"Was it not part of the stipend paid to her each year as your wife?"

Caught, Munn's craggy features tightened, flushing with embarra.s.sment. "Aye, m'lady."

"Then you have no claim. They are hers. She can do as she wishes." She dismissed him and motioned his wife, Kathleen, forward, beckoning her closer than the rest, and the young woman knelt at her feet. Siobhan leaned forward. "This is a battle over you, is it not?"

Kathleen turned her head, glancing at her husband of three years and then at Liam, then back to her princess. "I fear to confess, but aye, my lady, 'tis so."

Siobhan need not ask as to who held the girl's heart and leaned back, waving Kathleen to a spot near her side, then looked between the two men.

"Munn, have you been cohabiting with your wife?"

"Aye, my lady." 'Twas a tired response, and Siobhan wondered if the girl had been unfaithful to her husband. Though he was far older and bent, infidelity was unacceptable. "Have you shared yourselves?" She looked between husband and wife.

"Aye, we have," they said as one, and a tortured look came over Liam's face.

Then they have had relations enough to beget a child, one she was certain Kathleen wanted, if the talk was correct. Siobhan studied the group. Kathleen had the right to be married to whomever she chose. 'Twas brehon law. She saw no way to decide without leaving one hurt and alone. But an unhappy marriage was a life of misery, she knew, and best served in solitude.

"You may divorce, if you choose."

Munn did not protest.

"I choose," Kathleen said quickly and Liam beamed a bright smile.

"You must then offer recompense to Munn. Two milch cows from your life with him." Wed three years, she'd likely have as many cows or sheep from coibche, her bride price, and could part with the ones he had provided, her due for each year she spent as his wife.

Siobhan glanced at Munn. He nodded, sending a disgusted glance to his wife. Siobhan rose, dismissing the group of onlookers, then pinned Liam with a hard stare. "Do not shame her. Wed this day, pay her father one cow in coibche, and you must earn one each year after for her. They are hers by brehon right."

"I will, my princess," Liam said, smiling.

"Do, or I will rule differently and not in your favor."

His look turned solemn and Siobhan focused on Kathleen. "If you do not bring forth a child, you know he can do the same to you?"

Kathleen flushed, obviously stunned the gossip had reached Siobhan's ears, and looked nervously between her princess and her future husband.

"I will never," Liam whispered. "Child or nay." He clutched her to him and kissed her.

"Ahh! Get out of my keep!" Siobhan waved irritatedly, yet smothered a smile. They were so much in love it hurt to look at them. She addressed her clansman and retainer. "Is there any more this day, Brody? Please say 'tis not so," she pleaded soulfully, her expression pitiful.

"Nay, none, my princess." He grinned. "You may go play with the bread dough again."

Siobhan smiled, perking up then and left the dais, moving through the people crowding the hall. s.n.a.t.c.hing her ap.r.o.n, she tied it over her drab woolen kirtle as she left the hall, crossing the yard to the cookhouse. She scarcely had her hands deep in the heavy folds of dough when someone called out.

"The bread will have to rise without my help," she muttered, and cook smiled.

Driscoll, her clansman and captain of what remained of her guards, appeared in the doorway.

"How many this time?" she said tiredly.

"Seven, m'lady."

Siobhan tried not to show her anger. Raiding livestock was a way of life, but not often on Donegal lands. "Was anyone hurt?" When he nodded, she jerked off her ap.r.o.n, leaving the cookhouse and crossing the bailey. Her palfrey was saddled, a boy holding the leads.

"Mama, may I come with you?"

She spun about, smiling as Connal raced to her side, his lamb trotting after him. She stroked his sweaty hair back, rubbing a smudge of dirt from his nose. "Nay."

His little forehead wrinkled. "You never let me leave."

"'Tis dangerous for you, sweetling." She wanted to soothe him, remind him that he would be a great king one day, but her dreams of late warned her of the future and its drastic changes. Besides, little boys needed time to chase b.u.t.terflies, keep frogs in a bucket and get into mischief, something Connal did rather well of late. "There are people who are hurt, my son, and I cannot worry over you and tend to them." He nodded, looking too grown up for his age, and she eyed him. "Should you not be about your lessons?"

His expression drooped miserably and he nodded, tromping back toward the keep. Her heart nearly twisted at the sight and she sighed, turning to her guardsman and climbing onto the small thin saddle astride, adjusting her garment about her legs.

"You should be well used to me ridin' like this by now, Driscoll," she said at his sour look.

"I long for the day to arrive," he muttered, shaking his head and following her. Five more men gathered about them as they rode through the gates toward the herders in the hills.

