Part 21 (1/2)
He shrugged, and Siobhan realized he was feeling cast aside but would not say so. She crawled into bed with him, hugging him close, toying with his thick hair. He tossed and twisted for an hour, and no amount of coaxing could get him to tell her the root of his discomfort, though she knew. He hated Gaelan. Hated that he was here, hated that he shared her bed, for her son had never seen a man there. Was he mayhaps jealous? She regretted not keeping him with her more often, but even a sorrowful boy got into trouble and underfoot when he was bored.
”Shall we take a ride together on the morrow?”
He c.o.c.ked a look at her through sleepy eyes. ”Just you and me?”
”Nay, poppet, we must have an escort. There have been bandits in the hills.”
”Will he go?”
She shrugged. ”PenDragon has much work to do.”
”Good.” He closed his eyes. ”I would rather DeClare join us then.”
Siobhan looked up to see Gaelan moving away from the door, his head bowed, his wide shoulders drooping on a heavy sigh, and her heart went out to him.
Gaelan had slept alone that night, leaving Siobhan to comfort her son, and in the morning he stood back and watched them ride through the gates, Connal tucked in front of his mother, an escort of no less than fifteen men accompanying them. He had not kissed her good-bye, nor touched her when she mounted the palfrey, but he had wanted to, for he'd missed spending the evening with her more than he thought possible. She twisted in the saddle, meeting his gaze, and he felt a sense of companions.h.i.+p with her, for although he'd made no indication that he'd heard Connal's words last night, he'd not balked at the request. After all, they'd been wed only days. The boy needed time.
But he'd allow only so much time to pa.s.s before he let Connal come between them.
Chapter 16.
Gaelan frowned when Siobhan and the group rode back inside the gates but an hour later, hardly enough time for a decent run. He strode quickly to her, glancing at DeClare, who looked a bit scuffed and dirty for a simple ride, then Driscoll, both men's expression guarded, before bringing his gaze to Siobhan. She put up her hand, halting inquiry, then slid from the saddle and reached for her son. Connal came to her stiffly and she set him to the ground, bending to his ear.
”Get yourself to your chamber, laddie. I will be up in a moment's time to have a chat with you.” Connal glared first at Gaelan, then his mother, and Gaelan's brows rose as he watched the child stomp toward the keep.
Siobhan's shoulders slumped and Gaelan stepped closer. ”Is there aught wrong?”
”Not that a good paddling won't cure.”
Gaelan frowned. He never thought to see her so angry with her child.
”He put a thistle under DeClare's saddle and he was thrown.” Gaelan's gaze shot to Raymond and the knight shrugged. ”Sweet Mary, I don't know how he reached that high, but the devil is in the child this morn.”
Gaelan looked at the ground, his shoulders shaking suspiciously, and she moved closer, tipping up his chin.
Her eyes flew wide. ”You think 'tis funny? He could have been killed!”
”You have to admit, Siobhan, the boy is tenacious.”
”That boy”-she pointed, in case he forgot which one-”is going to spend a day in penance, and do not let him see you laughing about this.” She swatted his chest in warning. ”'Twill only breed more mischief.” Still, PenDragon chuckled. ”Know you he cut the girth to your saddle?” Gaelan's laughter died and his gaze narrowed. ”Ahh, see, 'tis not such a lark, now, eh, husband?” She looked at DeClare. ”Please accept my apology, sir.” He nodded and she bobbed a curtsey and strode off.
Gaelan watched her go, pitying the lad a bit.
”Being birthed in an abbey did little to sanctify he'd be an angel, eh?”
Gaelan swung around, frowning at Driscoll.
”Aye, my princess had left to join Tigheran in England when she discovered she carried the prince in her belly and was forced to remain at an abbey in Wales till his birth. The weather being bad about then.” Driscoll's voice turned soft and melancholy. ”The day she rode through those gates with that bundle, I swear her smile melted the snow, for 'twas the only time I ever saw her truly happy to be here.” Suddenly he shook himself and cleared his throat, his cheeks pinkening. ”Then word came of her husband's death. And, well...” He shrugged, as if that said what he could not.
Gaelan digested this as he ordered them to get off their a.r.s.es and come look over his plans. Yet as they hovered over the diagrams spread on the table, Driscoll's words nibbled at the back of his brain, and during the remains of the morning Gaelan tried to understand what bothered him about the tale, then dismissed it. He had much to do before luncheon and his reading lesson with Siobhan.
