THE IRISH KNIGHT

by Amy J. Fetzer

  Connal kept reading.

  She is our greatest gift and I give her to you.

  You will know when the time is right to tell her.

  Frowning, Connal folded the note and broke the second seal.

  He did not know whether to be filled with relief or trepidation.

  For inside was the marriage contract between the house of PenDragon and the house of DeClare. Signed and affixed with the seals.

  In the eyes of the king and church, he and Sinead were legally married.

  God above, he thought, his troubles were just starting.

  * * *

  Chapter 15

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  In the dark of night, Sinead flinched, her body arching like a well-strung bow in her sleep. In her mind, the images were clear with the taste and smell of battle. With the blade singing deep into Connal's flesh. Invading. Tearing. She tried to see who'd done this and mayhaps prevent it, but her mind's eye focused on Connal as he yanked out the sword, swallowing a moan of agony as he threw the weapon aside and fell to his knees. Then to the ground. Blood flowed black, then red, from beneath his tunic and onto the snow and mud. He clutched his side, calling her name, struggling for volume when he'd no power to give it. Clutching his side, blood rivered over his fingers. He reached out toward her, tried to rise, then dropped like a stone, her name the last whisper on his lips as life left his body.

  "Connal!"

  At her cry, Connal rushed into the chamber, half dressed and waving Galeron back as he ran to the bed. For a heartbeat he froze at the sight of her, twisted in the sheets and whimpering like a child. He sat on the edge of the bed, grasping her shoulders. "Sinead!"

  She clawed at him, calling his name. Tortured sobs wrenched from her, choking off air. God, she wasn't breathing. Pulling her upright, he shook her. She snapped awake, dragging in a hard lungful of air, her stare blank.

  "You are safe, lass."

  "Connal?" She blinked, sniffled; then she threw her arms around his neck and clung with a fierceness that knifed through him. She trembled violently. Her fingers dug into his back, one palm skimming his side. Then she hugged harder.

  "Ah, God, Sinead." Her shudders vibrated into him and he rubbed her back. "All is well, love, all is well," he crooned.

  She only buried her face deeper into the bend of his throat, nearly climbing onto his lap to get closer to him. "Oh, Connal," she sobbed.

  "Your scream was … horrifying."

  "Did I wake anyone?" she asked almost desperately.

  "Only enough to alert Galeron. He stood guard at your door."

  She moaned with embarrassment and, frowning, Connal pushed her back to look at her, smoothing her hair from her face. Her eyes were bleak, and he brushed a kiss to her forehead. "'Twas only a nightmare."

  She tipped her head, then suddenly kissed him, her fear boiling over, without control.

  Instantly he sank into her mouth, pulling her onto his lap with a pleasured groan. She curled her body around him, dragging him back onto the bed with her. Thoughts fled as tightly wrapped desire spun free, her heartbeat thrumming through her and into him.

  'Twill always be like this, he realized, his hand scraping down her side to her thigh.

  The fire flared, scorching the mantle.

  Mist-laden air whispered with a sweeping hand, buffeting where skin met and blended to one. Above them vines pushed through the stone walls, nature seeking to shield them in a cocoon of desire.

  And still they kissed.

  A little desperate sound came from her, drove into him, and Connal knew he would never feel anything like this with another woman. She was the only one he wanted. Desired. Needed.

  Not for lands and castle. Not for the king. But for his soul. For the saving of it. And when her hands slid from his neck, splaying across his chest, he did not think of all he kept from her but thought only of her, her mouth on him, her touch—combed with hunger and smothered in fear. "You dreamed of me, I can feel it," he said against her mouth

  Dare she tell him? she thought. Would he cast her warning off? Would the simple telling make his death happen? She risked all and admitted, "Aye, aye."

  Her voice fractured with the admission and she rained kisses over his face, then captured his mouth again, in command of his senses, and he would willingly give her their rule. But 'twas alarm and the need to obliterate it that drove her. He knew from experience, and as much as he wanted—and by God, with her so warm and eager, he wanted naught more—Connal knew it would only stay the fear for a moment.

