Part 49 (1/2)

”Ram the gates.”

Soldiers rushed to position the ma.s.sive wheeled log before the doors.

Suddenly they opened, a single figure sauntering forward as if to meet a caller coming to visit.

Lochlann's eyes widened.

”You think to slaughter us all, PenDragon?” Ian said. ”We are defenseless.”

”Then lay down your weapons and yield.”

”I cannot.”

His horse lurched, and O'Niell brought his sword down to tuck under his throat. ”Yield and give me my wife!”

Maguire's brows drew down. How did he know Siobhan was here? ”Why would she be here? Have a fight, did you?”

”Give me the little b.i.t.c.h!”

”I take exception to that, chieftain,” another voice said.

Lochlann jerked a look to his right.

His sword a'ready, the soldier pulled the helm from his head, tossing it aside.

Lochlann stared into the ice-cold eyes of Gaelan PenDragon, immediately raising his own weapon in defense. The ramifications of his presence hit him square in the chest. ”You are outnumbered. Shall I kill you both now?”

The crash of hooves blistered the cold air, soldiers riding toward the keep. Panic erupted. Men, his men, tore the false tabard from their chests, helmets from their heads, and Lochlann glanced, recognizing Driscoll and Niles, Owen and Fallon.

Lochlann met Gaelan's gaze.

Weapons trained on each other, they slid from their mounts, shoving the horses aside. ”Come, traitor,” Gaelan said. ”Appease your soul on the end of my blade. Quickly.”

Lochlann unhooked the helm, removing it. Then he smiled. All was not lost, he thought. He could kill the Cornish b.a.s.t.a.r.d and be done with this matter entirely. There wasn't a man amongst his flock who would risk the lives of his kin.

English and Irish warriors rode in all directions, too numerous to avoid, and half of O'Niell's army threw down their weapons and tried to flee. At Sir Owen's command, they were surrounded, soldiers binding them. But more than half chose to battle, and the sudden clash of sword, the thunk of javelins into soft flesh seared the midnight air.

In the center of the field, Gaelan and O'Niell circled each other.

”Come. Die as swiftly as your brother did.”

”Tigheran was a fool,” O'Niell said, and Gaelan realized he'd known all along that he'd killed the Irish overlord. ”He knew naught of taking what he wanted. Naught of construction of a fortress, naught of who's favor to cull.” His gaze flickered to Siobhan on the turret. ”Nor of the right woman to keep.”

Gaelan heard the hunger, the twisted love in his voice. ”Neither of you deserved her.”

They sidestepped, neither advancing nor retreating. Around them a battle waged, O'Niell loyalists defending their clansmen as Lochlann shrugged carelessly. ”Mayhaps, but I've the right. And when you lay bleeding on his land, PenDragon, I will have her.”

Gaelan's expression turned molten, black with vengeance.

”And when she and her sister are dead, I will have her lands.”

Gaelan scoffed, tired of this game. He swung, battering O'Niell back with decisive lashes. ”Every MacMurrough, O'Donnel and Maguire for leagues will have your hide.”

They lurched apart. ”Not if the king grants them.”

”Henry is not a fool.”

Lochlann struck, but Gaelan caught the blade, letting it slide to the hilt and bring him face to face with his enemy. ”Your captives in Coleraine have been freed,” he taunted, and with a shove drove him back, and the contest continued.

Lochlann thrust, his strikes hard and ringing down Gaelan's arm. Gaelan retaliated, blow after blow, forcing Lochlann to step back. Still the chieftain swung, a second blade in his free hand. His sword clutched in both hands, Gaelan advanced, a wide arch nicking him on the shoulder, yet having little effect. He tried for more.

Surrounding them, the PenDragon army subdued the raiders and there was silence as the lord of Donegal defended his people.

He fought without mercy.

He fought to kill.

He fought for the love of a land he called his own.

Lochlann saw his months of work falling about him, his men dying and pleading for mercy.

PenDragon refused to give it. He lashed and lashed, each strike ringing with bitter anger at the lives lost.

Lochlann was no match, and winded, his aim faltered.

Gaelan raised his sword for a final blow.

From out of the darkness a man shouted a harsh war cry, running toward Gaelan's back.

Siobhan gripped the stone ledge, helpless as the man raised a sword to cleave her husband. Suddenly a figure darted into the path, taking the downward swing and the impact meant for Gaelan. Yet as he did, he thrust his sword upward and into the man's heart and as they fell, Siobhan recognized the attacker as Tigheran's retainer.

And Gaelan's savior was Patrick.

Her gaze flashed to her husband just as he brought the blade down, severing Lochlann's arm. O'Niell dropped to his knees, blood fountaining from his stump.

”For those you have murdered,” Gaelan roared. ”You die without honor!” Gaelan swung, separating his head from his shoulders. The head rolled. The body fell with a decisive pound to the cold earth.

He stared, breathing hard, then stabbed the sword in the ground. He lifted his gaze and met Ian's across the carnage. Ian staggered, clutching his bleeding shoulder and bowed.

A cheer rose.

Gaelan acknowledged it, swiping the back of his hand across his sweaty face.

A voice called his name, sweet and feminine. He jerked a look at the gate, then strode across the b.l.o.o.d.y field as Siobhan ran toward him. The impact of her body drove him back a step as he wrapped her in his embrace. For a long moment they simply stood, locked, letting the sound of their heartbeats envelop them.

”Oh dear lord, I thought I would see you die!”