Part 22 (1/2)
She looked back over her shoulder. ”A run, my lord, please?” Her eager smile pierced his heart.
If she would only smile at him like that every day, he thought, and heeled the horse. Grayfalk bolted. They rode, the cool wind biting and pungent with newborn gra.s.s, her dark red hair spreading across his chest like a warrior's s.h.i.+eld. To lengthen the ride, he made a wide berth, skirting the outer edge of the barracks under construction, the small camps of soldiers. Her laughter spilled like crystal water from a fall, showering him, and she glanced back, her bright smile carving a hole in his heart. Gaelan tightened his hold around her waist and let Grayfalk have his head. The black destrier plunged over the low hills, climbed the mounds of turf, and his master guided him around to the west slope where the creek ran clear, the rare sun glowing over a dale with trees and wild stubby bushes.
With the castle still in sight, he slowed the mount. Before he stopped completely, she slid from the horse's back and raced to the creek, dropping the basket under the trees and kicking off her slippers. Yanking off her hose and flinging them aside, she dipped her toes in the water, then lifted her skirts, gathering them in her girdle.
Gaelan dismounted, ground tethering his horse and walking toward her. She looked like the wild girl he'd met in the forest, bare-kneed, holding her hair back, searching the stream for fish. Once she shoved her hand into the water for one, then cursed. Gaelan leaned back against the tree, simply enjoying the sight of her.
”You do not have to forage, Siobhan; I have food here.”
She looked up, holding her hair from the water. ”Ahh, but 'tis the skill I must hone.”
”I hunt for Donegal now.”
She studied the fish moving under the water. ”Want you a wife who cannot take care of herself? And you will not always be here, husband.”
He pushed away from the tree and came to the water's edge. ”I know you can take care of this fief, but can you not see that the burden is no longer yours alone to carry?”
”I know this, PenDragon.”
”Nay, you do not.” She met his gaze, straightening. ”Not well enough to show your people. Think you I do not see that they obey me only at your discretion? Would you like to see them beaten for defiance?”
”Of course not!”
”Then you must cease airing your ... prejudice afore the folk.”
”I want them treated fairly.”
”Name me once when they were not.”
She was stumped completely and her shoulders sagged. He was no longer the mercenary, his purpose so obvious in the construction he ordered on the castle, the coin she knew he would pay for the labor and supplies. She was suddenly terribly ashamed of keeping him at arm's length when he tried so hard to please her, bending to her, but...
”I do not trust you ... completely.”
His heart grabbed onto her hesitation and longed for more. ”I know,” came sadly.
”I do not know when I will.” She left the creek, stopping on the soft bank before him.
”'Twill come in time, Siobhan. And by then, mayhaps, I might trust your motives as not a part of our bargain,” he said with obvious distaste. ”We have come by this alliance through much hards.h.i.+p to you, but you must understand that unless I am called by the king, I will not leave.” His voice lowered to a husky pitch. ”Donegal is my home now too.”
'Twas his tone that snagged her, lonely and rarely heard.
”My only home ever, Siobhan.”
Her throat constricted. ”Ha-have I not made you feel welcome?”
”You have made a place in your chamber, aye.”
Her brow furrowed. ”But not in my bed.”
”Our bed.”
It hit her then, the division she'd marked without realizing how it affected him. Hadn't she pitied his solitary existence before they'd wed? Yet she'd denied him the chance to alter his situation by keeping him from her bed, by battling with him, when he'd conceded all he could in his power.
”You cannot expect me to believe you have changed from war maker to settled lord in a sennight's time, husband.”
”Nay, I am a warrior, Siobhan, yet-” He looked off to the side. ”I am learning, this I swear to you. But...” He s.h.i.+fted from foot to foot, his voice barely audible, almost shy. ”I need your ... help.”
Something broke inside her then, slicing through the resistance. The moment offered a glimpse of his life, how difficult being inside the keep instead of burning it down must be for him. And she had done naught but keep him on the other side of the wall, sheltering her heart at his expense and denying the life he obviously craved, the life he'd earned for saving the king's.
”Oh, my lord husband,” she whispered, fingering his hair off his brow, and his gaze snapped to hers. His features were brittle and carved with anxiety. ”Forgive me.”
”I could forgive you aught but your hatred of the man I am.” His hands hovered over her shoulders, then settled there with a gentle weight and his tired sigh. ”I cannot help my past, Siobhan. 'Twas all I had until now.” He swallowed heavily, staring deep into her eyes. ”That man is fading, yet if I anger you with orders, 'tis because I've known no other way. But now I have more than a b.a.s.t.a.r.d has a right to possess and I find I want more.”
”What else is left that you do not have, my lord?”
”You.”
Her brow furrowed. ”But we are wed-”
He touched his fingertip to her lips, silencing her. ”The other night in our chamber I felt truly wed to you, but the morn brings the terms of our bargain to light. I am weary of living on the outside of real lives-your life, Siobhan-when I belong on the inside.” He neared, his body brus.h.i.+ng hers, and Gaelan scented her like a stag scents its mate, hungering with a fierceness that robbed him of his will, his pride. ”Donegal and her lands were the reason I wed you, Siobhan.” The slight narrowing of her eyes made him want to shout. ”But you alone are the reason I wanted Donegal.”
You alone.
”For the sake of a pa.s.sion,” she gasped, wetting her lips and searching his dark eyes. ”You have relinquished your freedom?” She could hardly believe it.
”For my want of you, Siobhan. Of the woman who challenged me like a warrior even when her life was at risk. And for a place to belong as you belong here.”
Over her head, he sketched the verdant land, and in that instant, Siobhan recognized how deep his longing ran, br.i.m.m.i.n.g with the fierce determination to be a part of Ireland, a part of something more than war. The unguarded moments of the past week filled her mind, the turbulence in his eyes when he asked for a marriage under Christian law, when he found his possessions in her chamber, the tub made for him; when he asked her to teach him to read and begged that none be aware of his shortcomings. He was a man struggling with a new life, a new people and a position he hadn't needed from the start, and that he wanted to be a real part of her life unfolded hope inside her, the hope she'd had but could not share.
How many times had she dreamed of having such a mate? How often had she wished that she and Tigheran could have made more of their marriage? She was a bride of peace with the chance for so much more, and aye, she admitted, she liked this man very much, ached for him in ways she never thought existed. He'd carved a spot in her heart for himself that day in the field, and he was pus.h.i.+ng his bulk inside with his bold teasing and the incredible tenderness hidden beneath his grand power.
She was losing her heart to him, and it left her vulnerable, pitifully so when he looked at her as he was now, with expectation and want and hunger.
He lifted his hand from her shoulder, let it hover near her jaw, and she slid her hand over his, pressing it to her skin. His dark eyes softened, and he whispered her name, reverent on the breeze.
”I did not know.”
”I did not want you to.”
”Why?”
”I am weak for you, Siobhan. You did not need another wound to pluck open.”
She need not ask if it was a weakness of the flesh, for she understood well there was more to this man than bedding, more she'd yet to discover.