"Get your Norman hide to bed, whelp. Your prattle exhausts me."

Raymond left him, the flagon of wine tucked to his chest. Gaelan gazed at the fire, dismissing the spark of need Raymond's words ignited. A purpose? A home? A life of permanence? It was a notion Gaelan never allowed himself to consider. Well, mayhaps once in the past two days, he amended. He wanted and needed no more than a filling meal and a battle worthy of his skills. He'd no lands, no family awaiting his return, therefore where he slept was inconsequential. He could gain naught but coin for his services-therefore he'd never aspired further. His lot was a life without gentleness, he insisted silently, without caring beyond survival. Were he to die, none would mourn, and Raymond would fill his boots and lead. 'Twas as he'd expected, no more.

Then why, a ghostly voice asked, was the road traveled increasingly unsatisfying of late?

Land for a lifetime. 'Twas within reach.

Cold, tired and still hungry, Gaelan exhaled slowly, folding his arms over his chest and closing his eyes. For the flicker of a moment, he imagined himself a sedentary man, his life simple, without threat of an opponent's sword in his gullet. Would he grow restless for battle? Would he be as unsuitable for confinement as he was for a family? Regardless, the image of the red-haired woman flooded his mind and he fed the vision. She was beside him, living and loving. Love? He scoffed, his eyes still shut. What tenderness was found in an army's garrison beyond the friendship of a comrade and the easing of his needs between a pair of willing thighs?

He shifted his shoulders, muscles suddenly tight. He would not know much of hearth and home even if the opportunity presented itself. His last occasion was years prior at court and he'd found he'd no taste for the pomp of n.o.ble life. Nor did he fit in there. Opening his eyes, he stared at the heavens, pinpoints of light blinking on a river of black. For certain he did not belong here. But 'twas his due, his reward for deflecting an attack on Henry's life by an Irish overlord.

Siobhan opened her eyes cautiously, then threw back the pelts, reaching for her clothes piled on the ground. She'd heard enough. Henry hired my sword, is all. Is all! He was a mercenary, following no ideal, no cause, laboring, nay, slaying for tainted coin and naught else! Ahh, she should have known. Fitting her kirtle down around her hips, she yanked at the laces, then looked around the pavilion for her weapon. She did not believe for an instant a war-maker like him would care anything for a single blade when she was certain he had many to join his English arrows. Not devious enough to search his possessions, or the lack, she scrounged the threadbare rug for any weapon. Surprise brightened her face when she spied her dirk stuck in the wood table. Wrenching it free, she carefully pushed it down between her laced b.r.e.a.s.t.s and looked for a means of discreet escape. Guards would be posted about the perimeter, she thought. As a precaution, she threw the furs over the pallet, making proper indentations.

She snapped her fingers twice and Culhainn pushed through the flap, moving on silent paws to her side. "Shh," she hushed when he whimpered, stroking him behind his ears. She could not walk out in plain sight. There were still too many people milling about. She stood still, arms straight, palms out, her senses attuned to the land as she commanded the mist to rise and cloak her escape. When the bluish vapor snaked through the entrance, she quickly searched the tent folds for a rip or a seam and found a stake improperly secured. Dropping to the ground, Siobhan pried it loose, praying the entire pavilion did not fall upon her, then rolled beyond the confines. She snapped her fingers again and when the wolf appeared to her right, she motioned to the forest. Culhainn leapt into the thicket, yet before she followed, she briefly peered around the edge of the tent. She spotted the mercenary resting before a dying fire, the mist cradling him. He appeared asleep. Good. She wanted naught but to flee from a man who'd no purpose beyond slaughtering her good folk for worthless coin from a greedy king. 'Twas too much like Tigheran, her husband.

Half asleep, Gaelan jolted. For several seconds, he struggled for balance on the stool, then climbed to his feet, heading to his pavilion. He ducked inside, the scent of her lingering in the air as he lit a taper and moved to the pallet. He'd heard her stir earlier and bent to check her fever, tossing back the coverlet and stilled. His gaze narrowed.

He bellowed for the watch. Rapid footsteps, the jingle of swords and weapons colored the night. Gaelan ducked from the tent, folding his arms over his chest and glaring down at the seven men. The torchlight illuminated his face like a portrait of Lucifer.

