He shrugged, and Siobhan realized he was feeling cast aside but would not say so. She crawled into bed with him, hugging him close, toying with his thick hair. He tossed and twisted for an hour, and no amount of coaxing could get him to tell her the root of his discomfort, though she knew. He hated Gaelan. Hated that he was here, hated that he shared her bed, for her son had never seen a man there. Was he mayhaps jealous? She regretted not keeping him with her more often, but even a sorrowful boy got into trouble and underfoot when he was bored.

"Shall we take a ride together on the morrow?"

He c.o.c.ked a look at her through sleepy eyes. "Just you and me?"

"Nay, poppet, we must have an escort. There have been bandits in the hills."

"Will he go?"

She shrugged. "PenDragon has much work to do."

"Good." He closed his eyes. "I would rather DeClare join us then."

Siobhan looked up to see Gaelan moving away from the door, his head bowed, his wide shoulders drooping on a heavy sigh, and her heart went out to him.

Gaelan had slept alone that night, leaving Siobhan to comfort her son, and in the morning he stood back and watched them ride through the gates, Connal tucked in front of his mother, an escort of no less than fifteen men accompanying them. He had not kissed her good-bye, nor touched her when she mounted the palfrey, but he had wanted to, for he'd missed spending the evening with her more than he thought possible. She twisted in the saddle, meeting his gaze, and he felt a sense of companionship with her, for although he'd made no indication that he'd heard Connal's words last night, he'd not balked at the request. After all, they'd been wed only days. The boy needed time.

But he'd allow only so much time to pa.s.s before he let Connal come between them.

Chapter 16.

Gaelan frowned when Siobhan and the group rode back inside the gates but an hour later, hardly enough time for a decent run. He strode quickly to her, glancing at DeClare, who looked a bit scuffed and dirty for a simple ride, then Driscoll, both men's expression guarded, before bringing his gaze to Siobhan. She put up her hand, halting inquiry, then slid from the saddle and reached for her son. Connal came to her stiffly and she set him to the ground, bending to his ear.

"Get yourself to your chamber, laddie. I will be up in a moment's time to have a chat with you." Connal glared first at Gaelan, then his mother, and Gaelan's brows rose as he watched the child stomp toward the keep.

Siobhan's shoulders slumped and Gaelan stepped closer. "Is there aught wrong?"

"Not that a good paddling won't cure."

Gaelan frowned. He never thought to see her so angry with her child.

"He put a thistle under DeClare's saddle and he was thrown." Gaelan's gaze shot to Raymond and the knight shrugged. "Sweet Mary, I don't know how he reached that high, but the devil is in the child this morn."

Gaelan looked at the ground, his shoulders shaking suspiciously, and she moved closer, tipping up his chin.

Her eyes flew wide. "You think 'tis funny? He could have been killed!"

"You have to admit, Siobhan, the boy is tenacious."

"That boy"-she pointed, in case he forgot which one-"is going to spend a day in penance, and do not let him see you laughing about this." She swatted his chest in warning. "'Twill only breed more mischief." Still, PenDragon chuckled. "Know you he cut the girth to your saddle?" Gaelan's laughter died and his gaze narrowed. "Ahh, see, 'tis not such a lark, now, eh, husband?" She looked at DeClare. "Please accept my apology, sir." He nodded and she bobbed a curtsey and strode off.

Gaelan watched her go, pitying the lad a bit.

"Being birthed in an abbey did little to sanctify he'd be an angel, eh?"

Gaelan swung around, frowning at Driscoll.

"Aye, my princess had left to join Tigheran in England when she discovered she carried the prince in her belly and was forced to remain at an abbey in Wales till his birth. The weather being bad about then." Driscoll's voice turned soft and melancholy. "The day she rode through those gates with that bundle, I swear her smile melted the snow, for 'twas the only time I ever saw her truly happy to be here." Suddenly he shook himself and cleared his throat, his cheeks pinkening. "Then word came of her husband's death. And, well..." He shrugged, as if that said what he could not.

Gaelan digested this as he ordered them to get off their a.r.s.es and come look over his plans. Yet as they hovered over the diagrams spread on the table, Driscoll's words nibbled at the back of his brain, and during the remains of the morning Gaelan tried to understand what bothered him about the tale, then dismissed it. He had much to do before luncheon and his reading lesson with Siobhan.

Rhiannon leaned back against the stone wall in the garden. Above her sunlight refracted through the colored gla.s.s, spilling red, yellow and blue on the opposite wall twenty feet away. She tipped her face to the sun, letting the warmth dry her tears, and she stared at the trees, the wind turning the leaves back. Then she slunk to the ground, covering her face. She sobbed, quietly, privately, ashamed of herself, of her heart's desire and the betrayal of it.