  He wanted it gone, for her. And when Sinead came to him like this, he wanted her heart unfettered.

  The thought shook him to his core, ripped away his doubts, and when the sheet between them slipped and her soft, sleep-warm bosom pressed to his bare chest, Connal groaned in frustration and forced himself to ease back. His weakness for her showed itself when she reached for him, her mouth seeking his, and he took. For another long glorious moment, he took. He was helpless with her—no power, no strength. For Sinead filled him with more than desire. She filled him with hope. And a love he'd dismissed and discarded for duty and honor.

  He tore his mouth from hers and stared into her blue eyes.

  Aye, he thought, almost sadly. He'd gone and fallen in love with her. And he was lying through his bloody teeth about more than that.

  She whispered his name, touching the band of his chausses. "God, woman, cease." He caught her wrist. "I am not strong enough." He indulged in a thorough look at her breasts, exposed and awaiting his attention, till he saw the tears in her eyes and knew he was right. He ground his teeth and called himself noble when he covered her. "'Tis your panic speaking, lass."

  "'Tis more than that." 'Twas her love, the threat of it, and her inability to control anything, she thought as she touched his face, her fingertip tracing the scar at his jawline. "Aye, I am frightened for you."

  Terror lingered, the unknown haunting her. "You saw my death, aye?"

  Her eyes widened a bit.

  "I've come so close too often not to see it happen in my nightmares." His smile tried to tease. "And you called out my name." Her eyes teared and he groaned with sympathy. "I will be ever cautious. Does that please you?"

  Not nearly enough, she thought, nodding. The fear she felt now was incomparable to what she'd first experienced with the dreams. 'Twas stronger, deeper. And it bruised her heart. She'd spent years suppressing the emotions ruling her to protect herself, and even if he never loved her, she knew she could not survive without Connal.

  She gazed into his green eyes, soft with compassion. "You must be more than cautious, Connal."

  His brows furrowed. "What else do you know?"

  The moment strung between them like a thin thread, his expression earnest. She said naught.

  "Sinead, I feel your worry, your terror." He could taste it, he thought, and caught her face in his palms. "I must know to protect you, and … ah, do not tell me you do not need it," he chided when she opened her mouth to speak. "We have already seen what can happen even when I am near, magic or nay." His hand stroked over her wound, faded to a crescent of red. The terror he'd felt when she was dying, when she was so lost and unreachable to him only days ago, ripped through his heart. He'd nearly lost her forever, and the profound sorrow of it had left a mark on his heart. A telling cut that seemed to dash away the clouds of his mind. Sinead was more than his woman, more than his bride chosen by the king and duty. She was the second beat of his heart. And it left him troubled, for to have her completely was to reveal himself to her, and he was not ready to lose so much.

  "Do you not know that I will accept what you say with value?"

  Sinead searched his face, her soul begging for freedom, to share with him parts of herself no other knew. She swallowed and said, "Since I was a child I have had dreams of things to come."

  His expression did not change.

  "When Mother took my magic, the dreams eventually ceased and I found peace for a time." She gathered the
sheet tighter to her breast. "Only once have I ever wished for them back."

  "To know Markus would hurt you." Connal wanted to resurrect O'Brien so he could kill the bastard himself.

  She nodded. "I have dreamed since you stepped on Ireland. 'Tis the same." She looked away, wondering if she put his life in greater danger. But if he knew, would he not distrust a bit more, and see what is not clearly there? She forced herself to look him in the eye. "And in each vision, you die."

  Her voice broke, the sound cutting into his skin.

  "'Tis not unlikely," he said gently. "Given the powerful men we must deal with. And what I felt when we arrived here."

  "If someone wants me, Connal, they are willing to kill you to do it!"

  "You cannot blame yourself for aught that has yet to be."

  "And if warning you brings this to come?"

  "Do you not see?" he asked patiently. "It can only help."

  "You take a sword in the side"—she touched the very spot—"and die."