Rhiannon leaned back against the stone wall in the garden. Above her sunlight refracted through the colored gla.s.s, spilling red, yellow and blue on the opposite wall twenty feet away. She tipped her face to the sun, letting the warmth dry her tears, and she stared at the trees, the wind turning the leaves back. Then she slunk to the ground, covering her face. She sobbed, quietly, privately, ashamed of herself, of her heart's desire and the betrayal of it.
Castle folk cleared a path for her, aware of her ire, and Siobhan was thankful for the small courtesy. She hated disciplining Connal so severely, but the child's behavior was growing worse by the day. She did not want to inform her husband of the bed ropes he'd cut and she'd discovered, much to the objection of her rump, just now. What did he think to accomplish with all this mischief?
Siobhan froze at the inner gate, her gaze moving over the outer ward. She'd never seen so many men inside the castle walls. His men, his soldiers, footmen and archers slammed hammers, used muscles for war, to build. Not a soul stood idle, and already this morn carpenters worked to expand the armory and accommodate the cache of weapons. Pages and squires sat on a log like birds, polis.h.i.+ng and repairing armor and tack, the line of deadly crossbows and bolts sending a s.h.i.+ver down her spine. Archers strung new bows and along the east wall another group of soldiers-his soldiers-lifted a finished wall off the ground and pushed it into place, extending the barracks. Carts rolled between the yawning doors of the outer curtain, thick-chested war horses put to work to pull the heavy load of stones. Masoners chiseled and oversaw the mixing of mortar in great vats. Then she recognized the kettles were from the kitchen! Her best ones!
Irritated more than her share this day, Siobhan's gaze searched the congestion for her husband. Her breath shot into her lungs when she saw him, using his broad back to help lift a huge stone into a break in the curtain wall. Above him on the parapet, three men struggled with ropes to pull the chiseled boulder up into place. Siobhan called out to her people, for the largest to come help before he was crushed under the weight. A few men gave her a belligerent look before complying, and the many hands hoisted the rock into place. With a growl, her husband straightened, flexing his bare back and arms, then clapped a hand on the back of an Irishman, thanking him.
The man merely nodded and went off to tend his ch.o.r.es.
Siobhan met her husband's gaze, then crossed to him, offering him the rag looped in her ap.r.o.n. ”You seek to ruin my pots and kettles?”
Gaelan smiled. By the G.o.ds, she was a combative female, he thought, stepping closer, loving the way she c.o.c.ked her head as she awaited an answer, adored her hands on her hip and her tapping foot.
”'Tis all we could find.”
”Had you asked I would have shown you the tar vats in the herb house.”
”Using them to brew potions, were you?”
”Aye, you'll find that Englishmen make a fine stew,” she bit back. ”The vats are useless for aught else, since 'tis difficult to get tar to fill them. Tigheran wanted a castle better than any in France and England. Unfortunately”-she glanced at the ill-placed buildings and gates-”he knew naught about building one.”
”Ahh, but I do.”
Her gaze thinned a bit. ”Only because you know how to find their weak spots and tear through them.”
His look was sultry, a reminder that he'd found his way beyond her defenses two nights past.
”Do not speak of it,” she warned with a finger in his face. He grinned, wiping the sweat from his chest, and Siobhan's gaze unwilling followed the path of the cloth, aching to touch his sun-bronzed skin.
”If an enemy penetrates the strong, Siobhan, what do you think he can do to the weak? They must be prepared.”
”We are not totally inept, sir. Know you how to throw a javelin? I would wager even I could manage farther than your finest bow man.”
”Is that a challenge?”
”If you feel the need for one, aye.”
d.a.m.n but she was spoiling for a fight, he thought, smothering a grin she would not like. Standing this close to her, he could feel the energy running through her, heightening her color, making him eager to feel it explode on him in ways other than anger. Obliging her, he called out a man, ordering a javelin brought forth. The Irishman cast him a guarded look, his gaze flicking to Siobhan. Discreetly, she nodded, and Gaelan sighed, realizing that lord or nay, when she was near, airing her defiance, her authority undermined his. Working as one, as true partners in this marriage instead of circling adversaries, was not just theirs but her people's only hope of survival. Yet short of beating the lot of them into submission, he recognized that wedding the princess of Donegal gained him naught but a mutinous wife and an unsatisfied ache in his groin. And it was time to change that.
The clash of swords drew her attention and Siobhan turned. Near the stables, knights were instructing several Irishmen on swordplay, a huge tree stump the target. Beyond them, the gamekeeper, the cooper and their a.s.sistants worked to lift a wooden horse to a track. A quintain. Her castle was quickly turning into a training field.