"Which of you will regale us with the tale of a woman and a wolf escaping unnoticed by trained warriors?" The last shook the air, scattering animals and children.

"Gaelan, nay!"

He met Raymond's bleary-eyed gaze. "Oh aye. And from the look of it, 'twas whilst you and I sat chatting!"

Raymond stepped closer, peering at his leader. "Hence, not only has she foiled you, but two brigades of knights, archers, footmen, squires, cooks-"

Gaelan put up his hand, the failure bruising his pride enough. "Extraordinary woman, I'd gather." Raymond rocked back on his heels, hands clasped behind his back.

Gaelan dismissed the guards with the flick of his hand and looked at his grinning friend. Gaelan's lips twitched. His shoulders shook. Then he burst, his deep chuckle rumbling in the night.

"By G.o.d, the la.s.s is b.l.o.o.d.y fearless." He was impressed, even as regret sluiced through him. Though he'd no intention of holding her against her will, he'd entertained the notion of taking her as his mistress for a time, but alas ... he shrugged, his smile lingering as he stared at the darkened woods. Then his eyes narrowed suddenly, his pleasure suspended. "Pray she does not alert anyone of our presence, DeClare. Or the Irish will be prepared for a battle they cannot win."

Though it would matter little if she did. For he did not earn his spurs by his father's name or royal favor. Sir Gaelan PenDragon had never been defeated. And in a short time, every clansman for leagues would seek his head when he laid siege to Donegal Keep.

And its princess.

Chapter 3.

Siobhan was certain the village boys told every soul who'd listen of her capture. Explaining her overlong absence was a dilemma she debated with every step homeward. Briefly she considered a visit to the village to a.s.sure the boys she fared well, but she did not want them to be punished for the unfortunate end of a silly game. Yet neither did she wish to alarm her people of the English. There were few men able-bodied enough left at Donegal to fight, and delivering them into panic would serve no purpose now. And English soldiers on Irish soil was common of late. Just not so close to Donegal.

She paused just beyond the torchlight and gazed up at the stone walls of Donegal Castle, wondering over her reception and experiencing a familiar mix of pride and love for the place she'd called home these years past. It was said the Druids laid the first stones of Donegal and Siobhan liked to believe it was the reason it still stood tall after so many years.

Bracing herself, she moved to the west postern door and pried it open, peeking around the wood. The leather hinge creaked, drawing the attention of a dozen folk lingering nearby. Surprised gasps and sudden shouts littered the air and Siobhan groaned, cursing the Englishman's part in this. She had so hoped to enter unnoticed. She stepped fully inside, moving steadily across the outer ward, then the inner bailey toward the keep as her people crowded about, tossing questions and offering thanks to G.o.d for her safe return. The chatter confirmed her suspicions; the lads had been too scared to speak of the incident, likely fearing their pursuit of her the cause.

"Aye, I am fine. Oh nay, Davis," she said when the old man threw his only cloak across her shoulders. "You need the warmth more than I."

He shrugged, ever silent, for a Norseman had cut out his tongue years before.

"I will launder it." And she would weave him another, she thought, moving up the wide stone steps. Her heart lifted as she strode through the wide doors of the great hall, her gaze seeking the startled faces for her son.

Voices, excited and relieved, pattered throughout the hall and Rhiannon rose from her place at the hearth, catching Connal's hand and moving toward the entrance.

When Siobhan appeared at the doorway, Connal bolted from his aunt's grasp, crying out for his mother. Siobhan's face brightened and she stooped, opening her arms. He leapt into them.

"Ahh, my little prince, I have missed you." She closed her eyes, savoring the warmth of his embrace. It felt like weeks, instead of hours since she'd held him last.

"Where were you, Mama?"

"I lost my way." A lie, to be certain, but she would not worry her son any longer. Over his head, she met her sister's gaze, and Rhiannon bit the inside of her mouth to keep from smiling outright. Siobhan lowered Connal to the floor, sweeping the cloak from her back and handing it to a pa.s.sing maid. The maid hugged her too, praising G.o.d for her safe return, and Siobhan's heart gladdened with the affection. She strode quickly across the hall, dodging children and servants.

"Siobhan, 'tis been dark for hours," Rhiannon said, embracing her sister. "I was worrying."

"You?" A tapered brow lifted as she leaned back to meet her sister's gaze. "I do not believe that."