An hour later Siobhan slipped from the mount and raced to the burning shack. Driscoll lurched, pulling her back from the flames. "Nay, la.s.s, nay. There's naught to be done now." He cursed under his breath, looking away from the bodies strewn just inside the door. "They were not so when I spotted them."

"'Tis unholy, that," she whispered, taking a step closer, bile rising in her throat. "They're gutted like pigs." She paled with fury, looking at him. "This serves no purpose, Driscoll. Take the stock, aye, but to murder? Death will not tend more sheep, milk more cows. They have destroyed their livelihood." She flung a hand at the smoking hut. "And to do so in the light of day?" Raids came in the dark, and it took weeks to discover the culprits and repay the deed. But this, she thought, staring at the blood-soaked ground. This left no witnesses and could not have garnered more than a half dozen sheep and cows.

And four lives.

"Outlaws do not need a reason, I'm thinking."

She tossed her hair back over her shoulder. "And I bid you keep that opinion to yourself." His features tightened at the censure, yet she met his gaze head on. "We cannot afford panic and outlaws or nay, a rival clan could have easily done this. Those wishing me to swear to Henry. Speculation will breed fear and we cannot afford its price." 'Twas a reminder that there were too few trained men left to control a riot. "And I am thinking we need to protect them better. Aye, I know we've few men to aid them," she said when he opened his mouth to protest. "But suggest to all in this area that they move closer to the castle. We cannot help if they be dead afore word reaches us. You decide what is necessary for other safeguards." With brisk strides, she moved to her horse, swinging up and riding off without escort.

Driscoll motioned two men to follow, then raked his fingers through his snarled hair. Stubborn female, he thought, watching her ride like a man. And though he did not like it or her plan, she was his princess and he would obey. The past years widowed and ruling as Connal's regent, she'd proven herself wiser than her dead husband, even without the power of the ancients in her blood.

His gaze shifted about the land, searching for signs of the attack. If the culprits were wayward brigands raping the countryside, Driscoll vowed to find them and gut them as they had this little family. And if this was, as she suspected, clansmen wanting her to swear to the king, then G.o.d save them, for he knew she would not. Ever.

Siobhan rode ahead for privacy, to shed tears for the family who'd come with her after her father had died, after she'd wed Tigheran. For the little girl who'd played with Connal only a sennight past and had pretty freckles across her nose. She swiped at her face, and not for the first time considered Lochlann O'Niell's recent offer of marriage and protection. But his alliance was bending toward the English king, she felt, and her dead husband's half brother said he'd swear to it to save his people, his lands. Siobhan did not know what she would do if forced between life and death, yet an oath to the English king, in her heart, was betraying centuries of Celtic heritage. But so far Lochlann's lands were untouched, his people hail and hearty, whilst hers suffered.

And then there was Ian and his constant suit to consider. The Maguire was handsome, fair and strong, and she'd known him since she was a girl, had loved him once, yet the telling factor was not her happiness, but her people's-and Ian had thrice times the men she did. Lochlann had equal the amount of strength in numbers, and together they would strike a formidable blow on the raiders, if necessary. But their lands were nearer to the battlefields, and an English alliance would prove necessary.

In Donegal, it was not. 'Twas of no strategic value except that the sh.o.r.e bordered the land and none had yet to master the shale cliffs to attack. The king's emissaries had not approached her-that was a troubling thought to add to the pile-yet she saw no reason to submit to England's demands when the armies had not found their way here. Clan Rourke and her brethren were untouched but for the recent raiding, a peaceful remote place, prosperous in fishing and farming and herding. And a bit of magic.

She glanced back at the curl of smoke in the cloudy sky, wishing for her cousin Fionna's conjurings to protect them from more heartache. Mist will not help us this time, she thought, looking to the west and offering a prayer to keep the Englishmen beyond Ulster.

Gaelan frowned at the dark patch in the sky as he reached for his hauberk, slipping it over his head. Around him the camp broke, pavilions falling in soft billows to be rolled and stored, fires extinguished and pages griping about the early hour.

Raymond moved to his side. "What make you of that?" he asked, his gaze on the smoke twisting in the sky.

"Send a man to see. I will not have the king's prize in ashes afore I take it."

Raymond's lips quirked. "Hungry for it, are you?"

Gaelan slanted him a glance as he strapped padded leather about his thighs. "Are you not eager for a siege?"

"Nay."

His brow arched.

Raymond shrugged as if that explained his feelings. "Have you considered instead of accepting the coin of Donegal's worth, taking it for yourself, making a home?"

Gaelan was tired of this conversation. "To be beholding to Henry? My knights, my archers, sent off when he beckons? I think not, Raymond."

"What cost is it? You have legions." He gestured to the field, unable to see the ground for the human blanket covering it. "They would follow you regardless of the purse, and most would find honor in serving Henry's cause, even if you do not."

