Irish: The Irish Princess Part 32

He stood. "You are not going anywhere."

"Then Connal goes with Rhiannon to the sh.o.r.e."

"Nay." If she left with Connal, there would be no chance of regaining the peace between them. "I will see he is protected and post more guards on the unfamiliar villagers, but the boy stays here." He was not about to hand his wife and her son over to the care of O'Niell and certainly not the Maguire, and he folded his arms over his chest, his hard gaze snapping over her features. "Rhiannon, however, can be wed by morn and packed off to where she can cause no more trouble!"

Her eyes flew wide. "What! You cannot force her to wed, husband."

"I can do as I please, wife."

Her gaze narrowed, a dangerous fire glittering there. "Aye, you can. You can accuse me of disloyalty, to you, to my own people"-she struck her chest-"when you have no right or reason," she hissed in an ugly voice. "You can insult me afore the retainers and a man I think of as a father. You chose to believe your jealous thoughts instead of my word. Aye, my lord PenDragon, you can do as you please. And be a.s.sured, for my son, so will I!"

She shoved past him, heading to the doors, but Gaelan caught her in a gentle gasp, forcing her around to meet his gaze. She was crying without sound.

He loathed that he'd brought her to this.

"I do not like you very much right now, husband." She jerked on his touch. "Release me."

He didn't, pulling her closer even as she tried to twist out of his grasp. "Siobhan ... ahh, my sweet, what has become of us?"

"You have doubted me word and there is no way to a.s.sure you," she muttered and stood woodenly as his arms slid around her. She pressed her forehead to his chest. She would not touch him, she could not. She was so b.l.o.o.d.y mad and wanted to keep it fresh and on the surface.

"I did not mean to insult you afore Driscoll and the O'Niell."

"You shamed me, husband." Disappointment rang in her words and Gaelan sighed and lowered his arms, stepping back.

"I was angry."

She scoffed, staring off to the side.

"I felt like a fool."

Her gaze flew to his.

"I would have seen that the contracts spoke of the keeps, and the Maguire's obligation to you ... if I could read then. Yet 'twas a matter I should have known. I was careless."

The admittance softened her posture. "Raymond did not tell you. Why?"

He shrugged. "Likely he knew my feelings for the man and did not want to test the water."

"If you did not have your nose so far up me skirts, you might have known."

He hated the bitterness in her voice, knowing that he put it there.

"'Twas unwise, for all of us, to allow that to happen," she said. "And by English law, Ian is already bound through your possession of Donegal and its fiefs."

"He is his own chieftain. By his laws he is not, and that is what matters in Ireland." Gaelan crossed to the fire, bracing his right forearm on the mantel. He did not want this conversation, avoided it out of sheer fear of losing her completely, yet he could not tolerate this agony a moment longer. He stared at the blaze, wondering exactly how he'd grown so foolish.

He loved her.

Ahh, therein lies the sorrow, he thought.

He could scarcely breathe every time he looked at her lately, her thinly veiled venom knifing him to the core. He would rather die than suffer another day of this constant bleeding each other until there was naught left to save.

"Why do you doubt me, after all this time?" floated across the separation, without the rage, without the sting.

"I slew your husband. I broke the trust you gave me. I knew you were angry with me..." He shrugged, almost boyishly. "I ... I thought ... angry enough to go to him and give him your sympathy."

"And help him war on you?" Her lower lip trembled despite the hard tilt to her chin. "I am not your mother. And I understood why Tigheran had to die, my lord. Not your lie of it." She saw him wince and moved closer. "For the love of Michael, I have lain in your arms night after night, how could you think me so base as to turn against you like that?"

"Because I am a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, a thief of lands, and I did not deserve you!" He plowed his fingers through his hair, frustration and self-anger in his voice. "And all I knew is that you loved him once, Siobhan, you chose to marry him once, and for the second time in your life"-he straightened, facing her, like a man awaiting execution-"you were forced to wed a man you did not want."

"But I did marry you," she cried. "I entrusted my folk to you and shared my body with you."

"Aye, aye, and I knew in my heart you would never betray me. I knew," he said, shaking clenched fists in front of him. "But when I saw the Maguire plaid on the Fenian, I could not forget that Ian was the man you truly wanted ... the man you deserved."

