She studied her father's writing, then lifted her gaze. "Without these, I could not challenge anyone for you," he said, pulling on his chausses. "You know this. In the eyes of the king we are husband and wife, but"—the sharpness suddenly left his voice—"'tis only the view from your eyes that matters to me."
He faced her and stood rock still, his expression open with regret.
The single tear falling down her cheek cut him deeper than an enemy's blade. "Say something, Sinead, shout, create a storm! Be angry, for your silence is killing me." Connal saw his world falling apart, all he'd gained chipping away like a caving mountain.
"Why did you not tell me this afore?"
His throat worked. "I—I was afraid."
"You?"
"Aye. I was terrified of losing what we'd made atween us. I could not destroy the only power you had left."
She looked away briefly. "What is between us now and will be does not come from paper or your king, Connal. For I could not have shared myself with you if we did not love."
He frowned.
"To mate with a man not of true heart … I would have died then and there."
The impact of her words hit him like a blow from a mace. "You risked death?"
She nodded. "I had to be certain of your love. This"—she tossed the paper aside—"was the only way to keep the hand of men from forcing me to make another mistake. I was not sure if what I was feeling for you was that of a girl, or of a woman, new or old." She wrapped the sheet around herself, tucking it in. But Connal saw her hands shake.
He moved closer to the bed, his body rigid. "I love you, Sinead—God knows I do, but I had to do what my king required of me."
"Aye, I understand what duty means to you."
The quiet in her tone made his breath catch.
"It means naught if I lose you."
"But you did not trust me with this."
"Aye. Aye!" He plowed his fingers through his hair. "I felt trapped by the king's orders and my love for you. But…" He went quiet for a moment, a terrible decision coming to him. "If you wish it, I will beg his favor and ask him to release you from this contract."
Sinead inhaled, her heart dropping to her stomach. "You want that?"
"Nay, I do not! But I will not have you thinking I spoke words of love just to get your lands and get you into my bed!"
"You'd always wanted the holdings, Connal; that you never made secret. If you'd spoken of love firstly, I would never have trusted a thing you said."
"And now?"
"What do you think?"
"God above, I never know the twist of your mind."
"Oh, Connal," she said softly and, gathering hope in the look on her face, he bent a knee to the bed. "You have punished yourself for Patrick and Rhiannon's crime, do not punish yourself for my father's." Scarred and seasoned, he stood afore her, his heart exposed, waiting. Sinead understood how much he loved her, for to defy Richard to please her would cost him more than his knighthood. It would cost him who he was.
"I have lied to you," he said dully.
On her knees on the bed, she met his gaze. "My father has, and he let the responsibility fall on you." She laughed gently, sympathetically. "For which he will answer. But I have wanted you for all time, Connal. I have already willingly given my consent. What matters now with that?" She flicked a hand at the documents.
"You can forgive me?"
She reached for him and he wrapped his arms around her. "Aye. You are the man I love, have always loved."
"God," he groaned, squeezing her.
"You are sworn to Richard, but a knight for Ireland."
He smiled, his throat thick.
"I trust you, Connal." He leaned back to meet her gaze. "With my heart, and now my lands, and the care of my people." A faint yellow light glowed from around her.
"Sinead?" He sat back on his haunches as she closed her eyes, extending her arms out just above her bare waist, palms up, as if to catch something in her hands. "Sinead?"
"Hush, my love."
A serenity swept her expression, a calm he felt in his soul.
"Tuatha De Dannon, Warrior creed. Strength is born, in silver seed."
The air above her hands shifted like lustrous water. Thickening, luminescent.
"From the earth and forged by fire. Grant my knight, his right of power."
A breath later, his sword, the one he'd cast aside so long ago in a fit of rage, lay upon her palms.
Slowly her eyes opened. "What is mine, I share with you, Connal."
She held out the sword. He did not touch it.
