The Irish Princess Read online

  She frowned, confusion rippling across her beautiful face before she nodded. He followed her off the dais toward a partition, yet when he touched her shoulder, she instantly spun about, her dagger at his ribs, her clansmen lurching forward.

  Commands to be still, and the sound of swords scraping against scabbards scarred the silence. Siobhàn's gaze slipped over the crowd, fear and anger on their faces, the camaraderie of rage from the knights restraining them. She swung her gaze to his.

  "Order them back, lady, or they will die this night."

  "Once again you have proven your strength will crush the weak, PenDragon."

  His features yanked taut and for an instant he felt like the bully in the yard. "Do not fight me, village princess. I will win."

  She tilted her head, her stubbornness softening. "And what will you win but the hatred of an entire race, sir?"

  "I do not care."

  Her expression tightened. "Then 'tis true, you have no soul."

  He gritted his teeth. "How long will you abide this test of wills? To the point of battle?" He waved at the knights and squires, weapons trained on her folk. "Would you slay me in my sleep then? For I am here, princess, in possession. You have already submitted. I have Donegal."

  Foolish man. "I have submitted to naught but your invasion of my home without bloodshed. And you, mercenary, know only of war, taking heedlessly what we value most dearly. Conquering Donegal is not belonging to Donegal."

  Something moved in his eyes then, and Siobhàn wished she could decipher it.

  "My lady?"

  Siobhàn turned, discreetly sheathing her blade at her waist. Driscoll and Brody appeared ready to murder the man and she moved toward them, leaving Gaelan to stare after her. "I am well able to handle him, Driscoll."

  "The bastard means to burn us out—"

  She hushed him. "I will not allow it. I will give him my head before I will allow a single stick to be burned."

  Driscoll's features twisted with shame. She would give her life for them without consequence, but it was his duty to see that did not happen. "Forgive me, princess. I know that, yet the PenDragon is not a man to compromise."

  "He must," she said with complete finality. "But I need you to keep calm, please. More is at risk than our pride," she added, laying her hand on his arm. "My thanks for your vigilance, Driscoll." She smiled softly up at the brawny Irishman. "I take comfort in your presence." His harsh look eased and he patted her hand. She looked beyond him to the rest. "Please," she called, and faces turned to her. "Eat, drink sweet wine. Dance." She clapped twice and the music rose on brittle air. "PenDragon and I have much to discuss." She met Rhiannon's gaze, encouraging her to calm the folk, and her sister moved through the crowd, pouring wine for the knights. Maids carried platters of roasted mutton, still-steaming bread and the first of the harvested vegetables to the tables as she turned back to Gaelan.

  She could not interpret the look on his face … then decided 'twas wisest not to speculate.

  But Gaelan realized he jeopardized more than his future with his temper and though he'd come here with clear intent, her presence and position suddenly made him cautious. "There is plenty of time to discuss the contracts, lady," he said for all to hear. "I am not going anywhere."

  His sudden change of temperament aroused her suspicions and she eyed him warily. "Neither am I." She moved back to the dais, ordering the table replaced before taking her seat and pouring wine into two goblets. After a moment, he joined her in the opposite chair.

  "Shall we deal with the matter of your falsehood?"

  Holding the pitcher, she reared back. "I gave no lie to who I am."

  He leaned. "You could have told me in the barn."

  She glanced to the side to see if anyone heard. "When you were mauling me?"

  "I remember differently."

  "Of course you do." She shrugged, setting the container down. "You are a man." She handed him the goblet and he took a huge sip. "Had you known who I was in the field, and with your intent, you would have kidnapped me and held me for ransom."

  "Aye."

  "And none would have been paid."

  He arched a brow.

  "Unless your desire was payment in cows."

  His lips quirked at that. "You were wise to open the gates, Siobhàn."

  She stilled, the cup halfway to her lips at the sound of her name on his lips. "I avoided a slaughter."

  He agreed. "You bent to a greater will."

  She set the goblet down with a snap, her eyes flaring with swift anger. "Bending, molding, crushing under your feet, 'tis all you know, PenDragon. And coin from your sovereign is all you desire!"

