Part 17 (1/2)
”Ian says he did not.”
”You do not believe him?”
”His view is a bit jaded of late.”
”If he attacked, 'twas for you. He still loves you.”
Siobhan made a sour face. ”He lets his head full of sweet dreams and poems rule him, Rhi. PenDragon could have killed them all last eve.”
”You side with the English?”
Siobhan took a step back. ”There are no sides, Rhiannon. Ian has not sworn to Henry and would have good reason to war, but only in his eyes. I am not worth the wrath of my husband, be a.s.sured. Yet PenDragon is right to suspect. The day we met we were attacked, and the riders cared naught who they slaughtered. PenDragon was ambushed again afore he arrived here. Think you 'twas the same that burned the herder's shack and killed his family? Or mayhaps 'twas the Fenians?”
”Fianna Eirinn would not do such a thing,” Rhi insisted.
”To keep the English out, I think they would.”
”They are too few.”
”Small armies have been known to tip the scales of war.” Siobhan knew her sister was hiding more than she spoke and she wished she could see into the soul as Rhiannon could. ”And PenDragon's army is more than enough to put any rebels down.”
”Then you must make certain he does not war on the Fenians.”
”Impossible.”
”I saw you kiss. You can sway him for our people.”
Her knowing smile irritated Siobhan. ”Becoming a wh.o.r.e for Ireland is not a choice I choose to make!” Siobhan snapped. ”These raiders are outlaws. They are killing Irish and English alike.”
Rhiannon reddened with shame. ”I am sorry, but you will share a bed; why not use the advantage?”
”For the love of Patrick, you are asking me to betray him!” Siobhan gripped her arms, giving her a quick shake. ”Hold your tongue, for if he hears such talk, you will find yourself wed to DeClare and sent back to MacMurrough castle.”
Rhiannon paled. ”I would rather die.”
”That could be within his power, too.” Siobhan let her go.
Rhiannon licked her lips nervously. ”Siobhan, you know my heart lies elsewhere.”
Arms akimbo, Siobhan leveled her an exasperated look. ”Your heart lies with a man who will never return. These past years should have widened your closed eyes.” Rhiannon looked away, her mouth in a flat, rebellious line. ”Find a future, as I have, in what is availed to you.” Siobhan didn't add the comments lingering on her tongue and turned away, heading to her chamber alone.
She paused at the sound of laughter, looking down into the hall from the squints.
Evidently his men had started the toasting without him, for they were weaving pitifully, and a tinge of resentment rose as she noticed Driscoll and Brody were in the thick of it, with half the men still able to lift a cup without dumping it on themselves. To the rhythm of his knights pounding on the tables, PenDragon drained the mug, swiped the back of his hand across his mouth and, amid the cheers, tipped the tankard in salute to her. She rolled her eyes and shook her head, not wanting to see him fall so deep into his cups that they had to pour him into her bed.
Her breath skipped suddenly.
Her bed.
Regardless if he kept his promise this night, she would share a bed, bare their bodies and slip beneath the bedclothes. The thought drove a fresh blade of tension over her skin and she looked back at him, her gaze lingering over his broad shoulders, his magnificent chest. Siobhan admitted their kisses were exciting, his interest in her giving her back something she'd long ago lost beneath duty and her place in this clan-her femininity and the power behind it.
Still, did he think because she offered herself in a single kiss, that she would join her body with his this night? It would be just like a man, she thought, to see more than was there and take more than she wanted to give.
More than Rhiannon's att.i.tude grated on her frayed nerves, and although her maid, Meghan, had seen to the fire, food and honeyed wine, Siobhan loathed the darkness and went about the room furiously lighting candles. She could not believe her sister asked her to sway him with her body. Did she think the man was stupid to not see through such a ruse? With angry moves, she pulled the bells from her hair, wincing at the hair leaving her head by the roots, then tossed them on the commode table. Kicking off her slippers, she was halfway off with her gown and s.h.i.+ft when her forgotten circlet of silver clattered to the floor. With a gasp, she scooped it up, placing the crown of her heritage carefully in the chest. No longer a princess of Ireland, she thought with a tired sigh, but Lady Donegal. She lifted out a pair of thin spiral bracelets, the swirling knots and curves so delicate they reflected lace. They were rumored to have been created by a Druid. Her fingers whispered over the markings, her eyes burning for the women who wore it centuries before her, for the loss of her quest to keep Donegal as it had been for decades, and for the purity of her Celtic blood that would one day run with English.