An incredible sense of humility engulfed him, and Connal swallowed. "Sinead, I—I—" His gaze swept up and down the steel hammered and polished to a fine silver. Did she know what this meant to him? To have this sword in his grasp? To have her return it to him? When she'd first produced it in the solar of Croí an Banríon, he'd felt his entire body call to it. His heart screamed for him to return to the man he was before he'd thrown it at his father's feet. And now she offered it back.
"'Tis no ordinary sword, Connal." She studied briefly the Celtic knots carved into the shaft, the hilt, and blending onto the blade in never-ending curls. "My father and mother gave it to you when you were knighted, aye, yet 'twas forged on Rathlin Island, by Cathal."
His gaze flashed to her. Cathal. The Druid prince and her grandfather, lover to Queen Egrain. Fionna's parents.
"The metal is from beyond the mark of time, and it shines because of Egrain's touch." Still he did not take it. "They knew then, what was to be."
"You said you kept it because the prince was no longer."
"You are not a prince, aye." She laid the sword across his hands, her gaze locked tight with his as she said, "But you are the laird of the Nine Gleanns, my love."
Connal held the sword reverently for a moment, then the warrior in him turned it to test the balance. The grip molded to the shape of his hand, hummed with strength and power.
Sinead smiled, swiping at a tear. He cupped the back of her head and drew her down for a soul-stripping kiss. "Thank you, my heart." His voice fractured. "You have no notion how much this means to me."
"Aye, I do."
He met her gaze and knew she was right. Laying the sword on the side of the bed, he pulled her into his arms and drew her down onto the bedding.
"I am a fortunate man," he whispered against her temple.
"Aye, that you are, and I shall be remindin' you of it nightly, my lord."
He laughed and rolled on top of her, and Connal PenDragon decided then that the luck of the Irish held little in comparison to the fortune of loving a red-haired, fast-tempered Irish witch. Aye, he thought. He'd won the heart of the Queen of the Gleanns. And with it came deliverance.
* * *
The ceremony was held outside, at midnight. The witching hour.
Connal though it rather appropriate; Sinead said 'twas simply the thinnest time atween two worlds and she wanted the spirits of Cathal and Egrain to witness this moment they predicted before she and Connal were even born.
Yet as he stood a couple of feet from her in the courtyard, his gaze moving over her face and the deep green garments she'd worn that first day on the beach, Connal knew now that he was helpless but to love her and only her.
He murmured the words, and as Sinead stumbled over a few, they noticed little around them. Not the friar shaking in his leather shoes. Nor the smiling crowd of knights and soldiers perched like elves about the barren stone walls. Nor the firelight of faeries whipping to and fro.
They only saw each other. Her hands in his grasp, Connal decided she was highly amused by all this and found it unnecessary in her eyes. To her the first time they'd made love was enough to seal them forever. That she did this to please him, to please the masses, made him love her more for it.
The friar cleared his throat. "Ah … my lord, 'tis done."
Sinead smiled and stepped into Connal's open arms, kissing him deeply. Above them the black sky lit w
ith lightning, shimmered with blue and yellow stars.
The bonfire rose and kissed the clouds.
Connal drew back and looked heavenward. Then he laughed and kissed her again.
"I love you," he said against her mouth.
"That, my knight, I know."
A moment later she was yanked from him and kissed by Galeron. The eagerness of it told Connal the man had wanted to do such for a while. Connal shoved his shoulder, breaking them apart, then glared at the man. Galeron simply smacked his lips and wiggled his brows. While Branor only brushed a quick kiss to her cheek. Nahjar, who grinned through the entire process, stood with his arms folded over his chest, his gaze moving from one to the other.
"Nary a bit of wisdom to impart, Nahjar?" Connal asked as everyone around them proceeded to get drunk.
"Keep his bed warm," he said to Sinead. "And her heart happy," he said to Connal. "For a man with an unhappy wife leads a miserable life."
"Speaking from experience are you now, Nahjar?" Sinead said.
"Yes, Sajin's lady."
Connal looked down at his wife. "Well then, think you should get started on that?"
