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Kiss All My Freckles
June 8, 1559, Ulster, Ireland • May 14, 2009, Washington, D.C.
At supper, I worked hard to appear unperturbed. I’d be eaten alive here lest I positioned myself according to my rank—the highborn consort to the king and the lady of the castle.
Sitting straight as an arrow with what I hoped was a stern expression, I was startled when Fillan O’Donnelly turned to me with a smile. “My wife, Lady Maura, shall be joining us, m’lady. She’s been awaiting your arrival.”
Lady Maura was a plump young woman with warm, laughing eyes.
“The pleasure is all mine, my dearest Lady Neave.” She patted my hand. “Living here is akin to lodging with an army garrison, what with their incessant talk of politics and warfare. The place is utterly devoid of gentlewomen. We shall become fast friends.”
Lady Maura, who recently emerged from the throes of childbirth, proved to be quite talkative. Among other things, I’d learned both the brehon and the dean had been opposed to our marriage, urging Aedan to make a political alliance instead.
“Having met you, I see why he ignored them, a dhlúthchara.” She winked. “The brehon was pressing him to wed the eldest O’Donnell lass—to unite the clans, mind. Have you seen her? Phew! A homely, dolorous creature of naught but bones and skin.”
The savory aroma emanating from the richly served table would tempt even the pickiest of eaters. But I had no taste for food. How had I wed the most prominent man of Ulster and against the wishes of the brehon and the dean? I stared before me, unseeing. Would that he was a simple freeman, unfettered of his rank and these oppressive walls, halls, servants, and the endless acres of land.
He squeezed my hand under the table, leaning toward me. “You’ll grow accustomed to all this. It’s still me, my Neave—"
“The matrimonial matters concluded,” Kian cut in without ceremony, “what of your meeting with Rykeworth, brother?”
“We leave in a fortnight, as planned.” Aedan’s hand abandoned mine. “But have a look at this.” He tossed the familiar crumpled parchment to his officers across the table. “This vile missive was delivered to me at my own wedding, no less. Tiernan has made his move on the O’Reillys by driving their cattle and plundering their lands.”
He touched my hand. “Ulster’s fierce alliance of clans is under the patronage of the O’Neal lordship, m’lady. Our neighboring Tyrconnell, governed by Tiernan O’Donnell, owes me the same obedience, but this my father never enforced, busy as he was charming the English. It appears I must remind Tiernan of his allegiance.”
From the corner of my eye, I glimpsed Kian’s raised brow and blank stare.
“I mean to bring him to heel with my sword.” Aedan moved his gaze to the brehon and the dean. “And now, he’s given me reason to act.”
The brehon nodded. “Whatever it takes for unity in Ulster, Aedan. I hear Rykeworth promises Tiernan an earldom to fight against you. The sooner he’s dealt with, the better.”
I glanced at Lady Maura. She was enjoying her roast pig with enviable relish.
Tomas McArdle, one of the O’Neal’s army captains, cleared his throat. “D’you suppose we’re to meet with this Rykeworth concerning the Scots? If so, the man didn’t learn overmuch from his predecessor’s month-long hosting. Leaving with his arse bare like the fool he was.”
“The MacDonnells’ numbers grow only in proportion to their fierceness, our friend Ragnall notwithstanding.” Aedan turned to me once more, and I remembered his sister’s tall Scottish husband. “The Tudor queen fears the likely alliance of these Scots with the Francs and sent an order to halt their settlement here.” He regarded Tomas. “Rykeworth will incite me to war against them, seeing their lands belong to Ulster. He may well be rousing the Scots to fight me in the same breath. I’d put naught past him. Send our scouts to Antrim on the morrow, Kian.”
“What advantage is there in pitting the O’Neals and the MacDonnells against one another, m’lord?” I ventured.
Kian snapped his brows together.
“A worthy question, m’lady,” said the dean of Armagh.
My husband nodded. “Indeed it is. The new lord deputy, Baron Rykeworth of Sussex, is not overly keen on my ascension to the chieftaincy. He sees me as a usurper—in view of Coilin Kelly’s ‘decreed’ right to succession. Since Coilin is no longer among us—” He crossed himself. “This Rykeworth has come to some understanding with my cousin Ultan O’Neal. If the Scots were to do away with me, he’d prop up Ultan as his pawn. But have no worry, m’lady, I’m leagues ahead.” He surveyed his men. “I trust we’ve everything in order?”
The brehon shrugged. “Your safe-conduct guarantee. A parchment signed by Rykeworth and not to be trusted. He’s known for his treacherous ways.”
“Our gallowglasses are on their way to be posted round Dublin, disguised so well, their own mothers won’t recognize them,” said Ronan.
“Two hundred of them will enter the Kilmainham Castle gates with us as a condition of your visit,” added Fillan.
