THE IRISH KNIGHT

by Amy J. Fetzer

  "If you like."

  She shook her head. "We will gain naught like this, you know."

  "I know." Sadness crept into his voice just then. "Why did you come up here at this hour?"

  She shrugged.

  "For the first time you have naught to say, no insults to fling at me?"

  "I have spoken only the truth."

  "I am not a traitor," he growled.

  She lifted her head and gave him a serene look. "You warred against your own; what does that make you?"

  His gaze thinned, looking like glowing green coals in the dark. "A man who followed his duty owed to service."

  "You can justify betrayal in the name of duty? I cannot."

  Connal raked his cold fingers through his hair, thinking she spoke her feelings loudly and too often; her words came like knife pricks to his skin. "I swear I'd like to tie you to a chair and gag your mouth."

  A short laugh escaped her and his gaze jerked to her. "My father has said that often."

  "Did he ever do it?"

  "He forbade me to speak for a se'night once. I managed one afternoon." She turned her head slowly. "I cannot change who I am."

  "Regardless, we must come to an agreement."

  "I agree you should be gone and leave me be."

  "To what? To be unwed and alone?"

  She'd resigned herself to that long ago. "'Tis preferable to a marriage that is no more than papers signed."

  "'Twould be more than that," he said, his voice husky and taking the chill from night. "And I think you know that already."

  She did, Goddess help her. And she did not like it much, either. 'Twas base, this attraction for him, instinctive, and she tried portioning it with old feelings she'd borne him, but 'twas naught like she'd felt for him with a girl's heart. Aye, she thought, this was primal. Almost a savage need. And she knew where that feeling had taken her before.

  Slowly she turned her head and looked at him, inspected him, and Connal watched as her gaze swept his shoulders, his arms, then dropped to his hands. She stared for a moment longer, and he wondered what played through her quick mind. Suddenly she stood, a snap of her fingers putting out the fire before she headed to the stairs.

  Connal climbed to his feet, watching her move away in a flowing robe of fabric and fur, and warred with the benefits and disadvantages of pursuing this at the late hour. He strode after her and caught her arm. She yanked wildly. "Sinead, listen to me."

  "Leave off!" she shouted and he released her, coming away with his fur cloak as she ran to the stairs. He followed. "Stay away!"

  She overtook the stairs, torches snapping to flame as she passed.

  She entered a chamber and flung the door closed. Connal shoved it open. She turned, her eyes wide.

  With terror, he realized, and he stepped no farther.

  "Sinead."

  She shook her head, her hair wild, her expression crazed. By God, he thought, what had gotten into her? She was choking for air. "Let me help you."

  Turning her face away, she shook her head and put up her hand, palm out. He waited, his fingers curling into fists as she took several deep breaths.

  Then suddenly she looked at him, the tension gone as if whispered away. "Forgive me. I am fine."

  He frowned. "You are not. Tell me what ails you so."

  "'Tis unimportant." Her tone refused any prodding, and she moved to the window, throwing it open. The hard gust of air from the moors bolted through the chamber, stirring the drapes on her bed, the tapestries warming the walls.

  "Close the window, for God's sake."

  She inhaled. "'Twill be a while afore you are accustomed to the cold," she said.

  "But not the smell of fire."

  Sinead turned sharply and frowned. He was gone, and she looked out the window but saw and smelled naught but the tang of the sea. She rushed after him, taking the stairs to the parapet again and turning right. She ran toward the north tower.

  Gripping the edge of the stone wall, she searched the black horizon.

  "Fire." He pointed "There."

  The glow flickered against the evergreen trees. Distant, and red. "Oh Goddess above." She grasped his arm. "'Tis near the English fort."

  Instantly he turned back into the staircase. Sinead tipped her head down and vanished, appearing in her chamber. Immediately she threw off the velvet and reached for her clothes.

  His cloak clenched in his fist, Connal strode through the castle, banging on doors, not knowing where his men slept and not caring whom he woke. He reached the chamber where he was to have slept and found Galeron dressing. He tossed Connal his sword and armaments.