Gaelan stood motionless as Reese fastened the iron greave around his legs. "They are free to do as they please."

Raymond scoffed. "Nay, they are too loyal."

His head jerked up, his brow high. "Such a thing does not exist."

"You have not dealt with many Irish on our journey here, have you?"

He straightened, a reluctant smile curving his stony countenance. "One or two."

"This is not Dublin, Gaelan. There is no court and politics here. Look at this place. We have traveled for miles without seeing a village. And the woman ... where did she come from, if not nearby?"

"Mayhaps she was a ghost, a fairy," he said bitterly. He did not have the time to think on her. She was gone and he had tasks to tend. Tasks toward his future. He wanted the coin so he could disband and live out his years in comfort. And to do it, he would tear down every last sc.r.a.p of Donegal, force its princess and her people to submit and give the lot over to Henry.

He had to. He did not belong in an Irish castle.

Then where? a voice whispered. A land without a lord is land free for the taking, and Henry bids you keep it.

A b.a.s.t.a.r.d did not often gain such an opportunity, Gaelan knew, and as Raymond was quick to needle. Yet Gaelan was wise enough to know his limits, and his worth.

Reese cleared his throat and Gaelan looked down, taking the helm and tucking it under his arm. He strode to Grayfalk and mounted, positioning the blue-plumed helm on his head.

Raymond eyed him, then swung up onto his destrier. "You will not have to fight the Irish."

"They will not win."

Raymond scoffed behind the face guard. "Nay, they will all drop dead at the sight of you."

He grinned. "So be it."

Siobhan found her home in an uproar, people rushing about, yet accomplishing naught, men ordering weapons already, ladders lining the wood and stone walls in defense.

When she rode into the inner ward, Brody came to her as she slid from the saddle.

"The English are here."

"They have been for years, Brody." She checked the mount's hoof and plucked a stone free.

"Not the PenDragon."

Her head jerked up, her eyes narrowing. "Nay."

He nodded.

"How far?" She sent the horse to a stable boy and walked briskly toward the hall.

"Beyond the Finn River. A messenger just returned." He gestured to a young man in the center of the hall, breathless and sweaty, gripping a wooden cup of wine and draining it as fast as he could.

"Gather some restraint, Egan," she said, patting his shoulder. "Taste the wine afore you swill it."

He choked and sputtered, his eyes widening, and at the sight of her, he leapt to his feet. "I saw his pennant and the English king's. The PenDragon with a battalion headed this way."

"Are you falling to tales, Egan?"

He gulped for a breath. "'Tis no tale, princess. He thirsts for battle. He has no heart, no honor, and kills for the highest bidder."

A mercenary.

A horrible weakness raced through her blood and she felt the color leave her face. s.n.a.t.c.hing Egan's wine, she ignored the horrifying stories floating around her and drained the remnants of his drink.

Nay. He was only one knight of many. Had she not heard him mention a DeClare in his midsts? Surely a relative of Pembroke did not serve a Cornish b.a.s.t.a.r.d? She set the cup down, smiling a weak apology, then glanced about. Her folk were staring at her, nervous and afraid and looking to her for guidance.

"Bring everyone from the villages inside. Send two men to scout, Brody, yet wait for Driscoll to return. He will know how best to handle that and can read their direction." They could be headed to Maguire land or O'Niell's. Yet the responsibility lay on her shoulders, and she knew beyond doubt, if she sent word to Ian and Lochlann to send warriors, it would not matter. The PenDragon had nearly a thousand. They were mere hundreds with more women, old folk and children than men. The border clans would keep to themselves, protecting their own or submitting. Even if, collectively, the clans came to their aid, it was suicide. Donegal Castle would not survive a siege.

There would be no contest but for how much Irish blood would spill. And if the PenDragon wished it, the soil would run red with it by nightfall.

Chapter 5.

Gaelan swung, driving his sword downward across the man's body, the blade sailing deep into his shoulder and chest. The impact splattered blood over his armor, and with a growl, he followed through, severing his opponent's arm, then wheeled about to take on another bandit.

What did these fools think to accomplish with an ambush? he thought again, driving a man back with his boot, dispatching another; then as the living fled, he and his troops gave chase. But as if he fought ghosts, the bandits vanished. Gaelan reined up, his mount skipping to a halt as he studied the thicket. Not a branch moved, no trail left to follow. He turned Grayfalk back toward the clearing.

Twice attacked in as many days, Gaelan could see no purpose and would swear they were the same men who'd attacked him in the copse with the woman. Such foolhardy tenacity was abominable, for this time they knew they were sadly unmatched for battle. Were all Irish willing to die so readily?