Rhiannon inspected her with a critical eye. "Your basket?"

Siobhan shrugged, accepting a goblet of watered wine from Bridgett. She drank deeply, then glanced at the keep, noticing ch.o.r.es undone. "Rhiannon, could you not for a few hours-?"

"The basket, sister." Rhiannon grasped her hand, sensing peril and pain and ... pleasure?

Siobhan recognized the gloss in her sister's eyes and jerked back from her touch. Oftimes, she wished Rhiannon was not a seer. That she could delve her feelings without benefit of speech made for little privacy.

"Do not question me. Nay." She held up a finger in warning. "Take heart that I am safe and you have left this keep in shambles." She did not want to remember the Englishman. Not the way his kiss felt, the sight of him unclad and wet, nor her disappointment upon discovering his profession. She'd had enough of war in her life and she would not tolerate another instance. Fair face and brave or not.

Turning away from her sister's intense gaze, Siobhan clapped her hands loudly and the noise in the hall lowered, servants of various sizes, ages and shapes frozen in their duties. "I beg your forgiveness, my friends. I did not mean to worry you."

Smiles wreathed the crowd.

"Sean said fairies took you," a young girl said.

A youth of three and ten looked at the girl, offended. "I did not. 'Twas Shamus who spoke such lies." Sean gestured to the older boy.

Shamus glared at the younger servant. "He said the O'Niell took ye, holed you up in his castle, he did."

"He is too honorable for so despicable an act, and as you see, 'tis untrue," Siobhan said dismissingly, then turned her gaze to a stout man of nearly fifty, bent and slow-moving. "Davis? Change the rushes in the morn; 'tis foul in here." He nodded and trotted off. She addressed another. "Bridgett? Is there water warming, for I need a bath."

"Aye, my princess. Meghan will tend you."

"The day is almost over, my friends, and from here I view a dozen ch.o.r.es left unattended." People scattered to their duties. "And Connal," she said, lowering her gaze to the child. She smoothed her hand over his red-brown hair, his plump cheek, then tipped his head to look him in the eye. "Have you tended your studies today?"

Connal's gaze briefly swept to his aunt's. Rhiannon chose to look elsewhere. "Nay."

"And why not?"

Connal stole another glance at his aunt. "I was playin'."

"And what activity was so important that you allowed your aunt to take you from your studies?"

Connal blinked, pleased his aunt would gain the blame. "She made a bubble from a bladder and we kicked it about the yard." His lower lip curled down. "Till Dermott broke it."

Siobhan lifted her gaze to her sister, folding her arms over her middle. "Did he learn anything today?"

"Aye, that bladders pop. Now come; eat something." Rhiannon moved close to her sister and flung her arm around her shoulder, directing her to the long table. Behind her back, she waved discreetly to Connal, and the child scurried off toward his bed.

"Do not think to fool me with your cheating, Rhi," Siobhan said, glancing over her shoulder to see Connal disappear around the wall leading up the narrow staircase. Her gaze shifted to her sister, who was calling for a trencher and wine. "He broke a promise."

"Nay," Rhiannon said, dropping beside her. "I did." Her green eyes pleaded with her older sister. "Do not punish him. 'Tis only that he looked so unhappy whilst you were gone."

"Think you that he has too much studies?" Siobhan shook her head. "Tell me true, Rhi, for oftimes I think learning from books is useless."

Rhiannon's face warmed with affection and she covered Siobhan's hand. "Mayhaps a few moments at a time and nay hours? 'Tis so new to him, this sitting still."

Siobhan laughed softly. "Aye, aye," she said, accepting the trencher and wine from Bridgett. She sampled the mutton, aware of Bridgett standing close and awaiting approval. Siobhan nodded. "A fine hand with the spice, friend." As Bridgett bobbed and departed, Siobhan turned her attention back to her sister. "Now shall we discuss the state of this castle in so short a time?"

"Only if you reveal where you hid for half the night."

"I will not." She jerked her hand out of her sister's reach. "I need not touch you to know the why of it comes from a man."

Revealing that English knights slept so close to Donegal would not scare Rhiannon, but her people were a matter unto themselves. How capable could they be, she thought, when with the exception of fifty or so, their largest and strongest were lost on Irish soil like lambs in the mist.