  "And here you thought 'twould be naught but gaining a few signatures, aye, Connal?"

  "Wear your armor," came from behind.

  He spun and found Sinead fastening her cloak. "You are not joining this," he said.

  She slung a leather satchel onto her shoulder as she brushed past him. "You forget, knight, I am chieftain of the gleanns. 'Tis you who must join me." She clapped, torches spitting to life, her voice carrying through the castle, yet she did not shout. Her father appeared in the corridor, pulling on his tunic. "I need you here to see to the safety of the castle, Papa. Monroe will come with me."

  Raymond nodded, Fionna at his side and belting her robe. His quick agreement made Connal's step hesitate. He trusts her, he thought. The earl's acceptance of his daughter's role chaffed at Connal's duty. She was a woman, and a small one at that.

  In the bailey Sinead swung up onto her white mare and ordered the gates opened. Monroe was at her side; nearly twenty vassals assembled behind her whilst squires still hustled horses and arms out of the barns.

  "Sinead!"

  Connal grabbed his horse by the mane and mounted. As the gate parted, she bolted, leading the way.

  * * *

  The ride was black and treacherous, the darkness and crusted snow making progress slow. Connal rode alongside Sinead and Monroe, yet none spoke. The glow of fire groped through the trees and she looked at Monroe.

  "'Tis east Armagh," she said, and her gaze pinned Connal. "The village, not the fort," she said. "Remain back. We will approach."

  He looked to argue.

  "We waste time now, and if English troops did this, you will only frighten them more." She raced ahead.

  Monroe looked at Connal, nodded once, then rode after her. Her men followed.

  "Damn woman thinks she's invincible," he muttered and followed.

  * * *

  Sinead slid from the mare's back, rushing to the burning house. People were trying to douse the flames with blankets and crack the ice on the frozen well in the hope of water. With the wind, the flames only flared. Sinead threw her arms high, palms up. She called on the elements, her voice loud and demanding, and as she lowered her hands toward the ground, the flames smothered to naught but heavy curls of smoke.

  The villagers groaned with relief, some sitting on the ground where they'd stood to catch their breath. She looked at her captain. "We have not had trouble for three years now. I do not understand."

  He shook his head, agreeing as he helped a man to his feet. "I will see to the livestock and search for tracks, my lady."

  She nodded and walked toward the well.

  "Oh, Lady Sinead, thank God." A woman dropped a smoldering blanket, staggering.

  "Katherine, sweet stars!" Sinead rushed to the older woman, helping her to the stone bench in the square and blotting blood from her forehead. She checked her for more wounds, then swept off her cloak and wrapped it around the woman. People converged on her, stumbling out of homes and hiding places. Sinead swept a sobbing child into her arms and soothed the lad as she inspected and questioned each for wounds. Then her gaze scanned the people for the mayor. Her heart pounded.

  "Dougal! Show yourself!" Please, she prayed.

  Her mother's old friend walked forward from the dark, tossing aside the spade, and she hurried to clasp him. He patted her back, coughing up smoke.

  "I
am unharmed, lass."

  "Thanks be to the Goddess," she whispered, then leaned back. "Is anyone badly hurt?"

  He glanced around to be certain before saying, "A few bruises and cuts. No one died, thank God." He looked at the smoking cottages and stone houses. "My thanks, my lady. We could not stop it afore it spread."

  Sinead only nodded. "What brought this?"

  Dougal sighed, looking far older than he should at his age. "The English troops from yon fort." At her frown, he shrugged and said, "They needed food. And we gave it. But 'twas not enough to their liking." His gaze shifted past her and widened. Sinead turned, handing the child over to him.

  Connal and his knights stood poised on the rise.

  Gradually people grew quiet and still, the men handling their swords or dirks. Children moved behind her and their parents. "Fear not, my friends," Sinead said to ease the terror building around them again.

