Part 31 (1/2)
”Or the price will be your keeps on the borders.”
”What!” Gaelan said, lurching to his feet. ”What keeps?” Siobhan smothered a smile and the men gathered in the solar stood as she stepped inside with the tray. Depositing it on the scarred desk, she offered her husband the first mug of ale, then Lochlann, before serving Raymond, Driscoll and the remaining knights and newly appointed Irish retainers littering the outer edges of the room.
”You said that you did not want to know what came with me in this marriage, my lord.” She bent over the table, laying a trencher of freshly roasted mutton, boiled pigeon eggs and onions before Gaelan, and when she lifted her gaze, she found him staring at her bosom. At least he has not dismissed me completely, she thought.
”Surely you jest?” Lochlann said, clearly appalled. ”Were there no contracts?”
”I had Donegal. What other lands come with the princess was not a concern at the time.”
Siobhan swept around the edge of the table to stand near Gaelan. ”I should say so,” she muttered under her breath, and he tipped a look at her, his lips quirking a fraction.
He ordered Raymond to bring the contracts and unfolding them, Gaelan gave them a quick glance, pleased he could now read. He looked at his wife, brows high. ”Three more? You have three more? Sweet Christ, Siobhan!” He dropped into a chair. ”These people have been unprotected!”
”Nay, the Maguire sees to that, and Lochlann. 'Tis their duty to the tuath. Their fee paid in cows.”
At the mention of Ian's name Gaelan's expression darkened. ”Maguire is not sworn.”
”Swearing to the lord of Donegal will not stop Ian from protecting his clan, Gaelan. Nor our keeps.” There was a bite to her tone none could mistake, and Gaelan's eyes narrowed on his wife. ”'Twill be a matter of time afore he understands he cannot fight the English.”
Gaelan did not believe the Maguire was anywhere near swearing his oath to Henry, and that Siobhan failed to mention that the man was still connected to her in clan debt, festered inside him.
Siobhan laid her hand to his shoulder and he snapped a look at her. For an instant she frowned softly, searching his dark, brooding eyes. ”If you are worried, I suggest you send some of those men lazing about in the camps to the other keeps. Or Fallon O'Donnel”-she glanced at the Irish retainer-”since his kin live there.”
Gaelan leaned forward, forcing her to release him, and rolled the parchment, tying the ribbon thong with such care Siobhan grew nervous. He lifted his gaze and said one word.
”Leave.”
Siobhan flushed with anger, yet she kept her mouth shut. He had no right to speak to her thusly, treat her as if she had not ruled this land for years without his army and his b.l.o.o.d.y d.a.m.ned guidance. Yet she did not want a scene-not now-but there would be one, she thought. Jager me, there would. She bobbed a curtsey, quitting the solar. Outside the entrance, she sagged against the wall.
”My lady?” Brody paused on his way into the solar. Siobhan blinked at him, then forced a smile. ”You're looking fine in your English garments.”
The man grinned. ”Fits me better than furs and rough cloth.” He patted his chest and the PenDragon s.h.i.+eld there.
Siobhan frowned at it for a moment, then nodded to the solar. ”Go, they talk of battle. I am certain you are interested.” She pushed away from the wall, quickening her steps, trying to escape the hurt of being cast aside.
First by her husband, now by her clan.
Chapter 22.
Siobhan cooed to the horse, running the brush over her golden honey hide. ”Ahh, you're a bonny la.s.s,” she whispered softly. ”Such pretty legs, so dainty, m'lady.” The stallions in the stables stomped and snorted, scenting the female among them. ”Beware of that one, eh?” She nodded to Grayfalk, the other knight's steed lining the freshly timbered stalls. ”He's got a head as thick as his master.”
The horse bobbed and Siobhan smiled, laying her cheek to her mare's wide neck, smelling animal and leather. And freedom. She longed to race, to be the wind and lose herself in the ride. To be anywhere except in this keep, now.
”Mama?”
Siobhan looked up, smiling and motioning Connal closer, Culhainn at his heels. The dog plopped near the door, not daring to come close to the jumble of hooves as her son looked up at the grand charger with wide eyes. Siobhan lifted him in her arms, setting him gently on the mare's back.
”Did the king of England really give this creature to you?”
”That is what Lochlann says.”
Connal toyed with the ribbon in the horse's mane. ”She is pretty, Mama.”
”That she is. What shall we call her?”
Connal looked thoughtful, bending around to look the mare in the eye and nearly tumbling from her back. Siobhan laughed, catching him, holding him before the animal's face. He petted the mare's nose carefully.
”Riona. It means royal, aye?”
”Aye, lovey. Riona, then.”
Connal looked at the creature, his expression serious, and Siobhan frowned softly as he stared into the animal's eyes. ”Riona, you're a king's gift to my maither. Serve her and only her, aye?”
Siobhan smothered a laugh at his adult behavior, that he tried to deepen his voice a bit. Yet when the horse nodded and then dipped its head low, stretching out one leg, suspicion raced through her.
”She understands,” she whispered, clutching her child away from the horse.
”Aye, of course.”
Siobhan smoothed his hair back, staring into his eyes. ”Keep this secret, son.”
”Why?
”Those who would harm you, would use it against you.”
”Like my father did with the mist?”
Her eyes flared. ”Who told you that?”
”I heard the soldiers speaking of it. But Uncle Lochlann told me. Will you conjure the mist for me?”
”Nay! 'Tis not a toy to be played with at the whim of a child!”
His lower lips curled down, and Siobhan regretted her sharpness, hugging him, apologizing as she pressed his head to her shoulder. His arms swept tightly around her neck, his legs around her waist. Tigheran forbade her to leave the keep in winter and remarked often enough that he'd married into a family of witches. Thank the Lord he never said such afore witnesses, she thought. And now this talent of Connal's would grow as he did, just as it had in her and Rhiannon.
”Do not be afraid, Mama,” he said softly. ”I will protect you.”
Siobhan's eyes burned. Oh, how she loved him and she tightened her embrace for a brief moment. He leaned back and kept leaning until he hung upside down, giggling. Siobhan twirled for him, tickling her son, and dizzily they sank to the straw piles. Connal tickled her back, trying desperately to make her laugh.
”Cease, oh cease, child. Your fingers are bony and I am not ticklish.”
He muttered a curse, a funny one of toads and larcenous rats.
”Go ask Nova if the meal is ready, then come back to tell me, aye.”