'Twas her turn to look discomforted. "Did you not live there, have family there?"

"I am alone and I live in yon pavilion, princess, and travel."

She shook her head sadly, mounting her horse and reining around to climb the steep hill. Gaelan felt more pity than disgust in that single look and wanted neither. Yet as he followed her throughout the day, listening to her chat with Driscoll, smile and laugh-ahh G.o.d, she had a glorious laugh-he did not like being on the edge of her life, the hated b.a.s.t.a.r.d who'd taken away her freedom.

"Where now, my lady?" Driscoll said, uncorking a skin of wine and offering it to her.

She declined with a sweet smile and gestured. "The herders, in the hills."

"I do not think so," came from behind.

She twisted in the saddle, leather creaking. "But I-"

"Nay."

"Why then?"

Gaelan's lips tightened. Unused to being questioned had little to do with his rising temper, for all his mind's eyes could see was her set upon by raiders, her body bludgeoned into the ground, for they were too few to defend adequately. "I do not explain myself to you, woman. Return to the castle at once!"

His roar did little to ruffle her. "I've duties to tend, unless you would care to count sheep and see how many we can spare for the next sennight of meals?"

"I will see that game is provided," he reminded.

"You cannot go about killing a free man's livestock, sir. Most of mine roam until needed. How would you know which is held in tenant and which is not?"

"I suppose I will ask the creature afore I take its head."

Raymond coughed suspiciously.

"To the stronghold, princess." He nodded ahead. She didn't move, irritating him further.

Her brow knitting softly, Siobhan studied him for a moment. He'd been in a mood all day, the sunshine and warm breeze doing little to soothe it. "What think you, Driscoll?" she said in Gaelic and saw the knight's annoyance rise.

"Me thinks he is afeared for you, la.s.sie."

"Codswallop," she muttered.

"Siobhan!" he bellowed.

She winced, delivering a sour look. "Must you always shout?"

"With disobedient females who do not believe what I say, aye!"

Hating that he spoke to her like she needed a spanking, she hissed, "Very well, mercenary," then kicked her mount into speed, two of his soldiers joining them. Yet she'd recognized the oddness of PenDragon's look, as if he suspected her of something devious, and it lay in the hills.

Raymond glanced at Gaelan, neither of them following, yet Gaelan's gaze never left her, his scowl softening to a gentle smile with every thump of hooves.

"Enchanting female," Raymond murmured. "I've never seen a woman take your temper with so little thought of the consequences."

"She is a rebellious, stubborn female who does not know her place."

Raymond's smile resisted his smothering. "Then I pray for the king's sake he delivers a strong man to marry her and help her find it, for the princess has no intention of recognizing you as her master. Mayhaps you should write the missive today?"

"There is time." He watched her until she vanished from sight "When will you discuss the surrender with her, Gaelan. We need be off. DeCourcy wanted us-"

Gaelan snapped a look at him. "I do not give a fig what DeCourcy wants. And I will find a solution when one presents itself!"

"Then send word to Henry to select a lord husband-"

"She will refuse him."

"She cannot."

"Aye, by her laws, she can and she will. And that, my friend, is only one fix we are in. O'Rourke swore his oath with Donegal lands, a goodly portion belonging to his wife and her family in bride price, and his death muddies the water. Aside from needing an English overlord here, Henry wants Donegal's fealty on parchment, quickly, and he does not care if it is in blood. These people"-he waved to the land-"don't have the influence he needs to curry the church's favor. That lies in Meath, Dublin, and Waterford, and he knows it. 'Tis occupation he seeks, and though his liege man might hold the fief in his stead"-he tipped his head to stare at the castle in the distance-"she is in possession."

"Then someone needs to tell Henry he can't go sending off his lords to marry Irish royalty to gain the land into his control."

"Would you like to sign the missive?"

"I like my head right where it is, thank you." Raymond was quiet for a moment then said, very softly, "There is another solution."

Gaelan spared him a mild glance, catching his intent. "We are here to secure and protect the king's a.s.sets, DeClare. Naught more."

"If you want more?"

For a moment, Gaelan didn't respond except for a tightening around his mouth. "Do not mention this again, DeClare. I know where I stand in this life, and 'tis not beside a princess." He spurred the horse and, sadly, Raymond followed.

Chapter 9.

Gaelan tossed the reins to Reese, asking after Siobhan. The lad nodded toward the chapel. "She returned over an hour ago, looking rather well, considering."

Gaelan's brows drew down as he studied the boy and his smug expression. "You expected me to beat her?"

Reese looked away, then met his gaze.

"Have I ever once struck you?"

"Nay, sir."

"Then why would you believe I would beat a woman in my care?"

"I have seen you in battle."

"Where I was fighting for my life, boy. There is a difference when confronting anger. I have learned to control that rage, separate it. And my oath as a knight bids me protect women such as the princess, no matter her country of birth."

"But she disobeyed."

"Nay, I did not forbid her. I a.s.sumed she would not leave. The fault is mine."

"Aye, sir."

"'Tis clear you have a great deal to learn of being a knight."

Reese's posture stiffened, his lips pressed tight. "Aye, sir."

"Be about it, then."

Reese pulled the great stallion along, frowning back at his master.