  'Twas why she was so interested in the location of his wounds when they were still in GleannAireamh, he realized.

  "And I could do naught for you!"

  His gaze snapped to her face. Silent tears slid down her cheeks, and she tried to stop them. He reached for her, pulling her onto his lap, and she came willingly.

  "I could not help you," she sobbed and tipped her face to meet his gaze. "I am bound from doing magic on you." She lifted her wrist to show him the thin chain of silver. "Mother bound me from ever touching you with it."

  His brow furrowed. "Forever?"

  "Aye. To break the oath that I've kept so long would be defying my ancestors."

  And likely steal her power, he thought.

  "But now I cannot cast to protect you. I cannot use my gifts to shield you, and if I thought breaking this vow would aid us, then I would."

  It touched him deeply that she would risk her very being to love him, to protect him. But that she could not cast on him made little difference afore and now. "There is more, though; tell me," he said softly, running his hand over her bare arm, the feel of her skin beneath his palm at once soothing and heightening his desire.

  "The sword. 'Tis not familiar, but I only see it pushing into you." She swallowed the ugliness of that fabricating in her mind again. "I cannot see who wields it—he is out of my sight, or I do not remember—but there is something I must see."

  "Any sword is dangerous and I will be wary of them all."

  She shoved him. "You make fun of me!"

  She tried to leave his lap and the bed, but his body trapped the sheet beneath him and kept her there. "Nay. But this changes naught, for we already know someone wishes to stop us, and we have finished what we came to do."

  "We leave for England, then?"

  "Aye."

  That brought no comfort, for she felt the danger would follow them more closely. "You do not go to see Rhiannon as you wished?"

  His body tensed beneath her, around her. His lips thinned to a flat line and she could feel him pushing her away. She touched the side of his face, turning it toward hers. "You ask me to share with you and yet do not with me."

  Abruptly he put her aside and stood, his back to her.

  "She does not concern you."

  "Blessed be, you are a stubborn man."

  "You talk of stubborn?" he said, rounding on her. "You are—" He found her just pulling a robe onto her shoulders.

  She looked up and stilled. His gaze moved heatedly from her face and the pale flesh she slowly covered. His body, already taut for her, hardened. He was thankful for the shield, yet the image of her fill lush form was imprinted in his mind. I will surely go mad, he thought.

  "Aye, PenDragon. Stubborn." She jerked on the sash. "Too thickheaded to see I do not wish to hurt you. To see that we must begin with trust."

  "Have you entrusted yourself to me?"

  She looked at him as if he'd grown horns. "I have this very night and afore. And do not think you can avoid this."

  His expression sharpened.

  "How can you deny what could be atween us in the same breath you have asked me to trust you?"

  "Lives are not threatened with my business with Rhiannon!"

  She shushed him. "You'll wake the entire castle."

  "As if your scream already did not."

  She arched a brow. "And if someone finds us, here like this?" She gestured to his half-naked body, her robe, and the fact that they already looked as if they'd tussled in her bed.

  He had the nerve to grin. "Then you will be duly compromised and my wife the morrow."

  She made a sour sound and walked around the bed to the sitting area: a pair of chairs near the hearth and a long narrow eating table set back from the blaze. She snapped her fingers and the branch of candles on the table burst with tiny flames. "That is not the way I wished to find…" Love, she wanted to say, but let the sentence fade to, "Myself wed." Grabbing a pitcher of wine, she sloshed some into a wooden cup and drank, then flicked a hand toward the fire. It burst to life, curling around the wood.

  "Careful. You will set this place ablaze." He frowned at the charred edge of the wood mantel.

  "Go to your chamber, Connal."

  He moved to the table, running his fingers over the surface. "You are angry with me." How furious would she be when she learned her father had signed her freedom to him, to protect her?

  "I am vexed with your constant need to hide bits and pieces from me." She eyed him over the rim of the cup.

  "I have done things you do not need to know." And he did not need to remember.

  "I care for the man afore me, not the youth who left Ireland over a decade ago."

