Irish: The Irish Princess Part 35

"I swear by G.o.d in heaven, I did not order this."

The man eyed him with hatred and disbelief.

"You must help us find who did."

The villager's gaze s.h.i.+fted between Driscoll and Gaelan. "We tried to follow, but they disappeared as quickly as they came," the man said, obviously uncomfortable. "'Twas as if they walked into the sky. Just"-he shrugged thin shoulders-"gone, my lord."

It was clever, however they were escaping, he thought, and looked to the trees, remembering what Siobhan had said about being silent and quick. But where would they hide the mounts? Gaelan raked his fingers through his hair, then down over his face. Above him the sky bled to a deep purple with the coming sun. "Driscoll. Arm the villagers. Spare whatever we can and leave a dozen guards here to protect."

Driscoll translated and the man grew even more frightened, shaking his head.

Gaelan looked down at the ragged creature, seeing himself as a lad; distrusting, for the lord of the land had done naught to help them better their life. In fact, the lack of coin sent his mother to whoring. His gaze drifted beyond, to the woman standing in the doorway of the charred cottage, bravely fighting tears. Gaelan twisted to his saddle bags, digging in the bottom, then leaning out to the man. He pressed something into his hand, closing his fist around it. "I swear you will be safe with my men," he murmured, then turned his mount away.

The villager unfurled his fist and gaped at the silver cross gleaming in the faint firelight. And beneath it was a king's ransom in gold.

He was alone in his crime.

He dragged her through the narrow corridor, slipping once on the seepage pooling on the ground. PenDragon and his b.l.o.o.d.y d.a.m.ned moat, he thought. He wondered if she knew this pa.s.sage led beyond the grounds and into a stand of trees.

It was fortunate that O'Rourke had constructed the escape tunnel, though the fool didn't know a smattering of what it took to construct a decent fortification. Apparently neither did PenDragon, he smirked, ducking to accommodate the low ceiling. Or he would have found this tunnel by now. Mayhaps he had, or she'd told him, he considered, then mentally shrugged, pus.h.i.+ng at the sod and peat ceiling. The wood trap door gave, delivering a gust of cold air. He moved it aside, then climbed, the incline sharp and unused. He took several steps away and pulled the horse close, removing the feed sack from its nuzzle and the leafy branches used to disguise the creature in the trees. He turned back to the tunnel and dragged her by the arm through the opening in the earth, then squatted to lift her. The scent of blood made his stomach roil and he swallowed, lifting and throwing her body over the back of a horse. With measured steps, he walked the mount away from the castle. The guards were focused on the front, never expecting someone to leave the keep.

They found fresh horse tracks heading away from the Maguire's stronghold, Cloch Baintreach. Gaelan sent a small squad to follow it, then left another to watch over the Maguire, discreetly.

"Well, unless you call him out," Raymond said as they gazed down at the fortress. "Then you will never really know if he is there."

"'Twould not matter. He, like you and I, could commission anyone to do our bidding." Although the Maguire did not strike him as a coward. The man had already faced down Gaelan's legions with only a hundred warriors, and those poorly armed. Yet his castle appeared prepared for war. Even from this position, Gaelan could see the javelins lining the battlements.

"Without evidence you cannot take this to the king."

"I do not want to take this to Henry." By G.o.d, he would solve this himself before he called on the monarch for advice. "His majesty bids that I gain the Maguire's fealty, immediately. Before the royal armies advance from Dublin to Armagh."

"Great Scots."

Gaelan removed his helm, cupping it over the pommel. He shoved his coif back and ruffled his hair. "We have demons all around us."

Driscoll was on his left, silent until now. "I've a feeling Donegal is not the only land suffering."

Gaelan sent him an arched look.

"O'Niell has sustained losses," Raymond pointed out.

"Aye, but this could be those who did not want our lady to rule, ever."

Gaelan scowled, waiting for a explanation.

"Most of Donegal was once O'Donnel land, taken by O'Rourke in his battle with Dermott. Everyone knew Tigheran warred more for Devorgilla's betrayal than for land and accepted Siobhan like a payment to punish." Driscoll's gaze clouded and he looked at the reins curled around his hands, still regretting that he could not protect her well enough. "She suffered much, my lord," he said, then lifted his gaze. "When Tigheran died, the chieftains weren't ready to usurp her with an uncle as powerful as Dermott. But there are still a few who would see a man in her place, preferably an O'Donnel."

"There is a man ruling."

"Forgive me, my lord, but you are not Irish."

Gaelan's look said he was painfully aware of that.

"I do not think the first attacks before you arrived had aught to do with any of the trouble now. Oftimes the villagers get a belly full of drink, and talk brews rashness. People die and the culprits must live with the regret. And if it was not..." Driscoll shrugged, rubbing his clean-shaven face and missing his beard. "Who's to say 'twas one clan or another?"

