Part 7 (1/2)
She reared back, resisting the urge to rub the gooseflesh skipping down her throat. If he thought to conquer her body as well as her people, she would set him a'right and quickly. ”By the G.o.ds, you are an arrogant man,” she hissed, yet images exploded in her mind, of this man tasting her body, making her feel more woman than she had ever felt afore his coming.
”'Tis a failing.” He shrugged without remorse. ”It comes with never having been defeated.”
She tipped her delicate chin, her eyes glacial. ”Then prepare for your first, sir knight. For you will find, as my husband did, that battling on the field cannot compare to a war with me.”
Her words slammed him in the chest, not for the challenge, but to remind him how delicate the situation had become. She held the will of her people, and mayhaps a neighboring chieftain or two, as well as the border villages: And short of slaughtering half of them for control, Gaelan knew he had to seek swift domination of the Celtic beauty as soon as possible.
Before she learned 'twas he who killed her husband.
Chapter 7.
Attention abruptly s.h.i.+fted to the shouts and clang of metal to metal beyond the open doors. Music droned to a sick halt, chatter faded. Scowling, Gaelan instantly drew his sword, and around them the knights followed, driving her folk back as a cry of pain rent the air, distant, hollow. Male. With only a glance warning her against rebellion, he caught her arm, pulling her toward the darkness beyond the doors. A soldier burst into the dim light, breathing heavily, blood on his hands, and her people's cries punctured the air.
Siobhan twisted, warning them sharply to be calm as the soldier and Gaelan spoke briefly.
His gaze flicked to her. ”You have a guest, it seems.” He leaned near. ”Uninvited, I hope, for your sake.”
”I hailed no one, PenDragon.”
”We shall see,” he said, ushering her through the doors into the torchlit yard. Beyond the light, bowmen atop the inner curtain pointed arrows into the yard, indistinguishable figures s.h.i.+fting in the darkness, moving closer.
Irish warriors. Clad in gold and green tartans and fur leggings, they were stripped of their weapons and held back at swordpoint near the inner gatehouse.
Sir Owen and the guards prodded several men on and Siobhan recognized them as a single fellow stumbled forward, his nose bloodied, his cheek sc.r.a.ped down to the bone. A few feet from her, he dropped to his knees, then tipped his head back.
”Lochlann,” she whispered, starting for him, but Gaelan's grip held her back. She leveled him a venomous look. ”Let me go to him!” She tried twisting out of his grasp, but he refused. ”What harm can he do now?” She gestured to the archers.
”Do not make demands in this, princess. He attacked my patrol on the edge of this castle.” Gaelan scoffed. ”By rights he should be dead.”
”By your rights we all should be littering the ground beneath your feet, PenDragon, but we are not.”
He bent, his lips near her ear. ”It can still happen,” he said and she stilled, wondering what atrocity he'd inflict on them for a purse full of gold. It infuriated her that their lives and homes could be tallied on royal parchment and delivered to such a man at the whim of a foreign king.
”Is this how you treat those who have already sworn fealty to your king?” Lochlann interrupted, struggling to his feet.
Siobhan gasped, horrified. ”Lochlann, nay!”
Lochlann's gaze swept from the PenDragon to hers, a flush of regret in his face. ”You have not, I see.” He smirked to himself, half admiring her. ”I expected as much from you.”
Her gaze thinned. ”And I more of you, O'Niell.”
His skin flushed with anger. ”My people still live on their own lands.”
”And so do mine.” His betrayal stung. She'd have expected such acquiescence from Tigheran, for the last time she'd seen her husband he was off to Dublin to swear allegiance. But not of Lochlann. Though oftimes hotheaded, he was so unlike his half brother; more handsome, younger, with rich, dark brown hair and blue eyes that danced with his emotions. And he respected her position as a leader.
”You have proof of this alliance?” Gaelan demanded.
”With my mount.”
Gaelan ordered the horse searched and Sir Mark stepped into the light with a roll of parchment. Gaelan released Siobhan and sheathed his sword. He glanced at the parchment, then met his gaze. ”Why did you not make yourself known to me, O'Niell?”
Lochlann's spine stiffened, his pride already in ruins. ”I could match you in a battle, PenDragon; she could not. She is my half-brother's wife and I swore to defend her, as did many clans.” His tone warned him of coming trouble.
”You could be hung for this attack, you know.”
”Irish blood is thicker than paper.” Lochlann nodded to the parchment proclaiming him lord of his own on Henry's behalf. ”O'Donnel and the Maguire would do the same. We'd see no harm come to her and her folk.”
”Admirable,” Gaelan sneered. ”But the choice lies with the princess.” He looked down at her. ”When she swears, the threat will die.”
Her expression wreaked of pure denial, though she kept her gaze on O'Niell.
”Henry awarded me my own lands.” Lochlann's lips twisted with humorous irony. ”Do the same, Siobhan.”
She jerked from Gaelan, coming to face the O'Niell, her hands on her trim hips. She got out two words in Gaelic before Gaelan ordered her to speak English. She sent him a heated look, yet obeyed. She had naught to hide. ”See to your own holdings and I will tend to mine, O'Niell.” Both understood her implication. His lands and people were spa.r.s.e compared to hers. She risked the enslavement of more lives.
”Come to Coleraine with me. There, I can protect you from him.”
”You cannot protect your own people from rival clans, Lochlann.” She made a sour face. ”And now you have made a deal with the English devil.”
Fury pulled his features. ”This b.a.s.t.a.r.d”-he snapped a hated glance at Gaelan, who watched them with bland interest-”will return to England and you will have your tuath.”
”Nay, some soft lord will have it. England will have it! Swearing to him or to this king will be a lie, can you not see that? They have done naught to earn this right, this trust. There is no enemy to protect from, but them!” She pointed to the archers and knights.
Lochlann frowned. ”But you let him in without a fight-I thought-”
She advanced to stop inches before him. ”I spared lives. I suffer the price of this, not them.”
His gaze swept her, hurried, anxious. ”Has he touched you?”
”You cross the line, O'Niell,” PenDragon growled behind her, his patience at an end.
”Nay.” But Siobhan feared it would not be long before the l.u.s.ty knight took what he plainly desired.
Lochlann's shoulders drooped with relief as he said, ”I worry you take on too much when there is no hope.” He brushed a strand of hair off her temple, fingering it lightly.
She caught his hand, cupping it to her cheek, and behind her, Gaelan stiffened. ”We have lived on hope afore, Lochlann.”
”England is strong and determined, la.s.s. They will-”
A little shriek bit the air and Siobhan stepped back as Connal came running headlong into Lochlann. Gaelan warned his men not to fire as Lochlann caught the boy, thick bare arms lifting him high above his head and shaking him like a piglet.
”You are here! We are saved!”