As the boy raced on ahead aboard ship, her gaze shifted to Connal. He grinned, winking at her, and she smiled.
Nahjar looked between the pair. "You have made her yours, Sajin?"
"She's mine regardless of what is said and done." Connal took a step back onto the gangplank.
"You have the gift of love, Sajin; do not toy with it unwisely."
He paused, frowning at Nahjar. "You're full of wisdom this morning. And I am too tired to reason with it." He'd gained little sleep last night, half from sensing they were about to be betrayed.
"She knows of the message from her castle, then?"
Connal's gaze snapped to the Moor's. "What do you know of that?"
"Monroe saw the messenger at DeCourcy's castle and wondered why his own vassal did not come to him and simply rode off."
Inwardly, Connal groaned. His time was running out. Sinead would soon learn of the contracts, and he wanted her to hear it from him. He'd tell her this night, he thought, and suspected the voyage to England would be a rough one.
Connal back-stepped up the ramp, pulling Ronan. He spoke soothingly to the great war horse, leading him down below into the hull and securing him. Men were already aboard and Connal wanted to be underway. He returned topside, coming to Sinead's side.
He smiled down at her, absorbing her presence and hiding his regret. This close to her, what he sensed and what he felt became entangled till all he knew was the beat of her heart. And how it drew him closer to her, wanting her more. And now he was trapped in a game of his own making. How was he to tell her of the contract? That her father had taken away the choice she valued so greatly? For Sinead, 'twas her only leverage, and now it was gone. She was his wife in the eyes of the king. His bride.
God above, she was going to be furious, and he held little hope that this would fall on her father's shoulders.
"Connal?"
He focused on her, leaning down to kiss her. Her response was eager with freedom and Connal wanted to get her alone to taste more of it.
"We leave now?"
"Aye, the tide is high enough." He signaled the captain, and the men rushed to prepare for sail. He took her arm, leading her to the vessel.
"So … when is the wedding?" Galeron spoke up from behind.
Branor snapped a look at them, his gaze jerking between and settling on Connal. "So you've convinced her, then."
"Thank God," Monroe said on a sigh.
Connal's gaze was on Sinead, his breath held.
"As soon as 'tis wise and possible," she said. "Aye?"
Connal choked. "I've been damn near begging and you think now I would back away?"
She cocked her head. "You demanded for the king, Connal. Not once did you beseech me."
He adjusted the cloak around her neck, pulling up the hood. The wind licked at the white fur, dancing the edges across her cheek. He'd never known such fortune and was fain to lose it. "I love you, Sinead," he said for all to hear. "Will you marry me?"
"Aye," she chirped and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him. A cheer rose from the men and, as she leaned back, a blush stole over her cheeks. Connal laughed and, taking her arm, led her to the ship. He set foot on the deck and stilled, turning sharply, scowling at the crowds melting down the avenue.
"'Tis the same you felt afore?" she whispered.
"Aye. Rage, a strange kinship."
"Think you mayhaps this killer is Irish, Connal?"
"Mayhaps." He studied the faces. "Though DeCourcy said that Walter DeLacy had seen Richard's banner in a fallen trunk."
"But some of your men have been here awhile. Could it not have been one of them and the banner one from your collection?"
"Aye, it could have." But Connal had given no orders to seclude themselves. His plans here in Ireland had never been a grand secret and he suspected that Prince John's justiciar, Pipard, was up to no good. He motioned to Branor.
"We cast off. Now."
"Aye, my lord." Sir Branor glanced at the streets, then immediately shouted orders, and men raced aboard.
Connal left Sinead at the bow and went to help. The sail unfurled, filling with air. Then, just as quickly, the lines snapped, the sail falling to the deck. A heartbeat passed afore a hail of arrows sliced the air, showering the vessel.
* * *
Chapter 18
« ^ »
Arrows thunked into flesh and wood. Screams of pain and shouts of command crossed like racing steeds. Connal shouted to arms and his troop returned fire as plainly dressed men raced from the alleyways and toward the vessel. When a few tried to overtake the gangplank, Connal heaved it into the sea. Some men fell into the icy water; others were killed with PenDragon arrows.
