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castle, the weight of silence descended over them.
* * *
Joan had originally planned to return to Killalough with her brothers, but Queen Isabel had begged her to stay for the Samhain festivities. She would rather have retreated to their fortress, but Warrick and Rhys had told her to stay, to appease the queen and to keep good relations with the MacEgan tribe. They would send an escort for her within a few days.
She had no doubt that they were trying to arrange a match with Ronan. Although she had already told them it was not a possibility, her brothers were ignoring her.
The autumn air was crisp, and Joan strode through the inner bailey, carrying a basket of turnips. Several of the children followed, begging her to save the largest turnip for them to carve. Tonight, they would place lights within the turnips and carry the lanterns to keep away the evil spirits.
She found that it was entertaining to carve the turnips into faces. After distributing the turnips among the children, she chose one for herself and went to sit upon the stone steps leading to the battlements. With a small dagger, she began cutting into the vegetable, attempting to form eyes within the reddish-white mass.
Footsteps drew nearer, and a shadow crossed over her. When she glanced up, she saw Ronan standing there. He was holding a large turnip of his own. Joan wasn’t quite certain why he had come to speak with her. It seemed that he’d been avoiding her since he’d kissed her. Now, he was behaving as if nothing were amiss.
Without asking, he sat down beside her and compared their turnips. ‘Mine is bigger.’
She almost laughed, for it sounded like exactly something her brothers might say in teasing. There was a hint of wickedness in his eyes, and she realised he was trying to mend the awkwardness between them. Her mood softened, and it did seem that he wanted to become friends once again.
And so, she met his teasing with her own response. ‘Size doesn’t matter, my lord.’
A sinful smile curved over his mouth, making her flush. ‘I’ve heard otherwise.’
‘Most people say it’s what you do with your size that matters,’ she parried. His grin widened at the entendre, and she added, ‘I have two brothers. Your jest is not a new one.’ She carved a notch in the turnip, but her blade slipped and nicked the vegetable.
‘Is that meant to be a face?’ he asked. He took out his own dagger and began notching his turnip. Which was, in fact, bigger than hers.
‘It is.’ She wasn’t particularly artistic, but it did have the necessary parts. ‘Those are the eyes, and that’s the nose.’
‘You cut his nose off.’
‘No, he was wounded in battle. It’s still there.’ To emphasise her point, she cut a line across the surface. ‘That’s a terrible scar. He was trying to save his lady from the enemy and suffered for her sake.’
‘And she was taken away and was lost forever,’ he finished. ‘He died of a broken heart.’
‘That wasn’t the ending I had planned.’ She carved another notch into the turnip, attempting to make the face smile. ‘I was thinking that she would see beneath his scars to the man he truly was. And then he would bring her home with him to love for always.’
‘That isn’t what happens in real life, Lady Joan.’
Joan set down her knife to look at him. With a shrug, she said, ‘It’s my story, and I can end it however I like.’ She wasn’t entirely surprised that he had disregarded the love story. Her brothers would have done the same.
‘Wouldn’t it be more interesting my way?’ he suggested. ‘Unpredictable is better.’ He continued to carve at the vegetable, flicking bits of the turnip to the ground.
‘I prefer a happier ending. One that ends in love.’
‘Love doesn’t always end happily.’
The dark tone of his voice suggested that he had experienced even more loss than she’d imagined. Had he loved a woman who had died during the attack on Clonagh? Or worst of all, had it involved a child? His vehement statement that he would never sire children made her wonder what had happened. A sudden ache caught her, for she had not thought of this. ‘I am sorry if you lost someone you loved. Did it happen during the attack?’
He let out a slow breath. ‘No. It was a few months before.’
She didn’t know what else to say, except to touch his shoulder with sympathy. The sudden flash of interest in his eyes caught her unawares, for she had not expected it. She pulled back her hand as if it had caught on fire, feeling embarrassed.
To distract herself, Joan tilted her head to get a better look at the turnip he was carving. At first, it seemed only like a series of lines. Then he turned it towards her, and she was startled to see the gnarled face of a grandfather etched within the vegetable. It was truly remarkable that he had captured such a powerful image with only a few strokes of the blade.
‘Oh, my,’ she murmured. ‘This is wonderful. You cannot possibly risk burning this carving with a candle.’
He shrugged. ‘It’s only a turnip, Lady Joan.’
Did he truly not grasp the talent he had? Why would he deny his skills? She reached out for the turnip and then asked, ‘Have you ever made other carvings? Out of wood, perhaps?’
‘It’s nothing of importance.’ With that, he stood. ‘Add my turnip in with the others. The children can light them and carry them tonight. I will go and help with the bonfires.’
Joan kept the turnip but had no intention of giving it over to be burned. Instead, she put it with her own, marvelling at the detail he’d captured. Ronan had a depth of talent she would never have guessed. The simplicity of his carving touched her heart.
‘I am keeping it,’ she told him. He eyed her for a moment, and then shrugged as if it were nothing. But it revealed another side to this man, one that intrigued her.
In the distance, many of the MacEgans were gathering wood and loading it into wagons to be brought to the hills for the Samhain fires. Before Ronan left her side, there was a sudden outcry near the gates.
Joan rose to her feet and saw a man and a woman arriving on horseback. The man had blond hair, lighter than Ronan’s, and beside him rode a dark-haired woman of such beauty, Joan felt like an old crone. A young girl rode behind them on a smaller horse. The girl’s brown hair was braided neatly, and the woman kept glancing behind her to ensure that the child was well.
‘Who are they?’ she asked Ronan.
‘Connor MacEgan is the king’s younger brother. It looks as if he’s taken a wife.’
Joan moved closer, with Ronan following behind. Connor helped the woman down from her horse, but when Joan drew closer, she saw that he was favouring one hand over the other. The king came forward with Queen Isabel to greet his brother, and the new bride stood back. Her clothing was simple, but the dark woollen cloak accentuated her clear skin and her grey-green eyes.
Connor lifted the girl down from her horse, and she curtsied before the king and queen. Joan gathered with the rest of them and heard him introduce the woman as his bride, Aileen. The child was his daughter, Rhiannon.
There was a moment of fleeting shock on King Patrick’s face before he masked it and welcomed them both. Isabel smiled at the young girl and held out her hand, bringing her over to meet Liam. Aileen followed, and they walked inside the castle.
A pang caught at Joan’s heart when she saw the young family. There was such love between them, she could not hide her own envy of the life she wanted to have.
‘Go and join them,’ Ronan urged. ‘I know you’re wanting to know more.’
She did, but didn’t feel she ought to indulge her curiosity since they were strangers. Even so, Ronan departed to join the men who were carrying wood up the hill of Amadán.