Gaelan glanced at the chapel, resisting the urge to seek her, though he knew she was avoiding him, and crossed the field to the inner ward, familiarizing himself with the grounds. The castle was in a sad state of disrepair and he must inform the future lord aforehand, for the cost would certainly deter a man seeking wealth and fortune in Donegal. His lips quirked without humor as he paused at the inner gate, looking about. The fellow, he thought, would be well and duly shocked. 'Twas a thriving place, but it lacked the pomp of court, the extravagance of English castles, the excessive amount of servants. Gaelan had always thought that a waste and made the t.i.tled soft, expecting more than they deserved. Although it was that greed, he thought with a smattering of truth, that usually drove the men who employed him to fight their battles.

In the distance, he heard the smithy's hammer, smelled the aroma of wasting pig. Around him hearty souls rushed past, giving him a wide berth, as if he was not there, yet their eyes told their feelings, their distrust and hatred. His shoulders moved restlessly against feeling aught but his duty. He'd delayed long enough. He'd rarely been inside a castle, more often beyond the curtain wall and ramming her doors open. And this would have been an easy a.s.sault, he thought. Though the wall tower was manned, only his men lined the wood parapet walk and were scattered over the outer ward field. The inner ward held only a handful of soldiers, for it had been Gaelan's experience that people scared for their future accomplished little work.

He squinted toward the north tower, then noticed a woman standing a few feet away, patiently waiting for him to notice her, a lumpy cloth in her hands. He acknowledged her with a nod. "Mistress."

"Hungry, m'lord?"

"Aye," he said with feeling, eyeing her bundle.

Her smile was tremulous, her eyes crinkling despite her obvious fear as she stepped closer and unwrapped the cloth. She lifted out a steaming meat pie, dropping it into his hand, then dipped a curtsey and dashed off toward the kitchen. Gaelan smiled, tossing the hot pie from hand to hand, yet he was too hungry and the smell too inciting to wait. He devoured it where he stood. A young girl ventured close, carrying a bucket. She dipped the ladle deep, offering him sweet milk. Gaelan drank, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth and thanking her, eyeing her as he handed back the ladle. She remained so, staring up at him, letting him look his fill of her pale bosom nearly spilling from her bodice. Then she glanced past him, her eyes rounding before she took off. Gaelan turned and found Siobhan walking toward him.

His heart slammed into the wall of his chest Sweet lord, she was beautiful, he thought, enjoying her sultry approach. She'd discarded the coa.r.s.e work clothes for a simple gown of deep blue, delicately trimmed in silver and clinging to her lush body, yet the same girdle of leather and silver cradled her hips.

His gaze lingered over her curves and he saw her lips press tight with annoyance. He kept looking to spite it.

"Are you satisfied enough till supper, sir?"

She'd sent the cook with the pie. The simple gesture was like an arrow through his breast, bleeding him with a painful need he'd never experienced before. He'd had women do things for him, most who were sharing his bed, and he paying for the privilege, but never an act out of simple kindness. And especially not from a woman whose home he'd seized.

"I am. My thanks, Siobhan." How could just looking at her send his heart thundering up to his throat?

"You are welcome, sir."

He sighed deeply. "Can you not call me Gaelan?"

"'Tis best not to grow familiar."

He leaned closer. "I have held you in my arms, touched your body, kissed your mouth, Siobhan. I would say we are already familiar."

With each word shame swept her features, and Siobhan lowered her gaze. "Please. That was another ... time." Another woman.

"'Twas but yestereve you put your soft little hands under my shirt and played-"

"Cease," she hissed, bright spots of color bursting on her cheeks as she glanced left and right to see who was listening.

"Is it because I am a b.a.s.t.a.r.d?"

She was taken back. "Of course not. 'Tis the English who attach such a t.i.tle. There are no b.a.s.t.a.r.ds in Ireland, sir."

He frowned.

"A child does not pay for the fault of his sire. A woman can have a child for any man she chooses and the child born without the protection of vows is still seen to by all, his comfort a.s.sured in livestock even before he greets the world."

His brows rose. "Who pays for this a.s.surance?"

"The father to the mother and her family."

"And if he refuses? Or does not acknowledge?"

"There is a penalty for ignoring one's responsibilities on both sides. A father not acknowledging his child shames himself in cowardice and shames the woman."

He looked thoughtful, glancing around at the folk. "Your king calls us lewd, uncultured. We are not barbarians, PenDragon. We do not drink the blood of our dead, kill children too weak to survive, hold rituals on the hillside. Though..." He looked at her. "I admit we're a superst.i.tious lot."

He smiled, a slow pull of his lips that lit his dark eyes and robbed her of her next breath. There was something different about him just then, a brightness in his eyes she'd never seen before, as if something was reaching inside and stirring him.

"Do not forget the magic."

She eyed him. "You do not believe it exists, I can tell."

"Nay, I do not."

Her lips quivered in a tiny smile and his heart thumped with antic.i.p.ation of seeing it in full bloom. "'Tis well that you will not be in Ireland long, then."

"I will remain as long as it takes to gain your oath, Siobhan."

Her lips thinned and he recognized the spark of anger in her strange green eyes. "We cannot fight you, you know this. Why must you insist on my oath to Henry?"

"I may be Cornish born and a mercenary, Siobhan, but I am knighted by Henry. 'Tis my duty to gain it."

She scoffed. "You are the worst kind of man to me, PenDragon." His heart did a painful drop at her words. "A man who lives by spilling the blood of others, for others. You take land and lives for no justice of your own."

His features yanked taut, his brows drawing down. The look was menacing, almost terrifying, and for an instant she thought he would strike her.

"In my soul, I cannot swear to a man with no purpose but gold. In my soul." She struck her chest, once and hard, her voice waving with the strength of her emotion. "Do you understand this?"

He didn't, by G.o.d. "You would see your people enslaved rather than become serfs to some lord."