Irish: The Irish Princess Part 14

She scoffed, "Any more than pillaging across the country has?"

d.a.m.n her! "I do not pillage, steal or rape! I am paid well enough to lay siege and ride away."

"Not anymore, PenDragon. This county and castle offers little fortune for tributes to your king, men for battle, and now you must see no others lay siege. For now-'tis yours."

Slowly he shook his head, her gaze trapped in his. She was still, her spine so stiff he thought it would snap. "'Tis ours, Siobhan. Ours."

A flutter started in her breast as he neared, his eyes glowing with an emotion she wished she could decipher. Jager me, she knew so little of this man she would call husband. But in marriage, she could watch him, curtail any injustice to her people.

"Your marriage vow binds you to me more than an oath to Henry." And he would gain it, he thought, someday, he would. "Now what say you to my stipulations?"

She stared at his chest, feeling helplessly trapped, her words barely audible. "I will share a chamber, but I ask that you not take me as ... as your true wife"-she lifted her gaze-"until I am ready."

The fear in her eyes slapped him. "I am not ruled by my l.u.s.t," he snarled, turning away.

"What rules you then, my lord? For 'tis not your heart."

He jerked a look at her, stung. "Do you think I have no feelings, Siobhan? Do you think that because I live by the sword, I cannot feel the loss of a comrade? The pain of a wound?"

Instantly contrite, she moved to him, laying her hand on his arm. His hard flesh flexed beneath her touch, the lines bracketing his mouth tight.

"I beg your forgiveness." He melted a little. "That was thoughtless of me. I know not what is in your head or your heart-"

"You swore afore I did not have one."

"The subject is still in debate, m'lord." Her lips twisted wryly. "I know being strapped with a bride you did not want-"

"Who said I did not want you?"

Her heart skipped at his softly growled words. "You do so for compliance."

"Do I?"

Her eyes sparked with anger. "Do not play games with me, PenDragon." She put distance between them. "Raymond tells me you have always had this choice, that the king wanted you here as border lord."

"Raymond should hold his counsel." Gaelan had a dozen reasons for not wanting to remain, the foremost his part in her husband's death.

"At least he is honest to me. Had you done so, then-"

"Would you have wed me willingly?" Her hostile expression warned him not to seek what was not there. "Would you believe me when I say that I am tired of warring and wish to cease?"

"Nay."

He scowled.

"You were quick to threaten war on Ian."

He loomed closer. "I replied to his threat, Siobhan."

"Ian is trustworthy, my lord, but I will argue that at another time." When she told him of the raid before he arrived, she agonized, stepping away.

As much as he wanted to gather her in his arms and tame her with a kiss, he did not, his thoughts centering suddenly on the Maguire and what he meant to her. He dismissed the uncomfortable notion. She was his prize and he would keep her.

"Are we in agreement now?"

Reluctantly she said, "In this private matter, aye."

"You have more?"

"There is the honor price, my lord." She stepped beyond the part.i.tion and motioned. In moments Raymond, Driscoll and the friar stepped in. Friar O'Donnel was a round little man, red-cheeked and thick-fingered. He clasped them around a stack of books, grinning hugely at everyone, even Gaelan.

The friar dropped onto a tall stool and reverently opened the books. With Driscoll near the entrance as if to guard against a fleeing bride, the friar read the contracts of marriage and the price Gaelan must pay to have her, brehon law strangely blended with the church's rule. Then he learned Tigheran O'Rourke had been married before and put his wife Devorgilla aside for her betrayal with his enemy Dermott MacMurrough, Siobhan's uncle.

"Do not look so disconcerted, PenDragon. I have been the price of peace afore."

He arched a brow, a sick feeling working through his chest.

"Devorgilla was kidnapped by Dermott MacMurrough, but the truth was, she summoned him to take her away. Tigheran put her aside, as was his right by brehon law, but he was not satisfied, warring with O'Connor on MacMurrough. To stop the killing of my clansmen, I married Tigheran."

A sacrifice. A hostage in wedlock, and the similarities twisted his gullet. "By this brehon law, you could have refused."

"Oftimes the church and the needs of the whole shadow such choices," she said in a dead voice.

Once again she was atonement. But now that the wheels of his future were in motion, a thought occurred. "Siobhan?"

She lifted her gaze from where she was reading over the friar's shoulder.