Yet the rain of firepower kept coming.
And without sail, they could not move.
Then a flame-tipped arrow plunged into the deck and fire erupted.
Connal spun about and looked to Sinead. Instantly she lowered her hand and the fire extinguished; then she stood at the bow, facing the mast, and Connal knew he'd see her riddled with arrows.
Yet she shouted to the wind and water, raising her arms to the sky. The sail lifted from the deck, filling with air. The sea churned and in a great shove pushed the ship away.
On shore, like an avalanche of men and horses, DeCourcy's vassals swarmed down the streets and beset their attackers. Connal was grateful that DeCourcy had acted on his suspicions, yet not afore more flaming arrows hit the deck. Men scrambled to douse the flames as they broke away from the wharf, lurching deeply. Still the arrows came, and Connal climbed over ropes and kegs to get to Sinead. Out of the corner of his eye, and amid the fighting on shore, he saw a man running toward the ship, a javelin poised on his shoulder.
Connal shouted, "Get down!" a moment afore the staff flew through the air. It pierced the deck at Sinead's feet, vibrating with the impact. Sinead's eyes widened at the sight of it, yet she concentrated on keeping the sails filled with air. She chanted, willing the wind to knock their attackers into the sea. The dock broke under their feet, men and carts tumbling into the cold, dark water.
The crew and soldiers cheered.
Connal bellowed orders to the sailors, and like monkeys he'd seen in the east, they scrambled up rope lines to make repairs. When the ship was too far away for an arrow's range, Connal came to Sinead. Her lips moved silently as the lads tied off new ropes.
"'Tis done," he said, and she fell back against him. "My thanks, love."
She looked up at him. "'Tis an Irish weapon, Connal," she said, pointing to the javelin. Connal jerked it out of the wood deck, his gaze shifting from the weapon to the men still on shore.
"They wanted to stop us from reaching England. That means that Prince John is near completing his quest for the throne." He looked at her. "Can you help us get to England faster?"
"Aye."
He was staring at the shore, at the attackers, and thought he recognized one of them but couldn't be certain. He snapped the javelin across his knee and threw the pieces into the ocean. He should have had the ship sail farther up the coast and meet them in the north, he thought, but the coves were not deep enough to accommodate the Syrian vessel.
"Go to the cabin." He pointed. "Lock yourself in.
"Connal?"
"Go, Sinead. Do not let anyone but me inside. And do what you can to speed our journey."
For once she obeyed, hurrying to the small door and ducking inside.
* * *
Magic called to the wind and sea, sending the pair of vessels across the ocean in half the time and enabling them to land on the shores of England without incident. Connal considered it more magic than a stroke of luck that they were not met by Prince John's army, and yet his reservations grew when Richard was not at the rendezvous. Had he not gained his ransom? Was the king traveling still? There was no way of knowing either, yet he left behind two squads and, with Sinead, crossed the land to his manor.
When they arrived, it was Sinead's expression that made him
laugh.
"This is yours?"
"Aye." He rubbed his mouth to hide a smile.
"And you thought it best to not tell me?"
"I simply forgot."
She sent him an impatient glance, then let her gaze move over the manor. 'Twas massive, elegant, towering over a small courtyard and bailey and, being Connal's, 'twas fortified with a wall twelve feet thick.
"And so why were you needin' my lands and castle, PenDragon?"
Connal winced. "'Twas the location that made the difference, Sinead," he said, escorting her over the threshold. "And now you."
Pausing, she met his gaze, her smile filled with tender love as she touched the side of his face and kissed him. His arm tightened around her and he whispered his love, then led her inside.
She inhaled at the opulent decor, the walls draped in silks and wools to keep back the cold. The entrance so unlike the castles she'd seen, but more like a room, a chamber.
Connal watched her expression, adoring her wonder, and when she rushed to a chair and sat, testing its cushion, he smothered a laugh.
"'Tis beautiful, so fine." Her gaze shot to him as she stood. "You do not let knights in armor and mud in here, do you?"
