Irish: The Irish Princess Part 38

"Of course not."

"Good." She smiled, looking vibrant and cherry cheeked in the golden light. "For I am not the only one in your family."

"My family?"

"Your Irish one, my love," Siobhan said, and Gaelan looked at her, his scowl softening as he swept his arm about her waist and kissed her lightly.

"I will give you a moment alone, then you, sir knight, must leave her to her rest."

Only his eyes s.h.i.+fted. "I will not."

"My love," Siobhan warned. "'Tis not wise to anger her."

"Aye, you could find yourself wearing fur instead of skin."

Gaelan snapped a look at Fionna, but the mysterious woman turned and faded before his eyes, a dash of vapor left in her wake. He blinked, spinning about and searching the darkness, yet she was gone.

"She is rather dramatic sometimes."

He looked down at his wife and sighed, pressing his lips to her forehead. "Get you to bed, woman. For I like my skin just as it is."

Siobhan smiled, running her hands over his sculptured chest. "So do I."

Gaelan groaned, then ushered her quickly beneath the furs.

He glanced about, as if he expected Fionna to appear, then bent and kissed his wife, a wild play of wet lips and tongue that left her shuddering and hungry as she sank into the bedding. Grabbing his tunic, he left her when he wanted to hold her in his arms till the next dawn.

The instant he closed the door, Siobhan felt a presence in her cottage and smiled to herself. "'Twas rude, peeking in on us like that, Fionna."

"Had I not, you'd have been wiggling beneath the furs and weakened yourself into sickness."

"'Twould have been good weakness, though. Gaelan's prowess extends beyond the battlefield."

Fionna arched a brow, a black wing against translucently pale skin.

Siobhan's cheeks pinkened around a secret smile.

"How is your head?" Fionna pushed curls from her forehead.

"Still there."

Smiling, Fionna lifted a small sack from the intricate silver belt wrapping her slim waist, spilling the contents into a wood cup left on the commode. She closed her eyes, her lips moving in silent prayer over the potion, her hand pa.s.sing the rim and bringing a sputter of sparks. She held out the cup. "Drink."

Siobhan pulled a childish puss. "'Tis vile. Are you not talented enough to make it at least sweet?"

"Spoils the mixture." She shoved the cup into her face.

"You mother me." Grudgingly, Siobhan accepted, holding her nose and draining it swiftly.

"Because you are as stubborn as a child." Fionna set the cup aside.

For a moment the two women sat silent, Siobhan staring at her ring, Fionna watching her. "He loves you so much, cousin.

"I love him." She lifted her gaze. "I would rather be dead than live without him."

Fionna sighed, envious. Siobhan never felt that way about Ian, she realized, and Fionna cursed the day she'd unwisely helped the Maguire kidnap her away from Tigheran before they were wed. Happening upon Siobhan in the forest had been the first time she'd seen a relation in five years. It made her miss them all the more and feel her isolation with a deep, wrenching loneliness. But prison was of her own making, she thought, her crimes hers alone to bear.

"I cannot undue the past, Fionna, but you saved my life. I am forever thankful for your kindness and as I did before"-her gaze swept up to meet her cousin's-"I will always cherish you."

Fionna nodded, tears glossing her eyes as she rose and kissed Siobhan's forehead, whispering, "Thank you," before she stepped back. They exchanged a smile, then, in a wisp of vapor, she was gone. Siobhan exhaled, amused by Fionna's drama, and snuggled into the furs.

Not even a sorceress could keep him from his wife's side, Gaelan thought, quietly propping his feet on a rough-hewed table in the center of the room. The little thatched cottage was spa.r.s.ely furnished, yet not without Siobhan's warmth permeating the edge. Two cupboards, one with crockery, the other, lined with bottles and jars of herbs, a pestle and mortar and little leather sacks, covered the wall adjacent to the hearth. The rope and stick bed thickened with furs lay in the far corner, and Gaelan's gaze lingered over it, over his wife sleeping peacefully there.

Fionna was right, she needed her rest, but that did not ease the constant aching he had for her. Just to look at her made him want to claim her, to wash away the horror with tender loving and gentle kisses. His gaze swept her face and anger slithered through him as he focused on the bruises and cuts. She was alive by the kindness of this village and Fionna and he was indebted to them.

Yet their finding her in the forest barely alive told him one thing: Although the b.a.s.t.a.r.d had gruesomely murdered Meghan, when he realized his mistake, he did not have the stomach to kill Siobhan. And Gaelan did not want to think on the reason why. But he knew.

This monster, in his own twisted way, loved her.

Chapter 28.

Gaelan dragged the brush over Grayfalk's gleaming black coat, thinking of Siobhan inside the cottage, alone and possibly in pain. That Fionna popped back inside, shooing him out, did not sit well, for he hated being apart from Siobhan. Yet he'd conceded to Fionna's advice, for after seeing Siobhan's battered body, 'twas a wonder his wife had survived at all. He owed Fionna O'Donnel a debt he could never repay.

Fionna, the sorceress of Donegal, he thought, with a half smile. He'd never believed in magic and spirits, but after everything he'd experienced since his arrival in Ireland, he would not deny their existence any longer.

Cautiously, Gaelan slid his sword from its scabbard. "Come forth and be known," he ordered softly, then turned.

"Fine greeting that," Raymond scoffed, ducking beneath a branch before stepping into the tiny clearing.

Gaelan sheathed his sword. "b.l.o.o.d.y braggart," he muttered, folding his arms over his chest. "You have disobeyed me."

"Aye." Raymond leaned back against the tree, unrepentant.

"And you think naught of it?"

