THE IRISH KNIGHT

by Amy J. Fetzer

  "I am well chastised, Lady Sinead." The man looked sheepish as he sheathed his sword. "You may stop berating me now."

  Connal fought a smile. "Me thinks she enjoys it so."

  She looked at them both, her jaw dropping. "Oh, fine." She threw her hands up and walked toward a frail woman huddled on the ground.

  "The lass has a fine temper." The gypsy gestured to the ground, the melted snow, and the burst of red flowers.

  Connal glanced and smirked to himself. "Aye." And she looked magnificent when that temper was up, he thought, watching her with the other woman. Connal felt a sudden rush of shame from the gypsy woman, a dark despair and fear of him. Nay, he thought, of all men save the one standing beside him. He shifted his gaze to the tall bearded gypsy. His garments threadbare, his hair overlong and shaggy, did not quite hide the bearing in him that came only from education and breeding. Nor did it shadow Connal's memory. "'Tis good to see you, Dillon."

  The man's features sharpened, and he scratched at his beard. "She thinks you do not recognize me and saves me the shame."

  "'Tis no shame to keep your family together," Connal said, his gaze traveling over the people. "What happened? Why are you not in Connacht?"

  "As was with your mother and your kin, O'Rourke, the English came."

  Connal felt the full brunt of his words like a blow to his middle. Dillon was a chieftain, ally to Maguire and lord over West Connacht. And now he was forced to steal and feed off the winter's land. In King Henry's time, the clan leader would have been given the rights back after swearing oath, as Ian Maguire had to his father, Gaelan. "Did you not swear fealty to Richard? 'Twould have gained you the right to rule and mayhaps the castle and lands."

  "The English attacked without warning; we had no choice but to defend. We never stood a chance. They sacked the castle, killed my father, and did God knows what to my sister." His gaze flicked to the hunched woman Sinead spoke with. "She's not uttered a word since. I thought naught could be worse than when they killed my wife." Dillon's voice fractured. "But I was wrong."

  A hard stab of rage hit Connal in the chest. "By God, tell me who did this! I will find the bastards and bring them to trial."

  "Really?" Dillon scoffed. "For 'twas under Prince John's banner they came."

  Connal muttered a foul curse. England's grasp on his homeland was harsher than he thought. And it enraged him. He admitted that this was what Sinead had been trying to make him see these weeks past. And he'd been blinded by duty.

  "Do not step into this trap, man," Dillon warned. "Not for us." His gaze lowered briefly to the English sword bearing the king's heraldry on the fist cuff.

  Connal noticed.

  "If you do, you will have to choose."

  Dillon gauged that fierce look and decided he was fortunate to still be standing.

  "I will do what I can, Dillon. The O'Malley belongs with his clan and they belong in Connacht. Not wandering the lands like—"

  "Beggars?"

  "Forgive me. I did not mean to imply—"

  Dillon put up a hand. "I know what we have become. I only hope that King Richard will correct his brother's mess when he returns."

  "He is returning. I suspect he's managed to gather his ransom by now."

  "Gather ransom? Why does he not simply send word to his brother for it?"

  Connal made a face and told Dillon what he knew, knowing he could trust Dillon and, in doing so, offered assurances that this horrible plight could change. And by heaven, it would. Connal would see to it.

  "Then you best be off, aye?"

  "Aye, if Sinead would obey me and come along."

  Dillon barked a laugh. "Obey? Sinead? She always was impetuous."

  "'Tis too gentle a description," Connal said, folding his arms over his chest, his gaze on her. "You know, my mother raised me to have a tender spot for women. I'd like to think she had a reason for reminding me of it constantly. Me thinks this is it."

  Dillon laughed, a wealth of turmoil released in the deep sound.

  Sinead lifted her head and, across the clearing, met Connal's gaze. She gave the young woman one last touch and hurried to the men. Her gaze flicked between the men as they tired to contain their chuckles.

  "Somehow I think I've become a source of entertainment."

  Wisely, neither man acknowledged that.

