Part 36 (1/2)

Rhiannon entered the chamber, her hands folded in front of her bloodstained ap.r.o.n as she watched the pair, envy in her eyes. Her gaze s.h.i.+fted to the dark hole in the wall. ”What is this?” She moved briskly forward as Gaelan rose to his full, imposing height.

”'Tis obviously the escape route of the killer.” Gaelan searched her expression. ”Have you something to tell me, Rhiannon?”

Her gaze jerked to his. She stared briefly, then looked down at Connal. ”Culhainn will survive. He is in the solar. You may go to him.”

Connal twisted to look up at Gaelan, and he nodded his permission.

Rhiannon's lips tightened with irritation as she watched the boy leave. She glanced between Gaelan and Raymond. ”I did not know of this.” She flicked a hand at the tunnel. ”Nor who killed Meghan.”

”'Tis the why of it I wish to know. Someone risked his life to do that!” He lashed a hand to the bed. ”Who was the warrior in the woods?”

”A Fenian. I told you they wanted information to destroy you.”

He grabbed her arms ”You lie.”

”They want to bring you down quickly. All English. They threatened this”-her gaze glanced off the bed-”if I did not comply.” Her voice fractured with shame. ”I did not believe they would get to her. Don't you see? We cannot stop them.”

Gaelan scoffed, thrusting her from him so hard she stumbled back. ”I will, woman, be a.s.sured.” He turned to Raymond. ”Get a small torch. We find where this ends.” He gestured to the tunnel. ”And I want a guard on her.” He pointed, anger blistering his tone. ”She does not p.i.s.s unless someone is present.”

Rhiannon gasped.

His gaze raked her. ”You prefer the dungeon?”

”Nay.”

”I do this because Connal needs you, not out of sympathy for my wife's sister. If I find you have lied, Rhiannon, I will banish you from this place forever.” Gaelan flicked a dismissive hand, turning his back on her. Raymond nodded ahead and Rhiannon spun on her heels, her spine stiff as she quit the room.

Gaelan braced his back against the nearest wall and slid to the floor, cradling his head in his hands. Helplessness overwhelmed him. Siobhan was alone, unarmed and likely injured. And if I do not find her, if she is dead? He swallowed over and over, smothering his fear until it left a dull throbbing ache in his chest.

Wherever you are, my love, submit and live.

Sliding his fingers down his face, Gaelan stared at naught, planning his next moves. His gaze fixed on a pile of fabric on the floor and he reached, bringing it close, shaking it out. It was a banner, his banner, yet without the bar sinister cutting it diagonally. And in the claw of the dragon was the thistle of Donegal. His eyes watered and he blinked, then buried his face in the cloth, catching her scent in the weave.

”Gaelan?”

He tilted his head back to find Raymond near, an unlit torch in his hand.

”Driscoll has them all under guard.” His expression said it was useless since the discovery of the tunnel. ”And Owen is here and was at the gates the entire time.”

Nodding, Gaelan climbed to his feet, laying the fabric carefully aside. Raymond struck a flint to a torch and together they ducked into the tunnel.

He was as ruthless as he'd ever been, Raymond thought. Combing through Donegal with the precision he exacted in a planned attack, a siege. Men walked in lines, overturning brush, digging through cl.u.s.ters of trees, shrubs. But there was no way to cover every inch of land. And that fact was bleeding him dry. When Gaelan came to the villages, he approached with quiet care, his voice losing its angry bite. He removed his armor, the battle-ax and fierce dragon helm left in the camp. He came with only his sword strapped at his side. As humble as Lord Donegal could be.

Gaelan smiled, and Raymond knew there was no pleasure in the gesture.

He spoke softly when he wanted to rage.

He offered coin when he would have offered his soul for a morsel of information.

He touched the crown of a girl-child with long dark red hair, and Raymond saw pure agony flash across his features, instantly hidden from prying eyes. He'd seen it often in the past days, when he thought no one was watching. Gaelan would not allow a single soul to witness his pain, to see him weakened by it, and maintained the stoic expression as he had through a hundred other battles. Yet in the darkness of the evening, when they stopped to make camp and Gaelan retired to his pavilion, Raymond heard him beg G.o.d for her life, tears in his voice.

If this faceless enemy wanted to bring him to his knees, Raymond knew he was nearly there.

Not knowing where his wife was, if she was alive or injured, or buried under the very ground he trod, was unbearable torture, and Raymond hated to see him suffer, hated that he could do naught for him.

I never want to fall in love that hard, he thought. 'Twas not worth this slow death.

He swallowed the stone of despair every time he thought of the slaughter left in the lord's marriage bed and how Siobhan would fair against one so lethal. What kind of man carved a woman's face from her skull, he wondered for the hundredth time. To what purpose? It was clear Meghan was mistaken for Siobhan, her hair and coloring and her location obvious, yet even Gaelan did not know the maid slept there. Had the killer realized his mistake and in rage cut the false face off?

It was madness. Raymond suspected that if they found her, and if she were, by the grace of G.o.d, alive, she would be abused beyond hope. He hated himself for his weakened thoughts and refused to show them to Gaelan. The resolution of his troops was hard enough.

Raymond watched Gaelan walk toward him from the crofter's hut.

Gaelan paused at Grayfalk's side, gripping the pommel, fighting the urge to destroy everything around him. He met Raymond's gaze and shook his head, then swung up into the saddle, guiding the mount away from the solitary home on the edge of the border lands. They rode in silence, pausing just outside the encampment. Irish and English shared the warmth of fires and meals, the lines, so clearly drawn between them for weeks, faded with the need to find their princess.

My Irish princess.

Gaelan raked his fingers through his hair, his stomach clenching painfully. ”On the morrow send them back.”

Raymond blinked, at the sound of his voice in the stillness and the command. ”All of them?”

”Aye. I go alone.”

”How can you think to cover so much land?”

”We are nearly in Maguire's tuath, Raymond. Any further and we threaten a war with this many troops. Henry needs time to woo his new cache of earls,” he added bitterly.

Raymond could not disagree with that. ”I ask to remain with you, Gaelan. Let Driscoll, Mark and Andrew go on ahead.”

”Nay, my friend. I go alone. I need you at the castle.” His tone brooked no argument and he wheeled around and rode to the edge of the glen.

Long moments stretched to hours as he sat there, looking over the land, staring at nothing. The muscles in his throat rubbed like grated gla.s.s, threatening his breathing, and Gaelan felt his world coming to a brisk end, for without Siobhan it meat naught. Without her, land and home were just a roof and walls and earth.

It was near dawn when he returned to his pavilion, the loneliness leaving an ache so deep Gaelan didn't think he had the will to continue.

But he did. If only for the chance to kill the b.a.s.t.a.r.d who'd sent him to this h.e.l.l.

Chapter 26.

Open land surrounded him. The lushest green he'd ever clapped eyes on. Hours ago his troops forged toward the castle. Gaelan could not stomach the thought of Connal being alone in his worry, yet neither could he cease his search, not even to comfort the boy.

Squatting near the blaze, he drove his fingers into his hair, gripping his skull. It was as she had said, he thought, squatting and staring at the small fire. If he could not feed and protect his people, then he had no right to rule it. By the proclamation of Henry or the church, he did not.