could take a step. "Why do you want to?"
"We must resolve this. You know as you did when Raymond was ordered to take an Irish bride. I must, we must obey."
"Aye, I understand that, but feel you aught for her?"
He chuckled, and the sound surprised him. "Naught that I would call tender."
Fionna's features sharpened, her gaze suspicious. Raymond folded his arms over his chest and regarded him.
"I would never harm her, you must know that. We have begun badly." 'Twas a mild assessment of their new beginning, he thought, looking around the great hall. We ended badly too, he thought, and an old image came to him; a young Sinead shouting encouragement down at him whilst he'd trained. She'd made it harder for him to concentrate, harder for him to keep his friends with the teasing he garnered because of her attention. He could recall each and every fistfight she'd caused. He'd been forced to work thrice times harder as any squire to prove he'd not gained favoritism.
He'd had to push her away. She was a girl and he was trying to be a man, to earn the right of knighthood he'd coveted since he was a lad. He'd been cruel and heartless, he knew, but he could not live the life he wanted with a child at his heels. He did not regret it then and would not start now, he told himself, and yet the day he'd put an end to her pestering was the last time she'd spoken to him.
DeClare leaned close and murmured, "In whatever you decide, be careful of my daughter's heart, Connal. She is strong and willful, but she is as vulnerable as any woman. Probably more so."
Connal doubted that, for aught could penetrate that thick skull of hers, least of all reason and logic. "She is also more powerful than any other woman, my lord."
Raymond nodded sagely "As the king had ordered me to take an Irish bride, I chose the woman of my heart." Briefly, he smiled down at Fionna. "I have given this same power to Sinead." Connal's shock slapped across his face. "With good reason. For when I—"
"Raymond, nay," Fionna interrupted, gripping his arm. He looked at his wife and leaned near to press a kiss to her temple. "I trust him," he whispered. "And only because the king has ordered this marriage contract does he have the right to know."
Connal frowned between the couple, a sense of dread rising up his spine. Guilt was firmly painted across Fionna's features. A guilt that bore deep hurt and regret.
Fionna shook her head, her voice bre
aking a little. "'Tis private, love, do not."
Raymond nodded and looked at Connal for a long moment before he said, "When I chose for her, I chose badly."
Connal's features tightened. She'd been betrothed? To whom? Did she love this man? And why was she not wed now? 'Twas clear by Fionna's closed expression that she was not pleased Raymond had said this much, and whilst curious of the circumstances that ended the betrothal, he recognized that something close to jealousy was working beneath his skin.
Raymond inched forward and said, "I say this only that you understand that if she chooses not to marry you, then I will send her away to safety and face the king's consequences myself."
She would not allow it. Connal knew without asking, without discussion. As she'd done many times before, she would stand her ground and suffer the end result herself. He could not let that happen. 'Twould mean the king would not have his alliance, 'twould mean her death for defying him—or her father's for allowing it. And 'twould mean the worst failure to Connal.
Suddenly Galeron appeared at his side, begging their pardon for interrupting, and Connal twisted. The man gestured, and before he looked, he noticed his knights staring upward in complete rapture.
Connal's gaze swept to the curved staircase, then he turned fully.
His heart took a sharp dip, with awe and pride. And his breath left in a sharp gust.
"In all your days, with all we have seen these past years," Galeron whispered close to his ear, "have you ever witnessed the like such as that?"
Connal could only shake his head as Sinead descended, a regal beauty in poise and grace. 'Twas hard to believe this was the same fiery creature hurling insults at him earlier. She exuded power and confidence. Her body clad in a gown of a deep rich blue, she looked every bit the chieftain. For slung across her body from shoulder to opposite hip was not only the stripe of her O'Donnel tartan, but those of nearly a dozen more clans.
Her loyalty spread across her body in blues, greens, yellows, and red plaids.
Richard, he thought, look what you have sent me to fight. For winning her would be harder than winning earls and Irish kings.
Then across the expanse of the hall her gaze locked with his. She hesitated on the last steps, and a tender look passed over her beautiful features.
'Twas a surprise, full of infinite pleasure, and enough to send a bolt straight into his heart.
And Connal knew, without a doubt, he would fight this woman. Fight to possess her. Fight for the piece of Ireland she would bring him. But never, he thought, give up his heart to her.
* * *
Chapter 5
« ^ »
Sinead's breath caught for an endless moment.
Connal stared with such utter possession she felt stripped and bared to him. As if he could see beneath her gown and know she was flushed with the heat of desire. Trapped in his gaze, she could not move. Unaware of the others staring between them, or the exchange between her parents. She only saw this man.
This Irish knight who'd come to lay his claim to her.
Nay, came through her mind with saddening clarity. To claim her lands and people. Not her. 'Twas never about wanting her. 'Twas the armies the king wanted, the joining of two houses, and Connal was ready to sacrifice himself to do it. And she was the altar.
But oh, Great Mother, 'twas not fair he be so handsome. Hardheaded. Arrogant. She looked upon him not as a lad newly knighted but as a man, scarred and seasoned with battle, and in the lines of his face saw how he'd aged. In ways she could not begin to fathom, and silently she insisted she did not want to learn of the death he'd seen and wrought.
The thought of Connal battling for duty and not for purpose broke her heart.
She took the last step, yet as Connal moved toward her, his approach was cut off by his knights crowding about her. She smiled as they introduced themselves. A few were quite pleasant, yet just as many held themselves back and spared her the briefest courtesy. So, she thought, a line had been drawn atween Connal's men in this.