  His shoulders moved restlessly, and he took a step closer. "That youth is gone."

  "But still as foolish."

  He felt her soften toward him, setting the cup down as he approached. "Do you care so well, Sinead?"

  He stopped close, the heat of his body like a force pushing past the velvet garment shrouding her. "We would have shared not even one kiss if I did not, Connal." If I did not love you so.

  "I want to share more. Is there a mark I must pass?"

  She lashed a hand toward the bed. "Me thinks you have hurdled one such mark, PenDragon." Aye, she thought, swept it aside with one look. The one he wore now. "You do this to distract me, I know," she warned, holding her anger tight. "I want your confidence and you want to … play."

  He laid his hand on her waist, then tugged her closer, gazing down into her crystal blue eyes. "I want more than to play with you upon yon bed, Sinead. I want to feed on your passion. Drink your cries"—he leaned and whispered in her ear—"and taste you beneath my mouth."

  Her breath snagged in her throat Images blossomed in her mind and sent her heartbeat racing.

  "All of you."

  He was near, his breath dusting her temple, his lips moving over her hair, her jaw. She'd but to turn her head and unleash the storm. And she would be lost. And she would die. "Bedding me is in exchange for your trust, then?"

  He scowled, anger surging through him. "Nay. Good God, woman, you think me so cold as to—"

  She braced her hands on his chest. "I think you are afraid of what your darkest secrets will do to what we build now, Connal," she said, sketching his features. He'd been alone so long and it had scarred him deeply, leaving him like a wounded beast batting away any tenderness for fear of more pain. "Know you now that you have tossed my love back at me countless times…" He started to speak and she silenced him with a finger to his lips. "And I shall still risk handing my heart to you."

  Her declaration struck him full force. He offered naught and she gave. He gained whilst she sacrificed. Trust was not so little a price, he thought, and as he thought back, she'd given hers from the moment she'd sworn her oath in the bailey of Croí an Banríon. She deserved better and he wanted desperately to speak the words that lay deep in his soul, words only she could hear. "You are right, I am afraid." He let out a breath and curl
ed his arms around her. "We have come far, love, and again you will look upon me with a jaundiced eye. I cannot bear that."

  "Have more faith in me," she said, then laid her head on his chest. "For I have thus in you." She squeezed her eyes shut, tightening her hold on him.

  "I've been a foolish man."

  Her smile was slow. "Did I not mention that afore?"

  He chuckled lightly. "Aye, and I am certain you will again … oh, good God."

  She frowned and he nudged her, then gestured behind them. She twisted to look toward the far end of the room near the window.

  The darkness was bright with soft green and blue balls of light darting to and fro. An instant later, like the pop of a fire, faeries appeared.

  Sinead smiled. "Galwyn! Kiarae!"

  Hovering in the air, the faery prince glared between the two, ending on Connal. "So my lord PenDragon, what think you to do with my princess on this dark night?" Dressed in a tunic of green leaves, his stance was defiant, his hand on the hilt of his tiny sword.

  "None of your bloody damn business," he growled.

  Sinead swung a look at Connal. "Do not be rude."

  "They are naught but trouble." Connal had not seen a faery since he was a boy and had thought them only legends and the thing of dreams.

  "They are my friends; now behave."

  Connal looked at her, astonished.

  "I had few playmates as a child," she explained and did not see his sympathetic smile as she gestured Galwyn closer. His mate, Kiarae, fluttered ahead, tisking softly as she pulled the robe higher over Sinead's bosom, then sent Connal a scolding glare.

  Connal winked at the female.

  Sinead sat in a chair near the fire and the faery prince perched himself on her kneecap. "Are Mother and Father fairing well? My sisters?"

  "Aye, but will not be when your father learns of this." Galwyn gestured to the mussed bed.

  "Sinead…" Connal said, his gaze locked on the faery. He knew from stories that they were a mischievous bunch and could only wonder at the tales they'd take back. "Tell this creature we are betrothed."

  She opened her mouth, but Galwyn spoke up. "There has been a ceremony?"