"Nay, lassie, not if I have any say," another voice spoke up.
"And you say a great deal," Connal shot back, tossing his cloak to a waiting servant.
Sinead whipped around as a round little woman hustled from somewhere in the back of the house, rubbing her hands on the apron tied about her middle.
"Ooo, my lord, you've brought her to us." Sinead looked at Connal, then the woman, as she rushed her and gave her a warm hug. Sinead laughed and returned it.
Connal came near, taking Sinead's cloak. "This is the Lady Sinead O'Donnel DeClare. Sinead, my, ah, steward, Mistress Murphy."
Murphy grinned, her face rosy like a ripe apple in the sun. "Ah, the Princess of the Nine Gleanns," Murphy said reverently. "Oh, Goddess be blessed."
Sinead smiled and nodded. "What is that you do here, mistress?"
"Oh, call me Murphy, never was one for the formal titles."
"Murphy feels 'tis her duty to peck me to death, make me wash behind my ears, and eat green food." He shivered.
Sinead burst with laughter, looking at Connal through new eyes.
"Oh, he goes on like that, but he needs looking after, you know."
Sinead only glanced up and down at Connal.
"And he's never here, oh land, he be staying a bit now."
Connal did not want to disappoint the woman by revealing that their time here would be short. He already missed Ireland. "Is everything prepared, Murphy?"
"Aye, my lord, all is right and well."
"Show the Lady Sinead to her chamber then." Murphy nodded and gestured, but Sinead turned to Connal, her hands on her hips. "What are you about, PenDragon? I can tell by that look."
"What look?"
"The one that says you've secrets to keep."
His expression softened and he grasped her shoulders and confessed, "I've sent for a priest."
"Oh."
"That's it, oh?"
She smiled slyly, running her hand over the fine brown velvet of his tunic, and said, "We do not need a ceremony, Connal; we exchanged binding words in the forest and all of nature witnessed our joining. 'Tis done. For eternity."
He grinned widely, ignoring Murphy's overloud tisking. "I want this marriage binding by law."
She shrugged. "Fine."
"Fine?"
"A priest's words mean naught to me, but call him, if 'tis your desire."
He bent close and whispered, "My desire right now is to have you in my bed, naked and panting."
They'd shared a bed but not each other on the ship. Mostly because Connal suspected they'd brought a traitor on board and he manned a watch. But during the trip, with her near him, undressing in front of him, kissing him like tomorrow would not come, his little witch left him walking about with an uncomfortable heaviness in his groin. The thought of satisfying her made him harder.
"Ah, you are just in a rutting mood, then."
He choked.
"Well, then," she said, slipping out of his arms, "mayhaps we should remain apart till your priest arrives."
He scowled. Her look was too dammed innocent just then. "Not bloody likely."
"A fine notion, aye," Murphy put in, her head bobbing, though no one had asked her opinion.
Sinead headed to the stairs, then paused to cock a look back over her shoulder. Her eyes teased with mischief. "I shall see you when he has arrived."
With a look of dark promise, Connal headed after her, and she shrieked and ran up the stairs, her skirt hiked. Murphy stood at the base, watching them, smiling when her lord caught his lady and swept her into his arms and headed toward his chamber.
"Was that the new lady?" Peg, a young woman asked, fixing her cap.
"Aye, 'twas her, the princess, the witch."
Peg gasped.
"And she's brought love into this house. And to our Connal." Murphy could not be more pleased.
Peg smiled, her gaze shifting toward the door. With a scream that made Murphy wince, the other woman called out to Galeron and ran. He scooped her up in his arms and kissed her soundly.
"Ah!" Murphy crowed. "Put that child down and behave, Sir Galeron. Or I'll be tossing you into the pigsty again."
"Aye lady Murphy." He kissed Peg anyway, cupping her soft behind.
"Oh tish tosh," Murphy fussed and headed for the kitchen.
* * *
At the news, Prince John threw the goblet, yet took no satisfaction as the costly mirror shattered and fell to the carpet.
The room went silent, a man backing away. He whirled and pointed. "Stay!" The Irishman froze.