Castle folk cleared a path for her, aware of her ire, and Siobhan was thankful for the small courtesy. She hated disciplining Connal so severely, but the child's behavior was growing worse by the day. She did not want to inform her husband of the bed ropes he'd cut and she'd discovered, much to the objection of her rump, just now. What did he think to accomplish with all this mischief?

Siobhan froze at the inner gate, her gaze moving over the outer ward. She'd never seen so many men inside the castle walls. His men, his soldiers, footmen and archers slammed hammers, used muscles for war, to build. Not a soul stood idle, and already this morn carpenters worked to expand the armory and accommodate the cache of weapons. Pages and squires sat on a log like birds, polishing and repairing armor and tack, the line of deadly crossbows and bolts sending a shiver down her spine. Archers strung new bows and along the east wall another group of soldiers-his soldiers-lifted a finished wall off the ground and pushed it into place, extending the barracks. Carts rolled between the yawning doors of the outer curtain, thick-chested war horses put to work to pull the heavy load of stones. Masoners chiseled and oversaw the mixing of mortar in great vats. Then she recognized the kettles were from the kitchen! Her best ones!

Irritated more than her share this day, Siobhan's gaze searched the congestion for her husband. Her breath shot into her lungs when she saw him, using his broad back to help lift a huge stone into a break in the curtain wall. Above him on the parapet, three men struggled with ropes to pull the chiseled boulder up into place. Siobhan called out to her people, for the largest to come help before he was crushed under the weight. A few men gave her a belligerent look before complying, and the many hands hoisted the rock into place. With a growl, her husband straightened, flexing his bare back and arms, then clapped a hand on the back of an Irishman, thanking him.

The man merely nodded and went off to tend his ch.o.r.es.

Siobhan met her husband's gaze, then crossed to him, offering him the rag looped in her ap.r.o.n. "You seek to ruin my pots and kettles?"

Gaelan smiled. By the G.o.ds, she was a combative female, he thought, stepping closer, loving the way she c.o.c.ked her head as she awaited an answer, adored her hands on her hip and her tapping foot.

"'Tis all we could find."

"Had you asked I would have shown you the tar vats in the herb house."

"Using them to brew potions, were you?"

"Aye, you'll find that Englishmen make a fine stew," she bit back. "The vats are useless for aught else, since 'tis difficult to get tar to fill them. Tigheran wanted a castle better than any in France and England. Unfortunately"-she glanced at the ill-placed buildings and gates-"he knew naught about building one."

"Ahh, but I do."

Her gaze thinned a bit. "Only because you know how to find their weak spots and tear through them."

His look was sultry, a reminder that he'd found his way beyond her defenses two nights past.

"Do not speak of it," she warned with a finger in his face. He grinned, wiping the sweat from his chest, and Siobhan's gaze unwilling followed the path of the cloth, aching to touch his sun-bronzed skin.

"If an enemy penetrates the strong, Siobhan, what do you think he can do to the weak? They must be prepared."

"We are not totally inept, sir. Know you how to throw a javelin? I would wager even I could manage farther than your finest bow man."

"Is that a challenge?"

"If you feel the need for one, aye."

d.a.m.n but she was spoiling for a fight, he thought, smothering a grin she would not like. Standing this close to her, he could feel the energy running through her, heightening her color, making him eager to feel it explode on him in ways other than anger. Obliging her, he called out a man, ordering a javelin brought forth. The Irishman cast him a guarded look, his gaze flicking to Siobhan. Discreetly, she nodded, and Gaelan sighed, realizing that lord or nay, when she was near, airing her defiance, her authority undermined his. Working as one, as true partners in this marriage instead of circling adversaries, was not just theirs but her people's only hope of survival. Yet short of beating the lot of them into submission, he recognized that wedding the princess of Donegal gained him naught but a mutinous wife and an unsatisfied ache in his groin. And it was time to change that.

The clash of swords drew her attention and Siobhan turned. Near the stables, knights were instructing several Irishmen on swordplay, a huge tree stump the target. Beyond them, the gamekeeper, the cooper and their a.s.sistants worked to lift a wooden horse to a track. A quintain. Her castle was quickly turning into a training field.

"My folk have duties, PenDragon. Use your own men for such tasks."

His eyes narrowed and he leaned close to whisper, "They are our folk, and for a woman who was rather compliant in the garden"-she inhaled and blushed prettily for him-"you are in a most difficult mood."

Siobhan's gaze flew to his. "Hush." Her gaze darted to DeClare not but a few feet away.

"I think you need to be kissed."

"Nay." That was the last thing she needed.

"Thoroughly. All over," he growled explicitly.

"Husband!"