"We will be bound in a marriage of Christian law. Do not think to end this sacrament on the whim of ancient rules."

The friar grinned, his eyes merry, but the look evaporated the instant his gaze swung to Siobhan's.

"I would have your agreement now, lady."

'Twas his voice that bruised her, like a mortal blow through her breast, and though his expression was sharp and carved with impatience, his tone bore the entreaty of a man asking for more than ecclesiastical sanction, but a weary voice filled with deep longing and afraid-aye, she a.s.sessed again-afraid to voice it. It touched her to her very soul, this emotion she never thought he possessed, and she wondered how deep it ran and what else lay hidden beneath his coa.r.s.e exterior. Yet with the request, the tiny spark buried inside her flamed, the same burning ache she had when she'd come to Tigheran with the hope of something more than a marriage of bargains and peacekeeping. Though she was well and duly trapped by PenDragon's authority from the king, and had been, she admitted, from the moment he set foot in Donegal, she clung to the prospect that mayhaps in this marriage they would one day find even ground to stand upon.

"Forever in the eyes of G.o.d, then."

Gaelan's shoulders relaxed, yet he remained wary. G.o.d and her heart were not one in the same, he knew, just as he understood this woman was not so easily won with words. And in that instant Gaelan wanted her respect more than he wanted Donegal.

He gestured to the priest to read on. O'Rourke had paid her and her family coibche, bride price, and a sum to her each year until the twenty-first year of their marriage. Naught was returned to his family if the marriage did not survive on his account, half returned if 'twere Siobhan's fault. And since Irishwomen owned land, and Tigheran's bride gift to Siobhan was half of Donegal, he unjustly swore to the king with his portion.

Gaelan's lips quirked. "You are an expensive bride. Are you worth it?"

Her eyes narrowed. She found no humor in this. "The judgment will be yours, m'lord." Siobhan waved to the priest and he read her a.s.sets. He'd listed no more than household goods before Gaelan cut him off.

"I do not care what she brings to this marriage."

"My lord, other than her lands," the priest said. "You gain a great deal-"

"Nay," he said and moved to stand before Siobhan, gazing down at her. He could see the confusion in her eyes, in her beautiful upturned features. He liked it. "I care only that she brings herself."

Her breath skipped into her lungs, a soft sound caught behind her lips. "We must discuss Connal, his future-"

Fear. Untold fear lay in her eyes and he realized she thought he would foster him off to an English lord. A discarded b.a.s.t.a.r.d himself, he could not steal from the boy all that was stolen from him. "He stays with his mother."

Siobhan's eyes burned, her relief so tremendous she thought her legs would fold beneath her. Was he conceding to her demands save one because of his sudden need to have Donegal for himself? She still was not certain why he chose to remain and become the king's border lord, for it would bring him little wealth and much work. Jager me, this man confused her. He could scowl like the devil and threaten lives one instant and grin like a child with a mouthful of comfits the next. He rattled her composure so often, she was in a constant battle with her mind and her body. But knowing that Connal would grow up around her, she wanted to throw her arms around his broad neck and kiss him daft.

And the look on his face said he knew it.

His smile was slow, sultry. His eyes were bright. He raised his hand and touched the tip of her nose, letting his fingertip slide down to peel her lower lip open.

She nipped it. His eyes flared, and beyond them Driscoll exchanged a frown with the priest, then looked at Sir Raymond. The dark-haired knight set down his quill and folded his arms.

"When will this marriage take place?"

"On the morrow."

Her eyes flew wide and he lowered his hand.

"On the morrow," he warned, then leaned close to whisper in her ear, "Have this one night of privacy, Siobhan. When the sun sets again, you will be mine."

He bowed to her, made his mark on the contracts and left.

Her rooms had been penetrated last night.

"PenDragon!"

Siobhan stared at her chamber, then down at Culhainn. "You have gone soft for him that you did not alert me?"

Culhainn hung his head in shame.

"Betrayer," she said, and pointed to the door. Culhainn slunked out, his fluffy tail dragging the floor. She moved to the piles spread about her room, lifting a length of the most beautiful cloth she had ever seen, the darkest red shot with gold threads. She sanded it between her fingers, imagining a kirtle made from it or a tunic for Connal. Her gaze slipped over the trunks spilling with spools of thread, extravagant fabrics and trims, the tiny chest of gold coins, another of jewels in colors and gems she'd never seen before. The foot of her bed was weighted with a stack of ermine and fox furs as tall as her son.