"Not when you want to fight the world alone."

d.a.m.n the stubborn puppy, he thought, smiling.

Raymond straightened. "You found her!"

"Aye."

Relief swept through him, sinking his shoulders a bit. "Thank G.o.d, for Connal is nigh going mad."

Gaelan's heart burned for the little boy. "That cannot be helped, yet. She was beaten. Nearly to death." Anguish laced his tone.

Raymond's expression mirrored his shock and sympathy. "Well, you cannot take her back in that condition."

"I had no intention of doing so. She is safer here. No one, save her cousin Fionna knows who she is, and the murderer does not know she survived." He explained what he knew, her discovery by the villagers, that she remembered the murder, the hooded man.

"She thinks she is missing something." Gaelan shrugged. "'Tis a detail she cannot put to words. When she does, I think she will know who did this to her."

"I have seen the like afore, Gaelan."

PenDragon's brows rose and slowly he unfolded his arms.

"'Tis a memory so horrible the mind refuses to see it."

"I realize that."

"'Tis like a squire seeing his first battle; you know some deny the horror of it. Even Reese could not believe the man who'd been more of a father to him could sever a man in half."

Gaelan did not need the reminder of his past atrocities, not now. "Make your point."

"The shock might not have been the crime, but the criminal."

Gaelan fanned his fingers beneath his chin, the stubble rasping in the silence. "Who would she least suspect of such a crime?"

"Ian Maguire, O'Niell, that retainer you let into the castle." Clearly DeClare thought the latter an unwise move and the list grew.

Gaelan was not so easily convinced. "'Twas a crime of rage, not of simple elimination. 'Twas brutal." Gaelan's brows drew tight as he recalled the gruesome sight. "And Maguire would have to be aware of the tunnel."

"Would Siobhan have told him?"

"She would not have to, secret sworn or not. O'Rourke did not dig it himself, not without notice at least."

"Mayhaps with help from his brother?"

"O'Niell would not dare risk his lands to be behind this. He would lose everything, including his life." Gaelan tapped his lips. 'Twas rumored that he and his half brother had never been on congenial terms, yet Gaelan did not rule him out. "Rhiannon could be lying about this too. She protects someone with her silence, and 'tis not her sister."

"And what one of your knights would lie or die for you, Gaelan?"

Gaelan's scowl deepened. There was no justice in that, yet he knew there were few who would take loyalty to extreme. For an instant, he thought of Sir Owen and his unexplained absences, yet was inclined to honor the man's past loyalty with the benefit of the doubt.

"Meghan was Nall O'Donnel's sister, and he lost his tuath to O'Rourke. Mayhaps Siobhan was a witness and not the target."

"Bridgett said no one knew Meghan slept there except Siobhan." Gaelan shook his head. "Nay, Meghan's murder was a mistake. And this b.a.s.t.a.r.d, twisted as he is, could not bring himself to kill my wife. He was hoping she'd bleed to death or be food for the wolves."

Gaelan told him of the attack on the moors.

"You let him live?" Raymond was stunned.

"I wanted to find my wife," he defended. "And he is not the root of this madness. The man did not know Siobhan was missing, I'm certain of it."

"Was he one of these mysterious Fenians, mayhaps?" Raymond's distaste for the fabled warriors showed in his tone.

"Do not discount them, my friend. Those men on the moors want the English gone. Enough to send five after me and leave this land without a lord. Whoever is attacking in the guise of English soldiers does it to brew distrust and revolt." Gaelan stared out over the village, wondering if it was the next target. "Clans retaliate and the culprits wait for the war to begin. When I do not slaughter in vengeance, they bid the Fenian to do it in Maguire's plaid."

"So it looks like the chieftain is attacking you?"

"'Tis possible." Gaelan shoved his fingers through his hair. "But why wear a plaid that would mark them, when they hide their faces?"

"Because they could be among us." Gaelan recalled the familiarity of the man's eyes, yet like Siobhan and her detail, he still could not pinpoint the reasons why. "We can trust so few, and we need evidence. More prisoners who will talk. 'Tis why I must return."

Raymond's eyes rounded and he glanced at the village. "You want me to remain here?"

Gaelan nodded, the thought of leaving her for an instant killing him. But he had to return, to Connal and as a presence in the castle. His absence would offer a perfect opportunity to a.s.sault Donegal in ways other than a siege. His people were stricken with grief and worry and would see hope in anyone offering the return of their princess. He stared at the village, wondering how he would find the will to leave her here.

"I do not want to scare these people. Nor alert the Fenians, if any are about. Stay close to her and"-his lips curved-"be aware of the witch, Fionna."

Raymond scoffed rudely. "There is no such thing."

Gaelan eyed him, recognizing heated bitterness in his friend just then. "Superst.i.tions abound in this land, DeClare, in my people. Respect them or you offend the entire race."

Raymond's lips quirked. "Your people?"

"Aye," he replied in Gaelic. "And get rid of that armor. I heard you coming for a mile."

She slept most of the day and well into the night, and Gaelan realized just how badly she'd been hurt. At least she was eating well, he thought, watching her devour the trencher full of meat. His anger rose every time he thought of this b.a.s.t.a.r.d striking her repeatedly. Her face wore the imprint of knuckles on her temple. Her voice bore a raspiness left by the kick to her throat. His fist clenched around the wood goblet and he tossed back a large swallow of wine.

"What troubles you, husband?" she asked from across the table.

His smile was faint with self-reproach. "I cannot hide a thing from you, can I?"

She popped a piece of meat into her mouth. "Would you want to?"

"To spare you the hateful urge I have to kill."

"This killer deserves to die, and you will find him."

"And if it is Ian?"