Gaelan stared out over the darkened land. "Therein lies the difficulty. We must catch them, and for that we must remain he-" Abruptly he twisted in the saddle, narrowing his gaze in the direction of Donegal.

Raymond guided his mount closer. "What is it?"

Gaelan still stared. "I do not know." O'Niell had been escorted off the land and the castle was a fortress now, but Gaelan could not shake the horrible feeling that Siobhan needed him. "Something is wrong." I can feel it.

Raked with a moment of indecision, Gaelan wheeled about, riding back toward the castle. Raymond trotted the line of troops, issuing orders and wondering if Gaelan had somehow adopted Rhiannon's ability to see the future.

At the edge of the county he halted his mount, twisting in the saddle to push her from the back of the horse. Her body hit the soft earth with a dull thud, flopping back and revealing her b.l.o.o.d.y face. A s.a.d.i.s.tic smile curved his lips. Her death was his freedom. He'd tried to be rid of Connal, but the little brat was too heavily protected.

He gazed down at her, her beautiful face swollen and spattered with dirt and drying blood. For an instant he felt remorse at the ruin of so lovely a woman, but she was too belligerent, too independent, not asking him for help, not wanting or needing it. He wheeled the mount around and rode off, leaving her withering body to the creatures and the elements.

Chapter 25.

Gaelan saw the soldiers riding hard toward him as he crested the rise. His heart slammed to his stomach and he jammed his spurs into Grayfalk's side. He pa.s.sed the troops at breakneck speed and as the gates swung open, he rode through the outer ward, ducking through the inner gate, continuing up the steps and into the hall. The clatter of hooves rang in the keep, scattering folk. He flung from the mount, glancing briefly at the people sobbing, and his chest ached with unbearable pain. He searched the gathering for his wife and when he found neither her nor Connal, he ran to the stairs, taking them three at a time. At the landing his pace slowed, his mouth going dry as burned wood. Gaelan shoved open the chamber door.

His focus snapped to the bed and he crossed the room, noticing the fractured mirror before he stopped beside the bed. The drapes were drawn.

He swallowed over and over, his hand trembling as he reached and flipped the curtain back. His features burned tight.

"Oh mother of G.o.d."

She lay in a ma.s.s of sticky blood, her face carved from her bones. A deep gash opened her chest.

His big body trembled. Misery engulfed him. Gaelan clenched his fists, fighting the torment, the grief swimming through him like molten steel. He sank to his knees, tears searing his eyes. He thumped his thighs with his fists, pitiful choked sounds filling the chamber.

Oh G.o.d!

You take her when I just learned how to love her. Why? Why!

Rage and sorrow erupted and he flung his head back, his tortured howl shaking the stone walls of Donegal Castle.

At the horrible sound, the guards succ.u.mbed to Rhiannon's pleas, releasing her, and she overtook the stairs, das.h.i.+ng into the chamber, to the side of the bed. She froze, stunned. "Merciful G.o.d."

She covered her mouth with a trembling hand, turning her face away. Tears came, quick and burning with regret. Oh, Siobhan, forgive me.

Gaelan was on his knees, his head thrown back, tears streaming down his face. "I knew something was wrong," he managed in a dry rasp. "I knew." Ten times he cursed himself for not following his instincts and returning earlier. Oh G.o.d above, save me from the misery, he cried silently.

I am lost. Lost.

Rhiannon forced her gaze back to the body, avoiding the tattered face and focusing on the clothing. "'Tis not her," she said suddenly, rus.h.i.+ng to the bedside.

Gaelan's head snapped up, his bleak gaze narrowing.

"The clothes, they are not hers. She was wearing blue."

"She's been known to don rags." Gaelan did not want to believe in the possibility. His heart was already dead and he could not bear a shred of hope, if it were taken again.

"Nay."

"But the hair-"

"'Tis not her, I tell you!" She reached. "I gain naught from the dead, but..." She plucked at the b.l.o.o.d.y sleeve, taking the cold hand gently in hers and turning back the cuff. "'Tis Meghan." She showed him the cuts on her wrist and the back of her hand.

Gaelan stared, unblinking, then staggered back, banging against the commode. Relief swept him in waves so heavy he thought he would be ill. Without a doubt, Siobhan was the true target. "Use your sight, Rhiannon." He loomed close and predatory. "Find her."

"It comes from the touch of the living!" she cried, her helplessness bringing fresh tears.

"Where is my wife then?"

Rhiannon turned her gaze to the cracked mirror, the overturned candlestick. "She was here. She fought."

"But how did she get out and where the h.e.l.l is Culhainn?"