  "Go on, Sinead," Dillon said and kissed her hand, recognizing her concern for his plight. "Leave your worry here. There is naught you can do to change this." He inclined his head to PenDragon. "And it appears you have more of a challenge than I."

  The sight of the man touching her so intimately sent Connal's imagination racing like a rutting stag. He smothered it and thrust out his hand for Dillon. They shook, and Connal said, "I will help, Dillon, because this is not what King Richard intended for Ireland."

  Dillon nodded, his expression resigned of hope, and it made Connal more determined to find a solution. It also meant he had to do all he could to maintain Richard's trust.

  Sinead waved to Dillon. "Good journey to you, my friend," she said, then stepped into the snow-covered trees. Connal cast one last glance back, then followed Sinead.

  Dillon looked down at the sack left at his feet. Picking it up, he opened it, then with a whispered thanks turned to offer the food and drink to his people. He'd lost much these last years and Connal PenDragon, he realized, had left him with his pride still intact.

  And hope. For the first time since he held his dying wife, he had hope.

  * * *

  When they were deep in the forest, Sinead stopped, and before he could drag her along, she dipped her hand beneath the fluff of snow, coming back with a bit of grass and flowers, nearly transparent for the chill. Then she sank to her knees in the ice and snow, spreading out her cloak around her.

  Instantly Connal knew what she was about. "Do not do it, Sinead."

  She sent him a hot look back over her shoulder. "Oh, for the love of Bridget, man. I cannot leave them so destitute. What friend would I be when I have the power to help?"

  "You cannot conjure on them."

  Her blue eyes snapped with impatience. "Oftimes, Connal, you are too arrogant for words. I do so for them, not to them."

  With a dismissing look, she lifted her arms, palms out to the sky. The grass and frozen flowers glowed in her hand. The air around her brightened with gentle radiance, and Connal stared, his heart skipping a beat as she tipped her face to the heavens. The hood fell back, her red hair spilling to the ground in a soft fall of autumn's breath.

  "Lord of the sun, Lady of the moon, come to me, fill me with your blessings, grant me the power of change."

  Tiny sparkles of light surrounded her, becoming part of her skin, singing in ribbons from her fingertips and into the sky. The breeze of light surrounded the band of gypsies, high above them, to serpentine within the trees.

  "Lord and Lady of the sun and moon, I invoke thee. I ask thee to grant me the power of change for these kind people. A gift they gave me, a gift I return to them threefold. Let Dillon see the stag that he may feed his clansmen. Bring the liquid of life near and plentiful to ease a thirst for more. Bestow the creatures of the forest to offer warmth for garments and in boots to shield against the wrath of the Lady's winter till the Lord of the sun grants us Ostara." Her breathing came faster, the radiance intensifying. "So I say, so mote it be!"

  The ribbons of light fell, showering the gypsies, and Sinead lowered her arms and slumped forward.

  Connal rushed to her, gathering her in his arms. She tipped her head back. A sweet contented smile graced her lips. He swept her hair from her face and brushed the back of his knuckles across her cheek. Her skin was incredibly soft and cool. "Are you ill, lass? Does the wound pain you?"

  "Nay, but I fear I am a wee bit weak still."

  Unsatisfied with that, Connal flipped back her cloak and in the chilled night pushed the shoulder of her gown aside to see the wound. 'Twas closed and healing faster than he thought possible.

&nb
sp; She saw his shock, then took his hand and turned it over, showing that his cut had seated and left behind only a thin white scar. She pressed his palm to her shoulder, the warmth of his touch pushing into her wound. Connal flinched as energy shot up his arm and quickened through his body.

  "Know that this has always been in you, Connal," she said softly. "I can not give it, nor take it from you. Only you can see the secrets that embrace you."

  "Sinead, I do not want—"

  "Do you think that when a hundred men vied for my hand and not my heart that I did not wish I was ordinary? That when I had no friends who did not want me to grant them wealth that I did not deny this power?"

  His gaze raked her features, his mind imagining the lonely life she must have led surrounded by people who wanted more from her than they gave.

  "But 'twas impossible to deny. As this is in you." Her grip over his palm tightened, and he felt the surge again. "You have accepted my gifts, why not your own?"