  Connal did not take his gaze off Sinead as he spoke to Branor. "Place the torches about and light this land. Then surround this village, and send Nahjar and Sir Peter to search for the path they took." He glanced at the sky. Dawn would not come for another three hours, he surmised, and they'd accomplish little till then. He walked his horse slowly closer, gesturing for the others to remain back.

  "Who is he?" Dougal asked her, his gaze moving between the knights and the vassals. "They do not wear the tartan like DeClare's knights do." He looked directly at Sinead. "What has happened that you travel with strangers, my lady?"

  The distaste in his voice was not lost on her. "Be calm, Dougal. 'Tis Connal PenDragon."

  Dougal inhaled sharply. "Well I'll be diggered."

  "I could not have said it better."

  Dougal eyed her, then the man. "Did I not learn you were to wed him?"

  Her spine stiffened. "You were misinformed."

  "Aye, my lady."

  She looked at Dougal, a man her parents trusted over the years and had made the leader of this town for his loyalty to them. "Not a word, Dougal."

  "I would not dream of it, lass."

  Connal dismounted, and Dougal pushed his way around his folk. "I never thought to see you again, boy."

  Connal smiled and shook his hand. "Dougal, you look well."

  "You look like you walked from the gates of hell."

  Connal ran his fingers down the side of his face and offered a small smile.

  "And brown as bread, too."

  "The sun of Cypress and Syria."

  "So the stories were true; you warred for Richard." His brow furrowed. Dougal folded his arms over his chest and stared. Connal's gaze flicked to Sinead. The old man shrugged. "I do not need my lady to speak the words. News travels slowly but well in the gleanns."

  "So I have gathered."

  They talked softly for a moment, and Connal was aware of the hundred pairs of eyes examining him like a swine at a county fair. A boy moved past, glaring at Connal and the other knights. Connal met the lad's gaze, frowning and wondering what he'd done to earn that hatred. Then the lad spat in his direction before scampering off to join two others his age.

  Dougal cursed softly.

  Connal's bland expression remained fixed on his face as he focused on Dougal.

  "They remember you, my lord," Dougal said. "To them, you became English. Now, now," he said when Connal looked ready to explode, "not that 'tis a bad thing to be. Lord Antrim is a fine one, but he has no excuse for being English. He was born that way." His gaze rode over the breastplate, vambraces, and metal gauntlets. "You were not."

  "Am I to be chastised for my garments or my duty?" he said dryly. He did not get a response, nor had he expected one.

  Sinead came forward, pulling on her cloak, giving Connal an I-told-you-to-stay-back look before calling to Monroe. The man strode to her side. "Give what stores the men have to these people. And leave five troops here to help repair the damage in the morn. Another five to guard the village." She looked at Dougal and he nodded agreement, thanking her before turning away to his folk.

  Sinead watched Dougal rally the people to repair the damage in the morning, then looked at Connal.

  "'Twas the troops from the fort," she said. "For food." He nodded, and she was glad he did not dispute her.

  "I will go speak to the marshal." He turned to do just that.

  She caught his arm. "This is not your concern."

  Connal was not going to argue again that they would be wed and this land would become his responsibility soon. Yet his reasons went deeper. He'd fought the Crusades for strangers. How could he turn his back on these Irishmen and women? "You will not even accept my help?"

  "What will you do? Punish them for being hungry?"

  "For stealing and ravishing this village, aye."

  "Aye, they should be punished, but what will they do to this village if we exact it? Nay. This village and the next provide well for the English soldiers. Myself, I brought a wagonload of food from the castle's winter stores to them only last month. Yet like land mongers, the greedy come and take more!"

  She moved toward her horse with angry steps, bent to lift something off the ground, then flung herself onto its back with a practiced agility. She rides without saddle or reins, he realized. Monroe mounted, and when she bolted onto the road, he called out to her, then sighed and looked tiredly at PenDragon.

  "Marry her, my lord. Quickly."

  Connal's brows shot up.

  "A man has only so many hairs to turn gray. And I'd prefer them to be yours."

  Connal's lips quirked and he raised his fist. Troops and knights gathered behind him and he bolted to the chase.