  With a velvety look over her body, he said, "I desire you."

  She inhaled, a tingling skating over her skin. "I pity you." She stood abruptly, furious with his high-handed manner. "Had you a tender life and home, mayhaps you could understand why I will not bend." She leaned closer, pinning him with her green gaze. "And why I will never swear fealty to a barren horse of a man, English or nay!"

  Gaelan watched her go, her fiery temper stirring him, and her words this night striking him hard. For she was right. He knew not of home and hearth and the value these folk set upon it. He'd been alone since he lost his brother on the battlefield and wanted no one's pity for it. But he was in possession of Donegal and if she thought her defiance would alter that, she'd discover differently. His intention to take the keep in exchange for coin had not changed. Henry's desire was that Gaelan take it for himself, install his army here and lord over the sea border, remaining the king's guardian on the Irish shore. King Henry wanted this area pulled into the government he was establishing in Dublin, Meath and Waterford, and Gaelan realized that until today, these people were untouched by the outside. And for reasons he chose not to name, he was loathe to make this place a battleground. But if she forced him, he would. He knew no other way.

  He turned his head when Raymond moved near, sliding onto the bench. "She took my breath away, Gaelan, I swear. That"—he nodded to Siobhàn—"is why men go to war."

  Aye, Gaelan thought, slumping into the chair. "She minces no words, eh?"

  Raymond watched Gaelan watch the princess and hid a grin. "What will you do? She has openly refused your claim."

  "'Tis Henry's claim and I will force it." He had to. Without it he would not have the compliance of her people.

  "'Tis not as you expected, nor I. Even Henry cannot know of the small forces here."

  Gaelan spared him a glance. "Do not ease your vigil, DeClare. We have not seen many warriors, yet that does not mean they do not exist."

  Raymond agreed.

  "We must contend with the neighboring lords, the princes," he said with a smirk. "They were too numerous in Meath and could control only their kingdoms." He returned his gaze to Siobhàn. "But what if they gather to war for her?"

  "Hold her hostage," Raymond said simply. "They will not war with the threat to kill her."

  "Mayhaps, but what of the ambush? She could have sent the brigands." When Raymond opened his mouth to protest, Gaelan added, "See beyond the beauty, man, and do not discount the woman, nor the treachery of her people. We will live longer."

  From his position he watched her move about the room, ignoring him and focusing on his knights. They showed her due respect, leaping to their feet and greeting her. Her smile was open, unrestrained for them. She has yet to smile for me, he thought, irritated with the thought. A maid lumbered with a heavy platter to the table and she lurched to help her, sampling the meat before ordering it sliced. Yet he heard her praise the servant on the seasoning, then looked about for the cook. His gaze darted to the wafer-thin woman near a door, then back to Siobhàn, and saw her wave and nod. She moved off, stopping to introduce herself to Reese and bless the big lad, he blushed ten shades to red as he kissed her hand. She treated him equally, offering a seat and a dinner companion, a pretty young fair-haired girl who smiled as shyly as Reese.

  Gaelan sipped his wine, wond
ering who was the woman enchanting his knights with her smile. He'd expected to find a haughty princess, too frightened to greet him. And he found a woman more villager than noble. Was this all for his benefit? he wondered, and as she neared the end of the table, the bells in her hair chimed like the "fairy talk" the pages spoke about. All Gaelan knew was that they lured him like a sorceress's spell and he wanted to put his hands in her hair and make them sing. His doubt of her honesty burned to ashes when she stuffed a cloth in her girdle like an apron, walking about for a second, then snatching it off when she realized her blunder.

  As if feeling his gaze on her, she tipped her head. Her smile melted from her face, pure distaste in her eyes. It hit him like a slap, stinging his pride. She dipped a curtsey lacking in respect and turned, coming face-to-face with Owen. Gaelan straightened in his chair, aware of Owen's disdain for the Irish. Owen bowed his head and spoke and Gaelan wished he could hear. Yet he knew the man had asked her forgiveness when he started to kneel and she caught him, shaking her head. Owen smiled for the first time since he'd struck her down, and Gaelan knew she'd absolved him.