"Oh, Gaelan."

His name on her lips made the muscles in his chest clamp like a vice.

They stared, prisoners in each other's gaze.

The uneasy silence tightened like scorched skin over brittle bone.

His throat worked. "I have ruined everything, haven't I?" came in a tortured rasp.

Sorrow crushed through her. Gone was the seasoned warrior and before her stood a man stripped bare of his rough exterior, his t.i.tle and rights. Uncertain, defenseless. Unused to faith and loyalty. He craved a chance, a small portion, so desperately that he laid his soul at her feet like an open wound for her to crush or soothe.

She stepped closer, and Gaelan felt the impact of her stare down to his boot heels, his anguish twisting through every inch of him. Her scent permeated the air with spice and flowers as she reached, delicately fingering a lock of his hair off his brow. Briefly, he closed his eyes, her touch painful and sweet and making him tremble with his need to hold her.

"Naught is ruined that cannot be repaired."

His hopeful gaze searched hers, rapid and greedy. "You can forgive me, then?"

The expectation in his voice made her heart skip. "I must."

His brows worked.

She inched closer, laying her hand on his chest and feeling the incredible strength of his heartbeat. "I have no choice but to forgive you, Gaelan. I need you so much more than I need my anger."

His tense shoulders drooped and he covered her hand with his, bringing it to his lips. G.o.d above, he was d.a.m.ned unworthy of this woman. "Siobhan..." He exhaled a hard breath. "I am sorry. I-"

"Shh, I know, I know. 'Tis done." She cupped his jaw, loving the way he turned his face into her palm, the texture of his skin. Her gaze sketched and absorbed. "I have-" She swallowed, slipping closer. "I have missed you so, Gaelan."

His big body trembled, his one hand framing her waist with a gentle weight. "I am so mad to hold you," he gasped uncertainty. "I fear I will crush you."

"Crush me. Please."

He did, sweeping her in his arms and burying his face in the curve of her throat. Her arms locked tight around his neck and she sobbed, driving her hands into his hair. Gaelan groaned, relief spilling through him like hot wine. Sweet Jesu, he needed her, and he tightened his embrace, his eyes burning. How could her warm body against his make him feel unmanned and powerful in the same instant?

"I've been such an imbecile," he mumbled into the curve of her throat.

"Aye. You have."

He chuckled unsteadily, kissing her neck, his hands racing up and down her back, getting lost in her hair, before he tipped her head back and took her mouth with exquisite tenderness. He felt the dampness of tears on his fingertips and said naught. A hard tremor shuddered through his big body and she was silent, kissing him back, offering him the love roaring through her heart. She gave and he drank, peace and pleasure filling him like an overflowing goblet, and when he drew back, pressing his forehead to hers, together they sighed.

Then they smiled, choking on unspent tears.

Cradling her beautiful face, he rained kisses over her eyes, her cheeks, taking her mouth again and loving the way her body yielded to his. She caught his hand, bringing it to her breast, and he molded the soft flesh, throbbing to be naked and rolling with her on the bed, for the chance to show her how much he loved her, needed her.

A knock sounded and Siobhan made a frustrated sound, covering his hand briefly before she called out. Meghan responded, asking if she should have a meal sent up.

"Nay," Gaelan said, his gaze never leaving hers. "We come anon." He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. "We cannot ignore O'Niell."

"Aye."

He wanted to shout for the disappointment in her voice. "But we can retire early."

"How early?"

His smile was slow and wide. "The sooner you are changed..." His glance touched on the dirt and hay stuck to her gown.

Quickly, Siobhan moved away, wiggling out of her gown as she did, then searched her trunks for a fresh one. Gaelan dropped into a chair to wait and watch, her bare round bottom displayed as she bent over the trunks. She tossed the dark blue gown on the bed, then stood before the mirror, plucking straw from her hair, combing.

The door rattled softly and then, "Mama?"

Siobhan twisted. "Aye, lovey?"

"I am hungry. Are you coming?"

"She could be," Gaelan muttered, and her eyes flew wide. He smiled, his gaze glazing over her thinly veiled body with a force that sent her heart racing, his desire lying plainly in his dark smoldering eyes.

Gaelan stood.

Siobhan stepped.

Connal rapped again.

