Irish: The Irish Princess Part 46

And over still.

Speak to me, love. Show me how to help you.

Show me the mist.

His skin p.r.i.c.kled and he glanced around at the ground ending ahead, the crash of waves. Swinging up to Grayfalk's back, he rode to the edge, the horse prancing at the loose ground and the scent of the sea. Gulls skipped around a pile of stones several yards beyond the ocean's sh.o.r.e.

The only shape visible was a broken tower, a fine spray shooting up from the center like a spitting dragon. Then Gaelan recognized the thick curl of mist.

Siobhan held on to the fragments of the wall, gazing down at the rocks and rus.h.i.+ng water below. Her weight and the constant rain threatened the ruins. Her head back, she tipped her face to the sky and concentrated.

Gaelan. Hear me.

Feel me.

Gaelan found a way down, following the cliff edge for half a league before racing across the battered sh.o.r.e toward the ruins. Water fountained behind horse and rider, hooves ripping the sand. Mist cloaked the water's surface, tendrils seeking to grip the sh.o.r.e. He slid from the saddle, stripping off his tunic and mail, discarding all but his braies, then diving into the water. He did not think she could possibly be alive beneath the pile, yet when loose stones rolled into the sea he doubled his effort, strong arms knifing through the water. He grasped the edge of a boulder and, hoisting up, he climbed.

Siobhan!

In his mind the words came, like a whisper, warm and filling him with relief.

I live, my love.

Gaelan choked on his joy and climbed, reaching the summit.

"Siobhan!"

"Hurry, Gaelan, hurry. The ground falls."

Waves crashed, funneling up to the roofless tower.

Gaelan reached the top, clawing at the mounds of rock and mortar walling her inside. His muscles flexed and strained as he heaved stone after stone into the sea. Then he saw her, clinging to the wall with naught but inches beneath her feet. She cast a look over her shoulder and smiled, relieved and weary and whole.

He smiled hugely.

A piece fell and he shouted her name, for her to be still.

"I do not have much choice, do I now?"

"Tart-mouthed female." He smiled encouragingly, positioning himself on the ledge, cramming the stones into a more secure position.

"Slow-witted Englishman," she muttered back, love in every syllable.

Waves slapped and churned below and between them.

"You will have to jump to me."

She did not argue and nodded, tried turning toward him. Pebbles broke.

"Gaelan!"

"Trust me, my love. Trust that I will not let you fall." Gaelan reached, his palm out.

Siobhan nodded shakily, terrified of losing everything to her fear. At least her hands were free.

Water shot through the old tower, soaking them, blinding them with stinging salt, and when the gush receded, he swiped at his face.

"Wait for the beat of the sea. And when I tell you, you must jump to me."

"Aye."

"I love you, Siobhan."

"I love you too, husband."

They counted aloud, Gaelan watching the gush, and when it sucked back, he opened his arms to catch and yelled, "Now."

Siobhan twisted and flung herself toward him, but the remains of the floor gave just then, dropping her too soon. He lurched, catching her arm.

"Gaelan!"

She dangled over the rocks, the water, spinning, and he grabbed for her gown, hooking his knees and feet on the rocks to keep from going over with her. Her garments ripped. The next surge would tear her from his grasp. He heaved, dragging her up over the edge and into his arms.

She clung, her arms around his neck, their bodies tightly wedged.

Their lungs labored and Gaelan buried his face in the curve of her neck and sobbed like a babe. She joined him, kissing his bare shoulder, his hair, choking on her tears.

It was a long moment before he could bare putting a fraction of s.p.a.ce between them enough to look her in the eye.

"I love you," he chanted. "I thought he'd killed you." He squeezed her. "Oh sweet Mother of G.o.d, Siobhan, I wanted to die."

"Shhh," she soothed, stroking his head, feeling him tremble against her and loving him more for it. She tipped her head back. "Kiss me, I beg you."

He did. A tender brush of lips, frightened that she would vanish. She would not have such coddling, cupping his head and pulling him harder to her mouth. Gaelan gave and tasted the sweetness of his wife, his heartache slipping away with the retreating pull of the sea.

And on the rain-soaked land, atop a primitive Druid stronghold, Gaelan felt the magic of Ireland sing through his soul.

"'Tis only a little cut."

On his knees on the beach, dripping with seawater, Gaelan scowled at the wound, tilting her head back to get a better look. "Little, aye, but deep." He meant for her to bleed to death, the cowardly b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

Siobhan frowned at the black look and cupped his face in her hands. "It stopped bleeding. I am tired and hungry and wish for a bath."

"And where do you propose to find one?"

"Me father's house ... his old house," she corrected, "is near."

"So is Maguire." He stood, helping her to her feet, then helping her wring the water from her dress.

She tilted her head back, blinking repeatedly. "'Tis the one he oversees."

At her last words she folded and Gaelan caught her, laying her to the ground and stroking the wet hair from her face. He called her name and her eyes fluttered open, still slits of weary pain.

"Forgive me, Gaelan. I've-"

"Hush." Leaving her briefly to dress, he cradled her in his arms and swung into the saddle. Grayfalk tore across the land, feeling Gaelan's urgency. For his wife, he realized, had lost much more blood than he first thought.

He'd sent couriers to find Maguire and his knights, to bring back the prisoner. And Fionna. They should arrive by nightfall, but Gaelan would not be satisfied until he saw O'Niell bleeding on the ground at his feet. He cursed the b.a.s.t.a.r.d who'd left her to die and rage pushed through his blood, taunting him as he paced before the grand bed, soothing him only when he paused to touch her brow, her lips, with his.