  He struggled to put thought to words and failed.

  "You reject a blood right, Connal."

  "'Tis not my right at all."

  Sinead's brow worked a bit. There was much anger in those few words, and she wondered at the root of it. What other secrets did he keep from her? "Know me well, PenDragon, this." She pulled his palm from her shoulder. "Would not be so if that were true."

  Sinead shifted upright, her face inches from his.

  "And you already know this or you would not have found me in the forest."

  She kissed him briefly, quickly, and when she sensed he wanted more, she stood, waiting for him to do the same.

  Connal closed his hand in a fist. Bloody hell, he thought, he hated when she was right.

  "DeCourcy awaits, as does your Aunt Rhiannon."

  Connal stood, staring down at her.

  "When you are ready, Connal, you will tell me what troubles you."

  Never, he thought. For he could not put voice to his shame. His blood sire had been a traitor and, like his true mother, both had let their own kin die rather than give up each other to save a single innocent soul.

  * * *

  Armor gleamed silver in the morning light. Hooves pounded the hard cold earth as trumpets sounded a herald to the guards of the castle. Nestled in sharp cliffs with the sea at her west, the fortress was iced with snow melting in the unseasonably warm sun.

  Ostara comes early, Sinead thought, riding alongside Connal. She smiled. For whilst his knights wore armor, Connal did not, choosing to wear yet another set of garments lent by the Irish king. The gesture spoke to her, more than he knew, she thought. 'Twas a pride radiating from him. It sang to her heart.

  "You've been smiling at me all the day," he said without a side glance.

  "Mayhaps because this is the last oath and we are done."

  "Then 'tis to England we head."

  "Good journey then, for I shall remain here."

  "Nay, you will join me." He kept his gaze ahead.

  "Whatever for?"

  God above, he could feel her rebellion churning in his blood and smiled to himself. "You are my betrothed and Richard will want to meet you."

  Sinead looked away. She'd no desire to meet a king who moved lives around like chess pieces on a board. And she was honest enough to admit she could not keep from telling him just that. She'd little time to think on the matter when the gates opened wide to allow the retinue inside the bailey of CrackFergess Castle.

  A soldier had been sent ahead, and Sinead watched as DeCourcy came forward, his swagger strong for a man his age. His hair peppered with more gray than black, he greeted Connal with a smile and a strong hug.

  He looked up at her. Sinead bowed her head slightly. "My lord, good day to you."

  He did not speak at first, then found his voice. "Ah, PenDragon, you are more fortunate than I thought."

  "I shall not debate that, my lord," Connal said, then moved near Sinead, helping her from her mount. Her hands smoothed his shoulders, touching the fur and fabric of his garments, and he smiled down at her. 'Twas such a little thing, the clothes, and yet they pleased her so well. He knew it; without asking, he knew. Sweeping an arm around her waist, and as DeCourcy's captain of the guard shouted orders, he followed the lord of the castle inside.

  The instant they entered, heads turned. Servants froze as the din dropped to the shuffle of feet, the clearing of throats.

  Sinead's gaze swept the interior, then came back to him. She frowned. His gaze was intense, moving rapidly over the household. "Connal?"

  "Remain close to me, lass." Still he stared, studied.

  "You feel something?"

  He nodded. Connal did not know what to think of it, but the moment he crossed the threshold, rage hit him like a hot blast of summer. His skin was suddenly damp beneath his clothes, his muscles bunching. He could no longer ignore this gift and recognized what Sinead had been saying all along. 'Twas an advantage he could keep hidden and use wisely.

  Sinead inched closer to him, laying her hand on the fur of his cloak as she tipped her face up. Her smile was false with worry. "What is it?"

  "Anger, a great deal of it. And, I think, 'tis directed at you."

  Her smile fell slightly. "I am accustomed to animosity, Connal."

  "I am not. Do not show them your power, nor leave my protection."

  "This I swear."

  His gaze jerked to her. "Impossible. I've never gained your compliance so easily."