His look told her he would get her to say his name any way he could, and Lord above, tension and heat filled her with just the thought of his wondrous torture. She could scarcely look him in the eye without thinking of the ecstasy she'd experienced under his practiced touch, and it seemed like an eternity since he'd held her against him last. Bedding with Tigheran had held little pleasure, for he'd ignored her needs, yet that night her pleasure was her husband's only concern. It weakened her to the very roots of her soul. Sweet believer, her knees shook with the memory of his plying her with her own pa.s.sion, yet the worst was, she knew there was more; for if his mouth could bring her to such heights, joining with him would surely ease this thickening desire she craved to explore. And Siobhan was more than a bit irritated that she'd put herself in such a corner, for her body fairly screamed for this man's touch. And to add to it, he knew it.

"Nay?" He swept his arm around her waist and pulled her flush against his bare chest. "You would deny me even a kiss after I tasted your sweet-"

She slapped a hand over his mouth, her eyes warning him, his dancing with mischief.

"You are an insufferable creature, PenDragon." His tongue toyed with her palm. "'Twas difficult enough to withstand the looks and whispers during the morning meal-"

He peeled her hand off and kissed the damp center, his gaze hot and velvety on hers. "What occurs in our chamber is not anyone's business."

"Still they talk. And bedding me does not make you my husband true," she said, repeating the words from previous nights.

"And joining does not make a marriage, Siobhan. Trust does."

"I have little reason to trust an Englishman." Her eyes clouded briefly and her gaze faltered. "But I am trying," she said in a small voice, so unlike her own, and Gaelan crumbled a little inside. She was over four years alone, carrying the burdens of a leader and trying to hold her clans together, and though he suspected she wanted to trust him enough to share more than the defense of the castle, war and England had taken too much from her.

"Then I can only wait," he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead and wondering when he'd find the will to reveal his part in those changes.

Someone cleared his throat and they looked.

"The javelin, my princess." Her smithy offered the sharpened spear.

Siobhan glanced at her husband, a little deviltry in her eyes as she scooted out of his embrace and took the javelin, propping it on her shoulder and walking toward the gates. Gaelan followed, unaware of the audience gathering behind them. Siobhan took little time to prepare, yet lifted her skirts and tucked the hem in her girdle.

"Siobhan!"

Pulling his shirt over his head, Gaelan gaped at her legs, bare to the knees.

She smiled, wondering what he'd think if he saw her in the braies she often wore on a hunt. "My target is that tuft of gra.s.s," she told him, then faced forward.

"A wager on this?"

She met his gaze, tipping her head thoughtfully, and when he sent her a slow smile and a glance down her body, she recognized the vein of his thoughts and warned, "Do not push me this day, husband, I am in no mood."

"Luncheon with me over there." He pointed to a cl.u.s.ter of trees and shrubs near the creek.

"And if I win?"

He bowed regally. "Your heart's desire."

Her gaze swept him briefly and before her imagination went amuck, she focused on the target. She arched back, the javelin near her cheek, then took three quick steps and with a heave, hurled it into the sky. Gaelan, Raymond at his side, watched the spear glide through the air, far beyond the camp to plunge into the gra.s.s cl.u.s.ter. The Irish cheered as the pole quivered. Siobhan freed her skirts and curtsied to the crowd.

"Another," she called, and Irishmen raced to do her bidding. She handed the spear to PenDragon, arching a brow in challenge.

He did not bother to call his bowmen, focused on the target, then hurled the spear. Though it sailed higher, it missed the target by yards. Gaelan blinked, then looked at her. With a great flourish, he bowed.

"I am humbled afore your skill."

"Hah! Naught humbles you, my lord."

She did, he thought. "Your desire?"

She folded her arms over her middle, looked first at the keep, then the glen. Siobhan was terribly irritated with her son, and her sister, for her constant disappearances lately, and needed a reprieve. "A private swim in the creek."

His brows shot high. "'Tis freezing, woman."

"I did not say you had to join me, did I now?" She unfolded her arms and stepped closer as Raymond ordered the people back to work.

"'Tis dangerous to be so far from the keep."

"You cannot protect me?" She patted his bulging biceps significantly, then lowered her voice. "Then I will give you your lesson, aye?"

He merely smiled, pleased to have his way.

"But you must feed me, too."

His eyes darkened. "I had planned to do more than feed you."

Siobhan's entire body lit with the sweetest of tremors. "Ahh, but I only asked for a guard and a swim." She stepped back and motioned him. "Be about it, my lord."

Chuckling at her impudence, Gaelan twisted and shouted for his page. In moments young Jace struggled with a fat basket, Reese not far behind him with his sword and his mount.

Siobhan blinked. Well, the little sneak, she thought, and wondered if he threw the contest. Donning his sword, he checked the saddle's repaired girth, glancing wryly at her, then swinging onto the beast's back. He held out his hand. Grasping it, she hoisted her leg onto his instep and he pulled her onto the saddle before him.

He took the basket from Jace and tucked it to her, and she wiggled into the curve of his body. Gaelan groaned at the sweet agony of it.