Forbidden Night With The Prince. Michelle Willingham
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but they appeared to be warriors. Ronan welcomed help from any source, whether Norman or Irish.
The king began by saying, ‘I did hear that Clonagh was attacked a few nights ago, and that your father, King Brodur, is a hostage. Our neighbouring tribe at Gall Tír informed us of this.’
Ronan nodded and continued speaking in the Norman language. ‘A few nights ago, my stepbrother Odhran gathered his forces and took my father prisoner.’ He began relating the story, keeping all emotion from his voice when he spoke of those who had died. A part of him still felt that he should have stayed, despite the danger. But he knew that the MacEgan allies were their best hope.
Once again, his attention shifted when he saw the woman in white entering the Great Chamber. She balanced the little girl on her hip, lowering her to sit among the other children who were listening to the bard. The child squirmed and then got up to wander around the gathering space. The woman trailed the young girl, keeping a close watch over her.
For some reason, the two Normans tensed when they saw his distraction, and Ronan forced his gaze back to them. ‘I have come to ask for soldiers,’ he finished. ‘I cannot let my people suffer beneath Odhran’s rule. But they were too afraid to fight back against their own kinsmen. And I need to restore my father to his throne.’
The king exchanged a glance with the other two Normans. It seemed as if he was asking their opinion, and Warrick de Laurent spoke at last. ‘How many men do you need?’
‘Two dozen,’ Ronan answered. ‘Three would be better, but if they are strong fighters, it will be enough.’
‘And once you take back Clonagh, what means do you have to keep it?’
He paused. ‘Once I restore my father to his throne and drive out Odhran, we should be able to maintain order with the remaining men.’
A flicker of doubt crossed King Patrick’s face. ‘What happened to Queen Eilis during the attack?’
The mention of his father’s wife renewed his anger. For Eilis had betrayed him as surely as her son. ‘She supported her son’s rebellion and did nothing to aid my father.’
At that, King Patrick sobered. ‘I know what it is to face treachery from within your own castle walls. But you cannot exile your father’s wife. That is Brodur’s decision to make.’
He had not considered those implications. His father might not set his queen aside, and if so, Ronan would be unable to displace the woman, even if he did take back Clonagh. ‘What do you suggest?’
The king exchanged a look with the de Laurent warriors. ‘You should claim the throne for yourself and take a wife. One with an army of her own who can defend Clonagh from any further threats. Keep the men there for at least a year, and then you will know who is truly loyal.’
Ronan tensed at that, for he had no desire to wed anyone, especially after all the mistakes he’d made. ‘I will not hide behind a woman’s skirts. Or in this case, her soldiers.’ His negligence had cost others their lives, and it was better if he remained unmarried.
‘Rhys and Warrick came to Ireland for their sister’s betrothal,’ the king began, ‘but her intended husband died. You may want to consider a Norman alliance with them. They hold lands at Killalough, and they are looking for a new marriage for their sister.’ Patrick reached towards his wife’s hand, and the queen smiled warmly at him. Then he ruffled the hair of his son. ‘Meet her and decide for yourself.’
No. He would never bind a woman to him for the sake of her soldiers. Better to hire mercenaries who would leave once he had no further need of them. He had forsworn all women since his brother’s death. And that would not change.
Before he could refuse the offer, Rhys de Laurent interrupted. ‘Although I am willing to consider a new betrothal for our sister, I should warn you that Joan is...somewhat opposed to marriage.’
Good. It was far easier to refuse a marriage with a reluctant bride. The man’s warning eased Ronan’s tension, for he didn’t intend to consider it either. ‘Forgive me, but I am more concerned about the safety of my people. It has been two days, and I need to bring men to overthrow the usurper as soon as possible. Any discussion of marriage must wait until I have freed them.’
The two Normans exchanged a look. Then the younger brother shrugged. ‘We may be able to help you. But I will leave that decision to our sister. If you can convince her to grant you the soldiers, then you may have the men.’
It was clear that her brothers had a greater interest in arranging a betrothal for their sister than in offering help to a stranger. Ronan was beginning to feel like a pawn, commanded by invisible hands.
He hid his annoyance and met Warrick’s gaze squarely. ‘Is she here?’ He had to be careful not to anger these men by outwardly refusing her. Instead, it might be better to convince the Norman lady that they were not suited.
‘Joan is sitting with my daughter,’ Rhys answered. ‘Just there, in the white gown.’
A strange sense of premonition filled him, for the woman in white had intrigued him from the moment he’d seen her at Laochre. Her dark hair framed an innocent face with clear blue eyes. She was beautiful, but there was a sadness surrounding her.
‘I will meet with her later, if I could have a moment to wash?’ He directed his question towards the queen. ‘I might make a better impression when I’m not covered in blood.’ Though he had no intention of courtship, the delay would give him time to decide how to handle the situation.
‘I will send you a bath and someone to tend you,’ Isabel answered. A serene smile slid over her face, and if he didn’t know better, he’d imagine she was plotting something.
As he followed the servants away from the Great Chamber, he had the sense that his life was being rearranged.
* * *
‘You’ve gone mad.’ Joan stared at her brothers, making no effort to hide her anger. ‘Do you honestly believe I will agree to another betrothal after what just happened? I won’t do it.’
‘Go and speak with him,’ Rhys suggested. ‘I am giving you the opportunity to choose your next betrothal. He may be...different from the other men you meant to marry, but he is an Irish prince.’
‘Think of what you are saying,’ she insisted. ‘Every man I’ve been promised to has died. Do you think I want to bring a death sentence upon someone else?’
‘You are letting your fears command your life,’ her brother said quietly. ‘I will send him to you, and you can make that decision for yourself. His name is Ronan Ó Callaghan.’
Joan knew exactly which man her brother was referring to. The moment the prince had ridden into the inner bailey wearing bloodstained armour, he had caught her notice. There was an untamed savage quality to him, as if he cared naught about anything or anyone. And yet, when she’d noticed him staring, her skin had prickled with sensation. His green eyes burned with a fierce intensity that stole her breath. His blond hair was cut short, and there was a rough bristle upon his cheeks.
She had been playing with her young niece, Sorcha, and the little girl had also noticed the man. Joan had been about to bring her inside when Sorcha had pointed at him and said, ‘He’s the man you’re going to marry.’
Joan had shushed her niece, knowing that it was only the fancy of a small child. At times, Sorcha seemed to have traces of the Sight, where she predicted things before they happened. But not this time. Joan believed it was best if she never accepted another betrothal—not until she learned how to break the curse.
Her brother, Warrick, drew closer. He was quiet and not as overbearing as Rhys. He studied her a moment and then said, ‘Ronan Ó Callaghan needs our help, Joan. His stepbrother attacked their tribe and took the king as a hostage before he stole the throne for himself. He asked if we would send men to aid his cause.’
‘You may help the prince if you wish, but that doesn’t mean I’ll