Part 1 (1/2)

Irish.

The Irish Princess.

Amy J. Fetzer.

Fear the wrath marvel the splendor So d.a.m.ned fierce yet, oh so tender.

Mystique lures the curious: reputation keeps at bay.

The menace makes them flee while the beauty makes them stay.

Behold! The enchanted creatures of which you have heard stories, enduring spellbound knights disregarding tainted quarry.

Fire rides in its breath while ice dwells in its heart.

Feeble minds think twice while forked tongues dart.

It has the long sharp talons- they rip the tender hide the animalistic howls last throughout the night.

Love is a Dragon.

your heart a maiden fair To be sacrificed at dawn or rescued from the lair.

And you, the s.h.i.+ning knight must be prepared to duel.

though love is a grand and gentle creature its fury can be cruel.

Chapter 1.

Donegal, Ireland.

1169.

Gaelan swore his bones were turning brittle.

Only Ireland could be this cold in spring, he griped, and would avow on his finest sword, the last tree he pa.s.sed looked painfully familiar. 'Twas b.l.o.o.d.y humiliating, a knight of his caliber, hopelessly lost and running in circles. He shook his head sadly and could almost hear Sir Raymond's jests. ”Mayhaps m'lord should pack a sack of crumbs to mark his trail,” he mimicked bitterly to the dense mist. ”Or haps a ribbon tether?”

Ah, the disgrace of it would surely kill him.

Compounding his misery, the hem of his fur mantle snagged on a branch of Blackthorn, dragging him back a step. The gnarled talons refused to release him and with a curse, he wrenched it free, the angry clank of armor echoing hollow in the forest, making him feel more isolated and lost as he adjusted the pelt about his exposed neck and shoulders again. A ghostly gray mist hovered in the forest air, cloaking him up to his thighs. Icy wind moaned like the bale of a bereaved old woman, skating along the cobbled and mossy earth, knifing through his chain mail and driving the chill deeper. A few feet behind him, Grayfalk stopped, the destrier dipping his big head and prodding the velvety ground for a nibble to ease his hunger. Gaelan dug in his sack of provisions and offered the weary beast a fistful of grain, then proffered a portion of drying cheese for himself.

”Make well us of it, my lad,” he murmured with a glance to the thick brambled forest as he swiped the back of his gloved hand across his mouth. ”'Tis all you'll have if this barren land is any indication of what precedes us.” His dark gaze scanned the shadowed trees, undefinable sounds dancing around him like dandelion fur, untraceable, making his senses jump. ”Fairy folk,” he muttered around the food. Aye, let us not dismiss the magic. Fodder for fools. But whilst his va.s.sals were inclined to believe the local tales, embellis.h.i.+ng them enough to terrify the young pages and squires, Gaelan was not. He'd no time to lend credence to fables when he'd a future to render into his hands.

...as soon as he discovered where in all of Christendom he was.

Giving the loyal beast a pat, he trudged on, his chain mail slapping his thighs, the leather straps of his breastplate creaking like weary bones. Above him, the sun desperately groped through the low-lying fog, the wind suddenly heavy as wood smoke.

And much warmer.

Gaelan's forehead wrinkled at the abrupt change and he paused, squinting between the misshapen branches. He sucked cheese from his teeth and swore he heard bells. A tiny tinkling. His head whipped back and forth, his ears p.r.i.c.ked to the faint sound, his hand not far from the hilt of his sword.

Then beyond a thinning in the copse, he saw a woman dart into view, running, her skirts hiked nearly to her knees, mist swirling about her bare calves and clinging to her like fitted garments. A basket looped her arm. She must be freezing, he thought, his gaze following her. She tossed a glance to whence she'd come, her deep red tresses briefly s.h.i.+elding her face and in the faint morning light, specks of gold glittered from her hair. The bells. The sight of her enchanted him, held him by the throat and kept him there, unmindful of the cold-or that this could be his source back to his encampment.

By G.o.d, she was a tall one.

Then he heard the rumble of footsteps, rapid, closing in. His gauntleted hand slipped beneath his mount's pelts, closing around his crossbow as his gaze snapped to his far left. He counted five men running at full speed for the la.s.s.

”A lady in distress, Grayfalk.” He slid a glance at the horse. ”What say you we lend aid, hmm?” Grayfalk snorted and Gaelan swung up onto the saddle. ”Make haste, lad. She's in need.”