She tipped her head back, too practical to allow the tears to fall, to overwhelm her. Those ancestors gave her strength, her belief that she was right in fighting PenDragon, remaining true to her soul, just as wedding him was the only way to spare lives and make certain her brethren were treated well. 'Tis all his in the King's eyes, and she was thankful PenDragon had not burned everything. At least now she had something to offer Connal when he came of age and took a bride.
In a moment of weakness she sank to the floor, murmuring an ancient prayer over the old bracelets and slipping them on, pus.h.i.+ng them high on her arms. She rose, naked, and moved to her bone comb, working through the snarls, and was searching for her robe beneath the piles of bridal booty PenDragon thought to soften her with, when the door rattled with a fierce pounding.
Siobhan s.n.a.t.c.hed up a length of russet velvet and had scarcely covered her nakedness when the door flung wide, banging against the wall. Gaelan stumbled in, DeClare and his remaining knights, the ones who were not facedown in the rushes, staggered in behind him. They froze, gaping at her.
”My G.o.d, Gaelan.” DeClare's gaze raked her bare shoulders, the cloud of deep red hair falling over the velvet. ”I envy you this moment.”
”Me too, my lord,” another knight slurred.
Gaelan swallowed, his mouth gone dry. The red-brown velvet clutched to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, she stood near the bed, the fire's glow bending the hue of the expensive fabric with the shade of her hair. His gaze swept her hurriedly, from the swell of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against her fist, the silver snaking her upper arms, to the dainty toes peeking out from the uneven hem.
”My velvet becomes you.”
Siobhan stared. For the love of Saint Andrew. He was stripped down to his braies and boots, the leather thongs wrapping his powerful thighs and accenting the bulge between. A bulge no woman could ignore. Heat flamed through her blood. The men continued to gape at her as if she'd grown new b.r.e.a.s.t.s, likely waiting to witness the bedding, an English custom she loathed. She'd no intention of joining with PenDragon this night, especially since he was drunk. But regardless of his promises to remain celibate, an argument of strength with him would be no contest.
She met his gaze and did not know what possessed her as she teased, ”You may have it, if you wish.” She loosened the fabric a fraction, exposing skin to her nipple. His eyes widened. An instant later, he turned, shoving the others out and closing the door.
Relief swept through her.
Gaelan pressed his head to the wood door, praying for patience and willing the thickness in his groin to subside. But her tart threats earlier, that he had land and a castle but not his bride, still stung, and he knew he would not have drunk so much if he wasn't feeling so inept at this marriage thing. The problem was, strong drink had done little to dull his desire and he could scarcely keep his thoughts from possessing her completely. But Gaelan knew, if he wanted this woman willingly, he must grow some patience.
Facing her, he bent and untied the thongs, toeing off his boots, then padded barefoot to the table, pouring wine and taking up a bite of cheese. He stared at her, munching, offering her a goblet. Siobhan nodded, moving near and accepting it. She drained the wine, a drop dripping from the corner of her mouth. Gaelan watched her tongue snake out to catch it before she thrust the goblet into his hand and turned her back on him. Moving to the foot of the bed, she stared at the pile of bedclothes, her shoulder on the bedpost, and he wondered what was running through her quick mind.
His gaze slid over her. ”You are very beautiful, Siobhan.”
”I am well past-”
”You are beautiful, Siobhan. And it matters only to me.”
She rolled around the post to look at him. It had been a long time since anyone had complimented her on aught but her efficiency. ”My thanks, husband.”
He scowled, truly irritated that she would not call him by his name. ”I've made a fair amount of bargains and promises in this marriage...”
”As have I.”
He went on as if she hadn't spoken, ticking off his justices to her. ”Not to bed you until you desire it, to remain faithful, not to kill your precious Maguire,” he said, his tone tight with jealousy. ”I think you could at least look upon me without fear.”