"My task is easy; what about yours?" She arched a red brow.
"I endeavor to please thee."
"Then pay the priest. If he crosses himself once more I fear he'll bore a hole in his forehead."
Laughing to himself, Connal did just that, offering food and drink to the stout friar. The man, amazed and awed by what he'd witnessed during the ceremony, refused, crossed himself, and ran to his pony.
Murphy stood off to the side, sobbing into her apron. Connal hugged her, patting her back, and the woman wailed loudly, clutching him to her. When she was calm, he kissed her plump cheek. She blushed rosily and said, "Now give me some babies to care for."
Connal grinned and winked at her, moving to his wife and scooping her up in his arms. He carried her through their home, to his bed. In the darkness of his chamber, surrounded by vines and trees, the scent of moss and flowers lingering, Connal made slow, patient love to his bride. And never in his life knew such happiness. And was completely unaware that their loving world was about to come tumbling down around them, and his faith in her magic would be tested.
* * *
Chapter 19
« ^ »
Hidden in the woods, a mile from PenDragon's manor, Angus O'Brien squatted by a small fire. Across from him sat two other men, his brother's vassals. Both were near asleep where they sat.
Angus chewed on a piece of smoked meat, not meeting their gazes, but their gaunt faces and beggarly garments were a testimony to all they'd lost. The men had lost rights and pride. Angus had lost people. The impact of it was startling in the quiet darkness. He should be accustomed to this, he thought, rubbing his forehead, and missing his brothers. His home. Christ, he hated England.
Aye, he thought, he just plain hated. PenDragon, Richard, the witch. Naught that all he'd lost could be returned to him, and he knew Prince John would not pay him more, nor would he be rewarded for killing the knight and his witch.
Angus never expected reward from Prince John.
For that, he'd had to be of some great benefit to the prince. And Angus was neither a landholder nor a man with connections and power. He'd naught left to lose, and all Prince John held over him was his life.
He no longer cared, and that made him dangerous, he thought.
This was satisfaction of honor. Those who committed the crimes needed to be held accountable. PenDragon would pay for taking Angus's little brother to war and getting the lad killed. Angus chose not to see that his brother had gone willingly. That Keith had been awestruck when he'd first seen PenDragon astride his dark silver mount and fully armored. Naught could convince the youth that death came to those who followed PenDragon and King Richard.
The Lion Hearted would come back to naught, he thought with a smirk. And he deserved to lose his throne. Not that Prince John was any better at leading. But 'twas Richard who'd stripped his sect of the O'Briens of their lands and holdings.
Because of Markus. For DeClare. For the witch.
A part of him still wrapped in decency cursed Markus for his behavior. Angus had warned him that marrying Sinead was wrong, and keeping her for her power would come back to him threefold. And it had. Angus rubbed his face with both hands, the memory of DeClare taking his brother's head in one swipe repeating in his mind. The blood had splashed him, wet his boots.
And he'd pissed in his chausses.
Markus had never understood that the witch's power came from her Druid blood and a pure heart. No one could take it, nor force her to use it.
But Angus knew how to stop her. He'd already managed to get an arrow in her, and 'twas good for him that he'd had another man in the trees. He'd slipped away without notice whilst the archers had turned Michael into a quilled hedgehog. Taking another bite of the dried meat, he used his foot to nudge a log farther into the flames.
"How we gonna get to him, Angus? He's inside the walls."
"I'm thinking." Angus hadn't counted on Prince John wanting the witch. God, he was just like Markus. But if Angus didn't bring the witch out and to the prince, then he'd find his own head on a pike in London. Though he'd bet his last coin that Prince John was already heading this way. He enjoyed amusement too much. Enjoyed wielding his power and cutting lives out of existence.
Angus did not care if he died, only that PenDragon and the witch died with him.
"Angus?"
"Shut up, I'm thinking, I say."
"A strain, I'm sure."