  * * *

  Within the next half hour, the English troops were assembled like children about to be scolded. 'Twas not Sinead's doing, but Connal's. Her calls to the guards went unheeded until he'd ridden past her up to the gates, heedless of her warning to mind his own business, of course, and summoned the marshal. The careless "Who the bloody hell do you think you are?" was tossed down at him from the guard tower.

  Connal only stated his name.

  Quietly, calmly, when she knew he was seething with anger.

  Within seconds the door opened, troops filed in a haphazard line, and the marshal, in his nightclothes and a cloak, hurried from the small English fort.

  The brigade stood now on the frozen ground. Connal said naught, remaining in the saddle and looking down upon them like bugs needing a good squashing.

  Sinead prayed he would not do anything foolish that would come back on her people. Yet she had to admit, he presented a splendid vision of power and strength. In the darkness, lit by tall torches, his breastplate gleamed with the coat of arms of King Richard. Without a helm, he shielded naught from the English troops and made eye contact with each one. His mount pranced, rearing once, its hooves clapping hard on the stone before the steed settled. The marshal flinched and took a step back.

  Sinead rode up beside him, Monroe at her side. The marshal's gaze hopped between her and Connal. PenDragon looked at her, inclining his head ever so slightly toward the marshal.

  "Marshal Westberry," she said. "Your troops attacked one of the villages and set fire to homes."

  "They did no such thing."

  Connal shot him a quelling glare. "Do not speak till a question has been put you, Westberry."

  Sinead dismounted and walked up to the man, certain to get his attention on her and not on PenDragon. "They did, sir. The people have no reason to lie. The evidence left speaks enough." She thrust an English helmet at him, forcing him to take it. "The trail leads to your door."

  The marshal held her gaze, his lips tight. "I did not sanction this!" He tossed the helmet on the ground behind him.

  "So you have no control over your troops, then? They can leave the fort and go prey wherever they please? Leaving you undermanned?"

  His face turned molten with suppressed anger, and Sinead surmised that he did not unleash it because of the man astride the stallion behind her.

  "I thought as m
uch. Now would you tell me why you broke a treaty that has been in effect and untarnished for three years?"

  "We had no food."

  "You were given supplies by the very villagers you burned."

  "'Twas not enough."

  "You should have come to me, then."

  "There was little time. My troops are freezing their arses off and hungry now."

  "Really?" she said, her gaze dropping meaningfully to the marshal's round belly.

  Westberry flushed and tucked his cloak about him, his face pinched and angry.

  "And this is the excuse you offer for burning the homes of innocents who have fed you? To rape the village of their winter stores when in three years' time you have done little to provide food for yourselves beyond hunting on my lands!"

  "The deer are too sparse to hunt," he said.

  'Twas untrue, she thought. They were just lazy. "And yet, have I not provided for your men regardless? What happened to the wagon of goods I brought? 'Twas enough to feed all of you well."

  The marshal glanced between her and PenDragon. "They will not eat the food touched by a witch."

  Sinead stepped back as if he'd slapped her, and when Connal thought she'd grow angry, she simply nodded.

  "Fine. I will not bring it again." The marshal stammered and she put up her hand, silencing him. "But when there is no more, I shall gladly lock you in chains afore allowing your men the opportunity to harm people who have been most generous."

  The marshal paled.

  "I will not see people die of hunger, no matter how daft your reasons. My other recourse is that you will gain your winter stores in the next county, beyond Armagh. I will send a messenger to the chieftain and ask if he will provide. If not, you have little choice but to accept my hospitality. Because if you raid," she said, and her voice turned deadly, her blue eyes glittering as she took a step closer, "I will see you spared naught but the full measure of the law. English law. And Brehon." She arched a tapered brow. "Do we understand each other, Lord Marshal?"

  He stared into her eyes and swallowed his tongue. "Aye, Lady Sinead, we do."

  He looked up at PenDragon, but Connal said naught, admiring Sinead's calm and wisdom.