  Strange woman, he thought as knights and squires suddenly lurched back as if a hand stroked through the crowd. Gaelan frowned, rising to his feet to see the problem. The huge animal Culhainn lumbered toward her. She spoke to the beast as if he understood and it responded with a bark. Siobhàn turned, searching the crowd, and he watched her gaze grow wide and land somewhere near his feet. He looked down.

  A small russet-haired boy stared up at him with something akin to awe. He yawned hugely, knuckling his eyes, then stared some more.

  "Are you the bloody English fool?"

  Beside him, Raymond sputtered with quiet laughter and Gaelan glared, then looked back at the boy, uncomfortable with his intense study.

  "Have you rocks in there?" the child said, squeezing his calve above his boot. "'Tis lumpy." The lad tipped his head to the side. "You've come to kill me, haven't you?"

  Gaelan's feature yanked taut and he was about to bend to him when Siobhàn rushed forward, scooping the child up and holding him protectively away from him.

  "Princess, I would not harm the child." It stung that she thought he would.

  "He is a big one, aye?" the boy said.

  "Aye," she whispered as she lovingly stroked the child's hair. "You should be abed."

  "Culhainn woke me."

  A sick feeling worked through Gaelan's chest. "Who is this child?"

  Her chin tipped. "Connal O'Rourke. My son."

  His gaze shifted between the two, finding the resemblance. O'Rourke's child. And a prince.

  "Did you find Dermott?" Connal asked.

  "Ahh, the lamb," Gaelan said with detectable amusement, and Siobhàn's skin flushed, her cool green eyes hot with embarrassment, yet she did not turn them on him.

  "He is in the barn, poppet. Let him sleep there this night, aye?" Connal nodded, disappointed, and Siobhàn set him down, whispering for him to get something to eat, but it was off to bed in a moment. He scampered toward the table of sweet comfits, dodging knights and warriors without thought.

  Gaelan's chest tightened at the loving expression on her face as she watched her child. The son of a camp follower and a titled lord, he'd never known such affection. His sire discovered his existence when he was nearly a man and made him a squire with his younger half brother. 'Twas an opportunity he would have traded to be adored by his mother, to have known family and shared affections that bonded beyond the ties of men in battle. Suddenly he missed the precious years with his brother and loathed the ones spent wandering alone.

  Are you through wandering, or will you take the purse and leave? a voice pestered. He scowled to himself, cursing the moment of melancholy. He did not belong here any more than at court.

  "I will send a man to fetch the lamb," came more harshly than he intended.

  Her gaze swung to him, amiability gone. "That won't be necessary. I will find the animal."

  He took a step closer and fie the lass, she did not flinch a fraction, but glared up at him. He could not resist goading that insurmountable pride. "I can expect you in the barn later, or shall I attend your chambers?"

  She inhaled sharply, her hand itching to slap his handsome face. Rather than give him the satisfaction and debase herself further, she turned away, taking only a few steps before he caught her elbow. She wrenched free. "Is it customary for the overlord to insult his victims, or only me?"

  "Do you deny what we shared in the field and in the dark?"

  "I seek not to have the entire keep learn of my shame." She needed their every confidence, she thought, and could not allow them to see her weakness for the knight, or they would believe she was giving them over to serve herself. Which she would not.

  "What shame? You are widowed, a mother, not an untried virgin."

  Her skin colored and Gaelan felt the tip of her dagger through his garments. He arched a brow, admiring how she secreted the dig with her sleeve and her courage to do it.

  "The state of my virtue has little to do with your enslaving my people, does it now, PenDragon?" she condescended. "And I make no invitation to you." Repugnance dripped from her words. "Learn your manners, sirrah, and cease showing your lack of breeding."

  His lips curved and she blinked, frowning softly. "Now who is hurling insults?" She made a sound of frustration and Gaelan would have sworn she fought the urge to stomp her foot.