Noise from belowstairs penetrated the chamber and he knew the shock of finding him on the doorstep and demanding his way inside drove the meek to seek cover. Gaelan didn't care. Siobhan was alive and he only wanted privacy with her.

Dropping to a chair, he sighed, then mashed his hand over his face. She was so still, her usually warm skin cool, and he wanted to bark at someone to bring Fionna to him now. But that would be hours, he knew. Instead, he pulled the chair closer and rested his head on the bedding, clutching her hand to his lips.

And then he prayed.

Her arms laden with a tray and a maid at her heels, Fionna rushed into the chamber, yet Ian remained on the threshold, his gaze shooting to PenDragon, asleep at her bedside, her small hand in his callused palm. He could see the stain of tears on the big man's cheek, the weariness in his features, and something broke inside his chest.

"I do not know who looks worse," Fionna muttered, shaking Gaelan gently so she could get to Siobhan. He stirred and lifted his head, his gaze direct on his wife, then dragging to Fionna's. His relief at seeing her was palpable and he told her how he found her, and of the blood loss.

Ian heard the desperation in his voice.

"Go fill your belly and rest elsewhere, English."

"I will not leave her!"

She gripped his arm, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Neither will I. But you've work to tend." She inclined her head to the doorway and Gaelan's gaze turned to Maguire. When he looked to protest further, she added, "Make yourself useful. Send up a tray of broth and bread. She is undernourished and needs food quickly. And get him"-she pointed to Ian-"out of here."

Gaelan nodded, pleased to have something to do, and strode to the door, grabbing Ian by the s.h.i.+rt and pulling him along with him. Fionna heard him say, "I would not anger her further with your presence, man. You're liable to be growing gills if you're not careful."

Gaelan paced before the hearth and around him his people gathered, each forming a plan and discarding it for its frailty. He was not paying attention, his focus on his wife and the hours Fionna worked over her. He could not bear it if she perished now. Now when he'd just found her, he thought, and fell into a chair, bending, bracing his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He wished for Connal and his smiles and the feel of the little boy in his arms. But they would not arrive till morning. Twice he'd gone above, only to be sent away. Maids flitted in and out of the chamber, carrying buckets of water and baskets of linen, but none would tell him a thing. He was ready to kick the door down and demand Fionna speak with him, yet he knew she would call him when she had news.

He swallowed and lifted his gaze, scanning the group. Knights and Irish hovered over precious paper and trenchers of food, slaking their hunger as they considered each avenue. Gaelan was infinitely proud of these people, their camaraderie.

The prisoner, Patrick, sat alone against the west wall, his hands bound at his back. He focused on the stone floor near his feet, his expression detached, and Gaelan wondered what a man thought of when his hours were numbered.

Tired of waiting, Gaelan pushed into the chamber, past the maids, and strode to the bed.

Siobhan smiled. "Good day, my love."

He grinned hugely, climbing onto the bed and pulling her into his arms.

Fionna motioned the maids to leave, gathering her things and following. She stilled when she found Ian standing on the threshold. The man stared, his shoulders stiff, as Gaelan and Siobhan renewed their love in a heated kiss.

Slapping a hand to his chest, Fionna shoved Ian back and pulled the door closed.

"You have lost again, Maguire."

His gaze snapped to hers. "You're taking a good deal of pleasure in that, aren't you?"

"Aye." She swept past him.

He caught her arm, forcing her around. "Is that what you want, Fionna, to see me brought low?"

Her gaze slid over him from head to foot, a glance of pure disgust. "You are no lower than you were when you begged me to conjure for you," she snapped, twisting free.

"What do you want from me? I cannot change the past. I am sorry you suffered, but the clan counsel ruled."

"A counsel of Maguires, aye. You tolerated a bit of embarra.s.sment, leaving till the wounds were soothed, whilst I lost my reputation, my family. My magic came back to me threefold and left me with these." She jerked on the neck of her gown, pulling it down to show the scars across her back.

Ian could not be more shocked.

"Tell me now why I should forgive you."

She turned away, adjusting the gown as she headed belowstairs. Ian watched her go. Oh G.o.d, she'd been whipped.

On his knees on the bed, Gaelan could not stop kissing her, touching her, his mouth creating a warm, moist path down to the curve of her breast. "Oh G.o.d, I've missed you," he said against her skin and she clutched him, kissing the top of his head.

"And I you, my love."

My love. Gaelan would never grow tired of hearing that. He'd come too close to losing her too often and he never wanted her out of his sight, wanted her to lie with him, let him cherish her. And he pulled her between his thighs, aching to feel skin to skin, heart to heart.

"I want you, Gaelan." She tugged the belt at his waist, tossing it aside.

He groaned. "You are not well enough for this," he murmured, yet hooked the edge of her s.h.i.+ft, dragging it down, bending.

"I am, I am. Oh Gaelan," she cried softly as his lips closed over her nipple, drawing it deeply into his mouth. He played there, tasting her scented flesh, but her impatience for him could not be denied. She worked her hands beneath his tunic, feeling warm male flesh as she pushed it up, bending to lick his nipple and eliciting a dark groan from her husband. She s.h.i.+fted restlessly, pressing harder, her mouth wide and provocative on his skin as he shoved the tunic off over his head. She could feel him, heavy and warm against her, and jerked at his laces, shoving her hand inside.

"Oh sweet merciful-" He thrust into her touch, covering her hand and meeting her gaze. "You seek to unman me?"

"I seek to have you inside me, Gaelan," she whispered, then teethed his lobe. He shuddered against her. "And I will not wait a moment longer."

She released him, pulling her s.h.i.+ft off over her head, and Gaelan turned away to remove his boots and braies. When he turned back she was in his arms, climbing onto his lap. Naked and warm and eager.