Angus looked up, his features tightening as a tall slender figure moved into the light. He went for his sword and felt the impact of a boot to his head an instant later.
"Do not ever draw on me."
Angus shook his head, a heavy buzzing atween his ears. There were two other knights behind him. "He said I had one more chance to kill him."
"A misconception. But then, you haven't been awarded his holdings, have you?"
Angus smirked to himself, touching the bloody spot on the back of his head and rubbing the stain between his fingers. "You think to get the witch's lands by killing him. They do not belong to him. Only yon manor." Angus enjoyed the sheriff's surprise, and his doubt. "Aye, she is the ruler, and even if you did kill him and claim them, the earls will not stand for that, for PenDragon has done naught to you. Or the prince. There is only so much thievery a royal … or a sheriff can do afore the whole of England demands justice."
The sheriff inspected a tassel hanging from his cloak. "Yet you planned to kill them."
"I've me own reasons. I want only their death and I've naught to lose."
The sheriff whipped his blade to stop just under Angus's throat. "Your life?"
Angus met his gaze steadily. "Fine, take it. But I know much about the witch and PenDragon. All you know is hearsay."
The sheriff considered that for a moment, then lowered the blade. "Tell me what she can do."
Angus laughed, an ugly tortured sound.
* * *
The dream woke her. She flinched against Connal and he stirred. "Sinead, what is the matter?" His speech was slurred with sleep.
"Shh," she hushed quietly. "Return to sleep, love."
She eased out of his embrace, and Connal caught her hand, his lids lifting slowly. "'Twas the dream?"
"Aye." She leaned to kiss him and whispered, "Sleep. I only need a bit of air."
"Stay inside and be careful."
"I will." She smiled against his mouth. "Dream of me loving you."
He gave her a sleepy grin. "Always, my witch." She covered him against the cold and slipped from the bed, donning her velvet robe as she moved to the door. She stopped suddenly and shrugged to herself; then, concentrating on where she wanted to be, she turned slowly, whispering the words of change. An instant later she was in the cook house.
She was starving and foraged in the cupboards and peeked under limp cloths. Finding bread and cheese and a bit o
f roasted meat, she sliced off a portion of each, thinking that she should bring some back to the chamber for Connal. She nibbled, looking around. The stone-walled room was immaculate, the floor swept of debris and crumbs, and she noticed a scrap pot near the door, likely for the pigs or dogs, though she'd seen neither when she arrived.
"M'lady?" came in a whisper, and Sinead spun about, looking guilty with a crust of bread hanging out of her mouth. She snatched it.
"Forgive me, Murphy."
"Tish tosh, you're hungry, and if I may say, lass, 'tis good to see you about." The older woman righted her cap as she trotted over to the worktable. "We was all wonderin' if the master was going to let you out of his sight."
Sinead blushed, knowing they'd spent a day and a night in their chambers and had not shown themselves belowstairs for meals. She could only imagine the talk when Connal had bellowed for food and wine, then shut the door again.
Murphy pulled back several cloths tucked over bowls and platters.
"Oh, nay, this is plenty." She gestured to the bread and cheese. "Will you join me, though?"
"I was plannin' on it." Murphy inspected the treats, then spooned up a concoction that was thick with cream, apples, and—aye, Sinead smelled cinnamon. Connal had brought some home, and 'twas a divine scent.
They shared the food, talking softly. Sinead was fascinated by the stories the woman told of Connal's return. When he had not been off fighting for Richard, mostly in the west, he was here in this house. Brooding and stomping about, as Murphy was like to say.
"I've a treat, lovey," Murphy said and slid off her stool. "We've got us some fresh milk out back, and with that spice my lord brought back from the Holy Land, well, you've never had such so good." She was nearly to the rear door when she paused and said, "Did he show you his treasures?"
Sinead shook her head.
"He brought gold and fabrics and spices of all kinds, sacks of them, and fruits and berries, and this odd little bean that you cannot eat."
THE IRISH KNIGHT Page 24