He will blame me for that, she thought as her gaze caught on the oddest-looking man standing off to the right. His face was startling, and when he saw her crowded by knights, the turbaned man pushed between the mass and stepped close. The others parted slowly, and she wondered if 'twas his size or fear that allowed it. He was an impressive sight. Tall and massive across the chest and arms, he wore his clothing for decoration and not warmth. His shirt was bright yellow silk shot with embroidery at the neck and cuffs, and about his legs were yards of black fabric, draped and tucked beneath a wide belt strewn with weapons. Though none carried a sword inside the hall, he did, a long curving thing fashioned inside a sling on his back. Sinead craned her neck to meet his gaze, high up as it was. His stare was black as midnight and intense. And the way he looked her over, she half expected him to open her mouth and inspect her teeth.
"She is a beauty of untold words, Sajin."
Sinead glanced to find Connal strolling near, sipping from a goblet. He was more devastating to her senses up close, fie on the man.
His lips quirked, his gaze sweeping over Sinead, and she felt possessed again. "Aye. Sinead, this is Nahjar."
She tested his name. "Nahjar. You were a slave of the Turks, aye? But also a Moor?" He nodded and she reached, running her fingers over the black markings on his face. "Why did you do this?"
"Am I not fearsome?"
She tilted her head, considering that. "You look like a peregrine, a falcon." She ran her fingertip down to his cheek. "'Tis beautiful."
Nahjar's expression filled with shock and contrition. "You do not fear me?"
"Have I reason to?"
He thought for a moment. "Nay, you are Sajin's woman. I will protect you with my life, as I do him."
She glanced at Connal and their gazes clashed. Connal had proven well he needed no one and naught but his fealty to Richard. She looked back at Nahjar. "Protect him? Well, 'tis good then. You have to get him back to his king in one piece or all this oath signing will be for naught, aye?"
Nahjar smiled, the look almost evil. Sinead returned it, then glanced at the table being prepared before bringing her gaze back to Connal. He was staring at her oddly, curiously. "You have aught to say to me, PenDragon?"
Connal just noticed she'd yet to call him by name. "Aye." Alone, he would ask her about her failed betrothal and the why of it. Then he leaned closer, his tall presence and broad shoulders smothering out anyone nearby as he said, "With you, there is always more to say."
Nahjar discreetly backed away.
"Should you not be about gathering these noble oaths for Richard? On the morrow mayhaps?" She smiled with false innocence.
Such sass, he thought. "Ready to toss me out on my ear, are you?"
Her gaze drew an imaginary path from head to foot and back. "'Tis doubting I am, that you could be tossed anywhere."
"Not even with magic?" he could not help goad.
She shook her head. "Have you been gone so long you have forgotten the rules, PenDragon?"
"I am aware of them, yet that did not stop you once, did it?"
"You harp on a prank a child played years ago?"
"I have long since forgiven your attempt to turn me into a … goat."
His skin reddened a bit and she did not enjoy it. "I was wrong then, and I know the change hurt you. Mother took my magic from me that very day."
His brows rose with his shock.
She fingered the chain of silver on her wrist. "I regained it only five years ago."
He eyed her. "But all those times when you were trailing me?"
A humiliated look passed over her features and sharpened her tone. "Think back," she said, her voice low as she glanced about to see if anyone was listening. "Did I conjure when you shouted at me afore the entire castle? When you pushed me out of the stable and said I was just a spoiled whelp, that I meant naught to you and never would, did I cast on you?"
Her old hurt spun like sharp ice, slicing him. "I was a boy
, Sinead."
"A man, ten and six summers, about to be knighted."
He nodded at the truth. "I cannot take them back but … forgive the words of a thoughtless lad."
Her shoulders went back and she waved it off. "Think no more on it. Long ago I accepted I was naught more than a thorn in your side." As I have now, she thought. "But I have made misjudgments afore and imagine I will again."
Her exhausted tone, the deadness of it caught him in the chest, and Connal wondered at his part in it. Sinead moved away. He blocked her path. "We have settled our past, Sinead, yet I will not leave until the present is made right."
"You cannot make it so. So I suggest you depart for more important matters."
"When I do, I expect you to wait for me."
He's grown arrogant as well as simpleminded, she thought wryly. "I am not leaving Ireland; I belong here. 'Tis my people here, PenDragon, nor would I be idle when they need my help." She scanned the crowd, knowing each person by name and family. 'Twas her destiny to see her clans never wanted, that they never feared for their homes. She looked at him with brittle eyes. "And if I were inclined to wed, which I am not, I would marry for the speakings of my heart and not for your king's alliances."
"A love match has little to do with marriage."
The muscles in her chest squeezed down on her heart, smothering her. He has no hope of love, she thought and realized more than in his manner and his fealty to a faraway king had changed. What had darkened his heart so deeply that he would want this marriage only to please his king? Such loyalty was twisted afoul, and the loss infuriated her. For there was no need of it.
"'Tis everything to me, knight."
Her obstinance clawed at Connal, threatening to unearth his anger again. She wanted love and ballads; he needed only the signed document for his king. Yet at his silence, her expression fell into such misery, Connal again wondered if this man she'd given her hand to still possessed her heart. "You love another?" The words moved past his lips afore he could stop them.
He held his breath, not knowing why or what he would do if she said aye.
The question surprised her. Love another? Did he think 'twas so easy to give away her heart? That there were hundreds to choose from? She was the strongest of her kind, and with that came consequences. Loneliness, scorn, to be hunted only for the power of her magic. Hated for it. And a broken heart when she trusted it to the wrong man's care, she thought, then flinched at the memory. She kept it close as a reminder, for she'd a greater responsibility than to herself. Magic, her every power, existed within perfect love and perfect trust. 'Twas the very soul of who she was. And within the only realm she could wield. Or she would die.
THE IRISH KNIGHT Page 5