  "Wanting to give it and demanding you get it are two very different things, knight." The slyness of her smile, the look in her eyes sent his heartbeat escalating. Then she kissed him, a soft touch of the lips that drove heat down to his toes. His grip on her tightened, her body lying against his, and when he was want for more, and privacy for it, a voice interrupted.

  "Ah, begging your pardon, PenDragon. If you can drag your attention free, lad," DeCourcy was saying, and he looked at him. "My wife."

  Sinead left the protection of Connal's side and came to the woman. "Affreca, you look radiant," she said, hugging the slender woman.

  Affreca closed her eyes, rocking her like a child in her arms. "Ah, little one, you have grown into a beauty."

  DeCourcy scowled at his wife. "Affreca, my love. You did not say you knew Lady Sinead."

  "You did not ask, husband. And she was a child when I saw her last." She kept her gaze on the younger woman, pushing her hair back, and as Sinead loosened the cloak, Affreca handed it to a servant. She pulled her toward the fire. "Come, gossip with me. 'Tis been years since I heard aught from the north. You must share."

  Sinead glanced over her shoulder at Connal. He took a step closer, but DeCourcy stayed him with a hand. "She will be fine."

  "Forgive me, my lord, but she is mine to protect." Connal gestured to Nahjar, and the tall tattooed Moor took up residence behind Sinead.

  DeCourcy's eyes widened at the sight of the man, and without pause, Branor stood to his right. Connal nodded, pleased, then faced DeCourcy.

  "Let us find a place of privacy, my lord. For Richard needs your help."

  DeCourcy led them to his private chambers off the great hall, and whilst servants laid out food for the knights and carried more out to the soldiers, Connal stepped into the chamber with DeCourcy.

  Before DeCourcy closed the door, Connal stole a glimpse of Sinead with Affreca, their expressions animated and her body glowing with her smiles. His heart lifted, yet the sense of doom he felt inside these walls had not changed. From a whiskerless boy to an aging crab of a man, they had their attention on Sinead. And Connal recognized that he was indisputably jealous.

  "Connal," DeCourcy said, and he faced the man. His gaze snapped to the other man already inside.

  The man rose quickly, meeting his gaze, and Connal recognized him as one of Croí an Banríon's knights. "Sir Phillip, what brings you here?"

  Phillip glanced at DeCourcy. "My liege has sent me."

  Connal frowned. "There is trouble?"

  "Nay, sir. I know
only that I am entrusted to give you this." He held out a thick packet.

  "He's been here for a day, PenDragon, waiting. I thought it best that he remain unseen."

  Connal took the packet and excused himself, moving to the far end of the chamber near a window. He sat on a padded bench fashioned into the depth of the wall and broke the wax seal. Opening the packet, he scanned the contents briefly before his gaze shot to the other man's.

  "You know what you have brought?"

  "Nay. The O'Donnel … ah, Lord DeClare said that 'twas for you alone. Would you like me to leave, sir?"

  Connal shook his head and opened the smaller of the two folded papers and read. In DeClare's own script, the note spoke of knowing Sinead had been hurt. And his gratitude for his help. Connal could debate that, but the tone of the letter was grave. DeClare was aware of assassins sent from England. And though the man would never dare inscribe a treasonous word, he hinted that he was positive 'twas by the order of Prince John, and to be warned, there could be a traitor in his own contingent. His own men? Or the men brought from Croí an Banríon?

  Connal paused, rubbing his fingers over his lips, then gestured for the man to sit and enjoy the wine DeCourcy poured for them. The earl felt the enclosed document would either ensure no more attacks or that they would worsen. But 'twas his only choice.

  I fear for you both, son. And I am still unsure if I will lose my child for this act. She is fair stubborn as her mother and would ignore her heart if she thought it best for others concerned.

  Connal believed that she was the target, as the prisoner had said. For killing Sinead would do little politically but bring the mourning of half of Ireland. Connal, on the other hand, knew his place in court and with Richard. And John's hatred of anyone aligned with his brother. He was, as he saw it, one step closer to a peace that John did not want. For if the prince could incite enough against England, he could rally men to his cause against his brother's throne.