I dug my fingernails into my palms. This enormous castle with its staggering domestic matters, these stern men with their frightening talk of war, these endless threats to my new husband’s life, my role in all this. I was ill-suited for this marriage.
I spent the rest of the supper in silence, the familiar dread rising anew.
“You must be weary after your journey, m’lady.” Aedan took my hand when the meal came to an end. “We shall retire, lest you object.”
Something between a snort and a chuckle erupted from Kian. “Give the poor lass a rest, will you?” He shot his brother a glassy wink. “She’s like to be saddle-sore after that overlong matrimonial night.”
I swung to Lady Maura to hide a furious heat flooding my face.
“Pay them no mind,” she muttered. “You’ll not believe the sort of talk that passes for conversation here. An army garrison, I tell you.”
Aedan’s voice at my side was the beat of the bodhrán before the battle. “It is my own. Highborn wife. You speak of. Brother.”
Kian blanched, suddenly sober. “Come, Aedan, it was but a jest. I meant no harm...”
Jaw clenched, nostrils flared, my husband grabbed the edge of the table, his face a picture of immediate and unbridled violence.
“You’ll beg Lady Neave’s forgiveness, my brother.” His voice was a low rumble of imminent thunder.
I squirmed in my seat in the silence that followed. While the whispers of Aedan O’Neal’s depravities may have been unsubstantiated, those of his ill temper appeared quite legitimate.
“Brother...” Kian looked from Aedan to me, his fair features coming into sharp relief against flushed skin. “I beg your forgiveness, m’lady—” He winced as Aedan straightened to his full height. “A bit unaccustomed to the ladies’ company, like.” His voice carried a distinct note of resentment.
“I’m not to be disturbed,” my husband bit out, thrusting his arm out to me. It was rigid as a rock.
Shaken, I proceeded ahead of him to the long set of stairs, which culminated in the most splendid chamber I’ve even seen. Appointed with its own large hearth, it contained a great bed with a wooden frame and feather mattress, three inlaid garment chests, and a carved French dressing table with a full-size glass for a lady.
I stood before the hearth, overcome with dread. My husband’s station could prove fatal to him, so I’d never rest easy. I’d somehow made a foe of his own brother. And last, but far from least, judging from everyone’s unflappable reaction, his temper storm appeared an everyday affair.
“Pay Kian no mind.” Aedan stepped behind me, his voice back to its velvety timbre. “He’s boorish when gone in drink, but he’ll keep his tongue in check henceforth.”
I stared into the flames, unblinking.
“Did our talk of war upset you?” He rubbed his forehead. “Don’t be frightened, a rún, no battle will come to Eden-Duff-Carrick while I rule here.” He ran the back of his hand along my cheek, compelling me to look at him. “It’s still me, my Neave. Naught has changed between us.”
A groove formed between his brows, and I smoothed it with my fingertip.
He took my face into his hands, so gentle, I couldn’t fathom he’d just been on the brink of violence.
“How regal you look in your married woman’s garb, but I know what lies beneath. This golden hair of spun silk.” He removed my headdress and unbraided my hair, his sure hands infusing me with calm. “This fair skin, blushing so, with all those freckles I’ve yet to kiss.” He pressed his lips to the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. “This gown, concealing your coaxing figure, the sight of which nearly drove me mad last night.” He whirled me round, and a blaze of smoldering indigo pinned me down. “This bottomless sea behind your eyes, in which I drown, yet breathe more freely than ever before. You know not what you do to me, my Neave. There’ll never come a day when I’ve held you long enough.”
His words kindled a fire to rival that in the hearth. Spellbound, I parted my lips. Would that I could seize him so with my words, show him how I burned for him, too. But I had no gift of eloquence.
“You’re so quiet, my Neave... Christ...” He raked his hair, and a curtain fell. “Have I eternally wrecked your opinion of me?”
I peered into the glittering pools of blue, filled with so many brilliant stars. “God’s power is made perfect in weakness, my Aedan, and what sort of woman would I be to reproach my king for being but a man?”
My words were enough, for he made good on his promise and kissed all my freckles in the end, even finding ones I didn’t know I had.
We were silent after as we lay entwined, basking in the warm glow of the flame blooming between us.
“I couldn’t bear if anything befell you,” I whispered into his chest, stunned by the depth of my feelings.
He winked, sure as a newly forged sword. “Never fear, a mhuirnín dílis. From Tyrconnell to Antrim, all of Ulster will soon be mine. Even now, I can muster near to five thousand fighting men against the English presence here. I don’t mean to place my men or myself in mortal danger lest I’m to emerge victorious. When I ride into battle, it is to win, my Neave—”
I jerked out of the vision, a chill crawling down my spine. Doesn’t know what he’s riding into... Could Worgen know about my parallel existence? I shook myself. No, he couldn’t. Of course not.