  His smile widened and Siobhàn was struck hard how boyish he looked just then. Codswallop. There was not a shred of youthful innocence in this man. She slipped the knife into its sheath and stepped back, suddenly aware of the eyes upon them. "Spare me any more humiliation, PenDragon. Begging for my people is all you will ever gain from me. Ever."

  He bent, gazing directly into her turbulent green eyes. "One day soon, my village princess, I will have you begging me for more than the fate of your people."

  His thinly veiled threat smarted and her expression told him he was fool to hold such high regard for his prowess.

  "Shall I prove it? Here and now?"

  "Do you wish to keep your tongue in your head?"

  Standing inches apart, his head bent, he spoke for her ears alone, his voice a silken growl as he whispered, "I wish to put it in your mouth, lass. To use it to pleasure your ripe little body in ways you have never imagined. I would hear your pleas for succor."

  She reared back, resisting the urge to rub the gooseflesh skipping down her throat. If he thought to conquer her body as well as her people, she would set him a'right and quickly. "By the gods, you are an arrogant man," she hissed, yet images exploded in her mind, of this man tasting her body, making her feel more woman than she had ever felt afore his coming.

  "'Tis a failing." He shrugged without remorse. "It comes with never having been defeated."

  She tipped her delicate chin, her eyes glacial. "Then prepare for your first, sir knight. For you will find, as my husband did, that battling on the field cannot compare to a war with me."

  Her words slammed him in the chest, not for the challenge, but to remind him how delicate the situation had become. She held the will of her people, and mayhaps a neighboring chieftain or two, as well as the border villages: And short of slaughtering half of them for control, Gaelan knew he had to seek swift domination of the Celtic beauty as soon as possible.

  Before she learned 'twas he who killed her husband.

  * * *

  Chapter 7

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  Attention abruptly shifted to the shouts and clang of metal to metal beyond the open doors. Music droned to a sick halt, chatter faded. Scowling, Gaelan instantly drew his sword, and around them the knights followed, driving her folk back as a cry of pain rent the air, distant, hollow. Male. With only a glance warning her against rebellion, he caught her arm, pulling her toward the darkness beyond the doors. A soldier burst into the dim light, breathing heavily, blood on his hands, and her people's cries punctured the air.

  Siobhàn twisted
, warning them sharply to be calm as the soldier and Gaelan spoke briefly.

  His gaze flicked to her. "You have a guest, it seems." He leaned near. "Uninvited, I hope, for your sake."

  "I hailed no one, PenDragon."

  "We shall see," he said, ushering her through the doors into the torchlit yard. Beyond the light, bowmen atop the inner curtain pointed arrows into the yard, indistinguishable figures shifting in the darkness, moving closer.

  Irish warriors. Clad in gold and green tartans and fur leggings, they were stripped of their weapons and held back at swordpoint near the inner gatehouse.

  Sir Owen and the guards prodded several men on and Siobhàn recognized them as a single fellow stumbled forward, his nose bloodied, his cheek scraped down to the bone. A few feet from her, he dropped to his knees, then tipped his head back.

  "Lochlann," she whispered, starting for him, but Gaelan's grip held her back. She leveled him a venomous look. "Let me go to him!" She tried twisting out of his grasp, but he refused. "What harm can he do now?" She gestured to the archers.

  "Do not make demands in this, princess. He attacked my patrol on the edge of this castle." Gaelan scoffed. "By rights he should be dead."

  "By your rights we all should be littering the ground beneath your feet, PenDragon, but we are not."

  He bent, his lips near her ear. "It can still happen," he said and she stilled, wondering what atrocity he'd inflict on them for a purse full of gold. It infuriated her that their lives and homes could be tallied on royal parchment and delivered to such a man at the whim of a foreign king.

  "Is this how you treat those who have already sworn fealty to your king?" Lochlann interrupted, struggling to his feet.

  Siobhàn gasped, horrified. "Lochlann, nay!"

  Lochlann's gaze swept from the PenDragon to hers, a flush of regret in his face. "You have not, I see." He smirked to himself, half admiring her. "I expected as much from you."

  Her gaze thinned. "And I more of you, O'Niell."

  His skin flushed with anger. "My people still live on their own lands."