"You screamed?"

She spun about, clutching her dressing gown to her throat. His cat-with-a-mouthful-of-bird look irritated her. "What is this?"

"Your bride price, my lady."

She smirked. "'Twas to be in milch cows, PenDragon." Her people could not eat the fabric and gold.

"I did not think you wanted dung littering your floor, and the braying would have woken you." And she'd looked so d.a.m.ned inviting then, he thought. Naked, and quiet.

"Oh for the love of St. Patrick, PenDragon." She flicked a hand at the chest of coins. "This is too much."

He was surprised. He'd never met a woman who made such a fuss over too many gifts. "'Tis coibche for the next twenty years, Siobhan." And it would never be enough, he thought, letting his gaze linger over her thinly clad body, her hair wild from sleep, her dull worn dressing gown too large and slipping off her shoulder. He imagined waking up tomorrow morn and seeing her like that. "I would hazard this is all worth more than twenty cows."

She scoffed, her lips curving. Aye, 'twas worth Donegal and the lands beyond, she thought. And he knew it. "What am I to do with this?" She gestured to the coin. "I have nowhere to spend coin."

He wasn't going to mention he would take her to England to spend it if she desired, for the subject was too tender to prod. "Then store it in the tower room for Connal's future. He will need to be educated, and tutors cost money."

Her expression softened for the briefest of moments. "'Tis your fees."

His brows furrowed. "Do not refuse, Siobhan. I cannot change the king's proclamation any more than I can change the man I am, nor the manner of my living."

"I know that," she said, vexation in her voice. "'Twould do well for such blood money to do some good for the less fortunate."

His lips flattened into a thin line. 'Twas a reminder that though she might be wedding him in a few hours, she still loathed the past he carried.

"Do as you will, Siobhan. I do not care." He should have known a few trinkets would not soothe the strain between them. Gaelan only wished he knew what would.

At dusk, Gaelan knelt beside his bride as the priest laid his hand over hers, sprinkled them with holy water and recited vows. Clad in the deep green of her land, she took his breath away. Her head was circled in silver, the cape of her heritage draping her slim shoulders. He watched her face, the eyes that could not lie, and though she spoke in a clear strong voice, absolute rebellion lit her magnificent eyes. Yet this time, it amused the b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l out of him.

And when he stood and faced her, taking her hand and slipping a band made of rare bluish green stones so like her eyes on her finger, he knew this was only a small step in laying claim to his wife. She stared in awe at the ring, then frowned up at him. He did not give her a chance to speak, a truly wise decision considering the sharpness of her tongue, and in a hall filled with English and Irish, he swept her into his arms and kissed her until she sank against him and drove her wonderful fingers into his hair.

Ahh, he thought, this she cannot fight. And Gaelan PenDragon, Lord Donegal, knew exactly the path to travel.

Chapter 12.

Rhiannon watched her sister kiss the English knight, her eyes widening at the heat the battling pair emanated. Sweet merciful, she thought, blus.h.i.+ng for her sibling's sake. She had never seen Siobhan act so, never knew that, in her always-with-matters-in-hand sister such fire lurked. Her gaze darted to Driscoll, his openmouthed look bespeaking his shock. She nudged him. His jaw snapped shut.

Raymond DeClare grinned from ear to ear. Friar O'Donnel rocked back on his heels, bending a fraction as if to see daylight between the pair, then laughed to himself. The couple parted sharply, but the Englishman held her close still, and although Siobhan blushed, Rhiannon recognized the look in the PenDragon's eyes. Pure, raw desire. She had seen it once before in a man and directed at herself. And the like had boded ill for her own life. She prayed it did not for Siobhan's. She deserved so much more. She glanced down at Connal, tucked at her side, but close enough to touch his mother's skirts.

His hatred for PenDragon was palpable, his tiny fists clenched at his sides and thumping his thigh. She bent to him.

"Oh sweetling," she whispered. "This anger will do you no good."

His gaze jerked to hers, hard and pinning for one so young. "I hate him. He makes Mama marry him when she does not want to."

"She has no choice, Connal. King Henry is stronger than all of us, and PenDragon is his power. If he declares it, it will be. Besides, the church gave him the right to come here."

"Then I curse the church."