"The rest of you, get out!" The chamber emptied, and the two men stood alone. John walked up to him, his stare unwavering. "One man, and you could not kill him."
"I couldn't get close enough t—"
The look on the prince's face froze the words in his throat.
"Bring me the witch, and he will come."
The man nodded.
The prince took a step away, then turned back. "This is your last chance, then the task is mine."
The Irishman nodded. John flicked a hand toward them, and as the man left, he turned toward the window. He stared at naught, his mind racing.
He heard someone enter.
"I will arrive in a day's time," he said, still looking out the window, his hands folded at the small of his back. "I expect things to be handled well."
"Aye, your highness. If I have to kill him myself." John cocked a look at the dark-haired man. "Why? He's done naught to you."
The sheriff shrugged. "Interesting prospect, killing the king's first knight."
John held his gaze a moment longer, then smiled. "Take who and what you need and follow the Irishman. I do not trust him. PenDragon has gathered strange loyalties in Ireland. And I would not count that Richard is far behind."
"Then we must act quickly, sire."
"Then, my dear sheriff, what are you still doing here?"
* * *
Abovestairs, in the biggest bed Sinead had ever seen, Connal plunged into her, his mouth a heated brand on hers. Their bodies slick with sweat, they moved like the sea, in perfect rhythm, as he claimed her again. Each long, measured thrust built the fire atween them. Sinead locked her legs around his waist, pulling him back harder, and 'twas a nuance of hers Connal was beginning to understand. He shoved harder and she moaned deeply, her fingers digging into his arms.
She was exquisite in the arms of desire, free with her love and her body, and Connal watched her pleasure erupt in a sweet rippling wave that pulled him into her. He scooped her up off the bed, driving deeper, clinging to her as his world shattered and came together in one moment of pleasure.
"Ah, Connal," she said against his mouth as the last shudders twisted through her. He felt each tremor, the pulse of her erotically tight. Around them, th
e vines receded, the bed reshaped from the tree limbs to the carved frame. The fire settled in the hearth. He was growing accustomed to the changes in their surroundings, and yet each time it left him in awe.
He looked down at her, pushing damp curls from her face.
"I do not think I could have waited for your priest," she said, her eyes sparkling.
He laughed quietly. "Nor I."
They fell down onto the bed, and Connal kissed her gently, his hand moving down her spine and cupping her buttocks. "My want of you beneath my hands is a constant madness."
She smiled. "You used more than hands," she said boldly, her eyes sparkling. "Clever man."
He laughed and rolled to his back, taking her with him. Sinead gazed into his green eyes, sighing with contentment. Physical love was new to her, exciting, and the passion bottled up inside her was only just beginning to open. She wanted him, right now, she thought with a bit of surprise. For he understood her needs as she did his, each touch and kiss speaking of boundless love, and once hidden, the uncapping of it showered on her.
She smiled at him.
"What?"
"I'm wishing your priest has been and gone and I was your wife."
"You already are," he said without thinking, and cursed himself ten times the fool.
Her eyes flew wide and she sat up. "What say you, Connal?"
He hedged for a moment. "Your father signed the contracts and sent them in secret by messenger to me at DeCourcy's."
"More the forest." Her voice sounded lifeless and his guilt spread to shame.
"I could not tell you. 'Twas what you prided so well, love."
"All that was said was a lie?" Tears wet her eyes and slashed his heart.
"Nay, dammit, nay! You know I speak the truth." When she made to leave the bed, he grabbed her arms and held her there. "I love you. The papers mean little."
"To you, mayhaps. But men control a woman's world, Connal, and that was my choice that father gave to you."
"Then be mad at him, not me."
"You wanted it all along and yet you kept it from me."
"Aye, and still, at this hour, this day, I would have, for I wanted your love, I wanted you to come to me for love! And not because of a signature on a paper!" When she simply stared, looking wounded and fragile, he thrust from the bed, and naked, he searched his packs for the missives and banded them to her. "Read your father's letter. He feared for your life still and thought it best."
THE IRISH KNIGHT Page 23