Siobhan sent him an apologetic glance, then moved toward the door, but Gaelan put up a hand.

"I will see to him." He took a step, then turned back. A heartbeat later, he had her in his arms, his mouth crus.h.i.+ng over hers, his tongue stroking, his hands finding their way beneath her s.h.i.+ft and palming her warm flesh. She clung, responded with all the pa.s.sion denied over the past days, and cupping her bottom, he ground her into his arousal.

"Knock, knock," he whispered into her mouth and she made a frustrated sound, aching to feel his fingers, his arousal, inside her, and too aware of the child on the other side of the door and the hall full of folk waiting for them.

He released her, loving her freshly ravished look. "Be quick, woman." He patted her behind, then left.

Siobhan sighed, heard him speak to Connal, adoring the tenderness in his voice as she turned to the commode and washed quickly, rubbed crushed flowers over her skin, then dressed. At the chamber door, she stilled, then glanced back at the chest tucked before the tunnel wall, reminding herself to tell him of it, then crossed to it, throwing open the chest and taking the fabric off the top, tucking it beneath her arm before leaving the chamber. She pa.s.sed Meghan on the staircase, toting fresh sheets and blowing her nose.

"You do not look well, Meg." Her eyes were watering and her nose was red.

"A bit of the ague, I'm thinking."

Siobhan grasped her hand, examining the red scratches. "Go rest." Meghan took a step away. "Nay. In here." Siobhan retraced her steps and pushed open the door to her chamber.

Meghan's eyes grew wide. "Nay, my lady."

"Aye, no one will disturb you here. There is a salve on the mantel for those scratches."

"Me cat, my lady. She does not like bathing."

"Not unlike my son." They smiled, then Siobhan inclined her head to the room. "Go. I will come wake you later."

The maid thanked her, sniffled, then ducked into the chamber as Siobhan headed to the hall below. To her husband and the fresh start she would give him tonight.

Chapter 23.

Lochlann O'Niell watched the couple, the strain he'd noticed before now gone, replaced with subtle glances and soft smiles. Their presence immediately changed the mood of the hall, and he suppressed the thread of envy springing through him. He'd no right to it. She'd never looked upon him more than a brother, but he could not help but stare. Siobhan looked radiant in the deep blue gown, the silver threads edging the neckline and sleeves sparkling in the dim light. His fist tightened around his goblet before he drained the wine. Tigheran was a fool to turn her away, to hold his love for Devorgilla when he could have had a ripe woman like Siobhan.

He would credit her with the fine meal and could not complain over his reception, for he was treated well, a room prepared for his use and an invitation to remain as long as he desired, a stark contrast to his last visit. And he would remain, if aught but to understand why the new bride and groom had been at odds, and to convince PenDragon to annihilate the outlaws.

PenDragon spoke mostly to him, yet neither ignored nor coddled the woman beside him. Siobhan focused on Connal, the accident earlier obviously leaving behind a dose of fear. But the boy would not have it, making impatient faces at her and finally leaving the table. He walked around behind his mother and went straight to PenDragon.

Connal tugged on his sleeve, and when he twisted in the chair, PenDragon's smile was surprisingly tender.

"Tired, lad?"

"Me b.u.m's a bit sore." Gaelan smothered a chuckle. "But I am fine. My thanks for the lessons, my lord."

It was the first time he'd called him that and Gaelan felt his throat clench. In a heartbeat, he knew that if Connal was not Tigheran's son, it did not matter, and he was mortally ashamed for thinking ill of Siobhan. In this and his suspicions of distrust these past days. His own parentage was never a concern to this lad's mother, and Gaelan understood what he'd always known-blood did not make a family. And for a man who'd detested having children about for years, he discovered he truly liked this child and recognized all he'd missed. They were inquisitive, as easily pleased as they were wounded, and by G.o.d, this lad spoke his mind. Gaelan found it refres.h.i.+ng, as he had in his mother.

In his line of vision he could see Siobhan's expression, pride and a tinge of sadness. And it felt like a dagger in his breast, for he wondered if she was thinking of Connal's father, then cursed himself for falling into the trap of his doubts again.

"My lord?"

Gaelan blinked, focusing on the boy. "Go on to bed, if you like, son."

Connal tilted his head. "Can I be your son, my lord?"