A whimper came and Gaelan glanced around, then knelt, lifting the blood-soaked linen. His features yanked tight. Blood thickened on the stone floor under the bed. He ducked and spied the animal. "Come puppy, come." Gaelan put out his had and Culhainn sniffed, then inched forward, his breathing shallow and rapid. Gaelan gently grasped the dog and drew him from beneath the bed. He was still protecting her, he thought, covering the gash in his side.

"I'll get my herbs." Rhiannon turned to go as Connal rushed in.

Rhiannon flung the drapes down to cover Meghan as Gaelan raced past her, catching him before he saw the condition of the body and the pet.

"Where is my mama?"

He held the boy's gaze and hated to break his heart. "I don't know, lad."

"But-" His lip trembled and he glanced at the blood on Gaelan's hands, then to the bed. "Mama!"

"'Tis not her, nay. Nay! 'Tis her maid, son."

"But my mama," he muttered, trying hard not to panic. "She brought Dermott to me, said good night to me. She kissed me last night!"

Raymond rushed inside, Driscoll directly behind him. Gaelan lifted Connal in his arms, hugging the boy and finding strength in the tiny arms looping snugly around his neck. Over his shoulder, he inclined his head to the bed and both Raymond and Driscoll crossed to look. They turned wide eyes to Gaelan, their faces gone pale. When he offered the victims' ident.i.ty, Driscoll nearly folded where he stood, grasping the nearby mantel for support.

"Gaelan," Rhiannon called. "He won't last much longer."

Gaelan turned and knew there was no way to s.h.i.+eld the boy. "Culhainn is wounded."

Driscoll snapped out of his lethargy and came around to lift the dog, his white fur stained crimson. Connal cried out, reaching, kicking to be free, but Gaelan held him tight as Rhiannon followed the sheriff out. Moving to a chair, he clutched the child and dropped into the seat. Connal sobbed quietly into his tunic.

"There were too many guards for this to happen, Gaelan. It just doesn't make sense." Raymond glanced around for a clue.

"When does murder have reasoning?" He transferred his gaze to the bed. "That could have been her," he murmured, and fear spirited through him. He looked at Raymond. "a.s.semble every man, woman and child who was here last night." Gaelan stroked Connal's shoulder, the gentle motion belying the heat behind his words. "I swear I will flog the negligent guards-"

"Gaelan." Raymond crossed the room near the bed, squatting to pull the hilt from the floor. He met Gaelan's gaze as he rose, leaving Connal in the chair and coming to him.

"It's hers," he whispered, taking the broken blade, aching to feel the warmth of her touch and feeling only the coldness of death. His gaze scanned the floor. Blood spattered the stone, handprints, only three fingers, stained nearby. Gaelan's chest squeezed his heart as he thought of her fighting for her life after her maid and pet were slain. The killer had taken her with him, and he could not bear thinking of what he would do to his wife after the gruesome murder of her maid.

"He could not have gotten her past the guards, all those people in the keep, the yard. How did they get out of here?"

"I know." Gaelan jerked around as Connal scrambled from the chair and went to the large chest half ajar. "Behind here."

Gaelan quickly shoved the trunk aside and Connal barreled his shoulder into the wall. It gave slightly and Gaelan helped it open. He stared into the dark hole, instantly noticing the sc.r.a.pe marks in the dirt, then looked down at Connal, scowling.

The little fellow craned his neck to meet his gaze. "Mama swore me never to tell!" he insisted. "My fath-O'Rourke built it for his escape. The pa.s.sage ends outside, near a bunch of trees, I think."

Gaelan eyed the child.

"I swore a holy oath!" he cried, and Gaelan crumbled inside, kneeling to his level.

"'Tis all right, lad. I'm glad you told me now."

"Only Mama and I know, my lord. Not even Aunt Rhi," he added, as if to protect his mother's sister. Connal pointed to the leather straps at the base of the wall. "You pull those to close it from inside." Cautiously, he lifted his gaze, and Gaelan read the apprehension there. "'Tis how Mama got in and out when you first arrived, I'm thinkin'."

Gaelan stroked a lock of russet hair off his brow and Connal's lips quivered. "I think so too." It stung that she had not told him but realized that when she was upset with him, there was no reason. And after she forgave him, there was no time. But one fact remained. The killer knew it existed.

"Where is she?"

Gaelan gripped his thin shoulders. "I swear I will find her, Connal. And I will punish the person who did this."

His lip trembled. "And ... and if she is already dead?"

Such a brave boy to ask such a thing, he thought, swallowing back his own fears. "Believe she is alive, son. To think aught else, we steal all hope. Tuigim?"

Connal's eyes flared and he nodded, then suddenly threw his arms around his neck. He patted his back, and together the PenDragon men sighed.