With a p.r.i.c.k of spurs, Grayfalk lurched, and Gaelan maneuvered his mount around the trees, following sound, following her. Ducking beneath low branches, he knew if he could get ahead of the brigands, he could catch her first. As if a great hand divided the trees, he was suddenly free of the dense thicket. Grayfalk sensed his master's urgency, tearing across Irish soil.

Siobhan O'Rourke thanked the G.o.ddess for her long legs and fought the laughter bubbling in her throat. They imagined themselves so clever. Yet she'd heard the village boys in the underbrush, failing miserably to hide their presence whilst they waited for the chance to startle her. This time, 'twas she who startled them. Eager for some lively sport, she pressed on, vowing to outdistance the lads. Covering several more yards, she stumbled, bruising her toes. Wincing, she hopped on one foot, soothing the ache. They'll catch me now, she thought, then stilled, lowering her foot to the cold ground, frowning at the sky before turning toward a thunderous sound.

”Jager me,” she whispered, suddenly breathless. A man, nay, a giant astride a ma.s.sive warhorse charged across the land. Steam shot from the horse's nostrils in sharp gusts, leather sacks and weapons slapping the beast's bellowing sides as its hooves ripped the ground black. 'Twas consonant to a dream; Finn MacCoul come to avenge every wrong of her people. A warrior lord from the mist. A gold-brown fur flowed from his shoulders and only his huge chest and arms gleamed with polished armor. He wore no coat of arms or helm, his dark hair over long and catching the wind, yet as he neared, Siobhan knew an English knight when she saw one. They'd taken the lives of so many of her countrymen already. Then she realized he was racing straight for her.

Siobhan darted out of his path, but he swerved, bending low over the horse's broad neck. She turned and ran. But the lads were in the clearing and she waved frantically, calling out. The forewarning lost precious time. He was upon her, the horse's breath warming the back of her head, and Siobhan prayed if she met her death, that it not be trampled beneath English hooves.

Gaelan's arm snaked out, s.n.a.t.c.hing her off the ground. She screamed, flailing wildly, losing her basket as he tucked her to his side, then wheeled Grayfalk about. The sharp turn sent the animal rearing back on his hind legs, pawing the air, and even as Gaelan's efforts commanded the beast to settle, he adjusted the woman across his lap.

”You are safe, la.s.s,” he said, not sparing her a glance and urging Grayfalk toward the brigands.

”From what, pray tell? I was not in danger!” Siobhan shoved her hair from her face and tried slipping from his lap, but his arm clamped down on her waist, chasing the breath from her lungs and making her dizzy. ”Do you seek to crush me to death? Release me this instant!” She pounded his arm, tried prying his fingers.

The giant ignored her, freeing his battle-ax from its bindings. Clods of dirt kicked up as he rode hard, arm raised, and Siobhan's eyes widened as he swung back to strike. Her gaze flew to the boys caught motionless with fear.

”Nay! Oh, nay!” She latched onto his arm, yanking hard.

”Leave off, woman!” He shook her free as if she were no more than a kitten.

”Nay, nay! Cease!” She drew her knee up and drove it into his stomach, trying to unseat him. He caught her tighter, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s bruising against his armor. ”Escape, lads! Flee!” she shouted, her voice m.u.f.fled against his cold metal chest.

Her efforts cost him and the boys scattered like feathers on an unexpected breeze.

Gaelan yanked back on the reins, his breathing labored. He looked to the cloudy heavens, praying for an attack of patience, taking his time to secure his ax and remove his gauntlets, then finally bringing his gaze to the interfering wench. He found a woman full grown and lush, older than he expected. She had the most intriguing eyes, like a stone he saw once at court. Green, yet flecked with yellow and blue. And they were on fire with anger.

”You, sir, are a pea-headed ... imbecile!”

The warrior eyed her. ”Me thinks you should be rewarding me, la.s.s”-he inclined his head ever so slightly toward the boys vanis.h.i.+ng into the forest-”instead of cursing like a shrew.”

His dark gaze bore down on her, yet his deep voice was deceptively soft, caressing. Siobhan ignored it. ”A reward, is it now?” The arrogance of the man. ”For hacking at children?”

His brow tightened, his gaze flicking to the tree line now shrouded in mist.