Siobhan cast a quick look around for eavesdroppers. "Do not speak of it, please. Culhainn was at my side, and what man can get past him?"

'Twas true enough, Rhiannon thought, but didn't believe Siobhan. Yet if she chose to keep her moments away from the keep private, Rhiannon would respect her wishes. Her gaze scanned her garments, stopping on the bloodstain at her shoulder.

"You're hurt." Rhiannon pushed Siobhan's hair off her neck to examine her wound.

"Nay, nay, oh leave off!" she hissed, pulling her hair back. "'Twas an accident and naught else. Leave it at that."

Rhiannon's brows rose sharply.

Siobhan leaned closer. "Forgive me, Rhi. I am weary and in need of a bath. Mix a potion for this ache in me head?"

Rhiannon rose and moved to her cabinet by the hearth, withdrew a key and unlocked it, spreading the doors wide. Siobhan watched as her sister mixed and stirred herbs into a cup, added wine, then heated it with a hearth iron. Steam rose from the wood cup as she crossed the hall. Siobhan drained the potion quickly, thanking her.

"Now, sister, about the ch.o.r.es-"

"I think I hear Bridgett calling." Rhiannon scooted back and with a laugh, Siobhan waved her off and focused on her meal. She ate quickly, then headed to her chamber for a bath, pausing at Connal's bedside. She knelt and tucked the coverlet beneath his soft chin and his eyes drifted open.

"Mama? You're angry with me?"

"Oh nay, poppet." She brushed her lips across his forehead. "I love you too much." A soft bahhing came from beneath the covers and Siobhan eyed her son. He giggled and she drew back the bunting. A tiny lamb peeped its nose at her, round dark eyes begging to let it sleep with its master. "Connal," she scolded. "Did you think to trick me?"

"Can Dermott stay?"

"Aye." She tucked them both in and Connal smiled, utterly pleased with this day. "But you both must bathe in the morrow." The boy gasped and his mother sent him a warning glance. The lamb reeked of the stables. "Swear to me or I take him now."

Connal lowered his gaze and muttered, "I swear." Siobhan kissed him again and made to leave. "But not with yer stinkin' weeds!"

Siobhan blinked at her son, her mouth open at his defiance. She snapped it shut. "Then 'tis with lye and a grooming brush, laddie, since you dare take a tone with me." She stepped out and closed the door, smiling at his attempt at cursing.

Siobhan walked to her chamber, thanking Meghan as the woman pa.s.sed with empty buckets; then slipping inside, she closed the door and was at once thankful she afforded a chamber to herself. The demands on her constant, she valued the spa.r.s.e moments of privacy. Tigheran had always insisted she care for him, refusing to allow a servant to tend his smallest need. Life with him had left her exhausted, unhappy and, she admitted, terrified. Unease worked into her bones, stirring painful memories, and she cast them off with her clothes, not wasting a moment to slip into the hot, scented water. She would scrub later, she thought, resting her head gingerly on the rim. For now all she desired was the heat of the water soothing away the ache in her bones.

Steam curled in the cool air. The blaze in the hearth roared and crackled, flames eating freshly placed peat and wood. Siobhan sank deeper into the bath, hot water sliding over her skin like a lover's caress. Her senses more intense with fatigue, she fought the masculine image taking shape in her mind, drawing on her disgust at discovering his profession, his self-serving cause.

Yet it came, clear and strong, powerful as he was big. She saw his body glistening with water, his ropey muscles twisting as he dried himself, the desire in his eyes when he wanted more than a kiss of reward. No man had looked upon her such as he had, no man had kissed her with such gentle command and dark hunger. She shifted in the bath, a feeble attempt to ease the heat stirring through her body, yet warm water and silken herbs rushed over her sensitive skin, intensifying the sensations she wanted to crush.

Siobhan swallowed back a moan of despair.

Do not taunt me like this, Englishman, she thought. You are my enemy and here to war. And I will not betray my people. Especially not for my own desires.

Chapter 4.

Surrounded by six warriors and her sister, Siobhan's brow knitted, her gaze shifting between the two feuding villagers.

Someone was lying, she thought, yet could not tell which. Around them the servants and slaves moved in their duties, but she had to solve this problem before she could get on with her own ch.o.r.es. "Munn, you say the milch cows are yours?"

"Aye."

Siobhan put up her hand, silencing young Liam before he could speak.