Forbidden Night With The Prince. Michelle Willingham

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СКАЧАТЬ a few hours, Ronan was glad to disappear into a crowd of men who did not know he was a prince. He could stack wood on the bonfires, and the hard labour took his mind off the troubles brewing. But it could not banish his thoughts of Joan.

      He never should have kissed her that day. The impulse haunted him even now. He’d expected her to kiss like a maiden, innocent and sweet. Instead, she had ignited a fire within him, making him want to consume her. He had avoided all women since his brother’s death, but the abstinence had come back to haunt him. Joan’s mouth tasted of forbidden sin, of a woman who was born to be seduced.

      And worst of all, she wanted a child. The very thought brought back the memory of his nephew’s death. No, he could never grant her that. It wasn’t even fair to ask a betrothal of her—not when her only desire was to become a mother. Better to let her go, to let her love someone else.

      Perspiration lined his skin as Ronan stacked a final log upon the bonfire. In the distance, the sun was setting, and the sky grew streaked with red and orange. Already he had decided to take a small group of MacEgan soldiers back to his lands, to scout out his stepbrother’s forces and determine what to do next.

      The problem was, he had no idea how many of his men had remained loyal to him. Odhran had hired mercenaries, but it was impossible that such a small number of fighters could take control of Clonagh so easily. What advantage did they have? Or did his people want Odhran to be their king?

      You were never meant to rule over Clonagh, came the whisper of his conscience.

       Neither was Odhran.

      A heaviness weighed upon his shoulders, but Ronan tried not to dwell on his past mistakes or the disappointments he had brought to his father. All he could do was move forward, trying to restore the rightful ruler. But he remembered the years of trailing his brother, trying to gain his father’s approval. He’d watched as King Brodur had rested his hand on Ardan’s shoulder, telling him all there was to know about the Kingship. There had been pride in his father’s eyes.

      Pride that had never been there for Ronan.

      A familiar ache spread out within him, stretching the emptiness of regret. Saintly Ardan was always meant to be the heir, never him. And though Ronan had tried to bring honour to their family name through his fighting skills, Brodur had seemed disinterested.

      A hard knot formed in his throat at the thought of his father’s fate now. He didn’t know if Odhran was ruthless enough to harm Brodur. Though they had their differences, he hoped his stepbrother had merely deposed the king.

      What had become of his people since he’d left them a few days ago? Were they unharmed? Or had Odhran punished those loyal to the king? He prayed that his father was still alive somehow, though it was unlikely. The question was what to do now.

      After the bonfires were prepared and ready to be lit, Ronan followed the men back to the keep. All around him, the children held carved turnips hanging on slender pieces of rope. They had not lit the lanterns yet, but he saw the MacEgans gathering within the inner bailey. He overheard a child whining, ‘It’s dark. Why did we put out the fire?’

      The mother shushed her son and said, ‘All hearth fires must be put out. We will light them tonight from the Samhain bonfires.’

      Just as the woman had predicted, the lights were extinguished everywhere. Ronan followed the crowd of people, and the king and queen had gathered with them in the dim twilight. The king’s brother, Connor MacEgan, was seated beside his new wife, who had been crowned with a garland of flowers. Her daughter also had flowers in her hair, but it was the sight of Joan that drew his attention once more. Ronan didn’t know if it was her white gown, but he never failed to find her within a crowd, though today she stood near the back, as if to avoid notice.

      ‘My brother has returned to us,’ the king announced in a loud voice. ‘And he has brought his wife Aileen with him, along with his daughter Rhiannon. We have many reasons to celebrate on this Samhain night, and I am glad they are with us.’

      He stretched out his hand and pointed in the distance towards the large stacks of wood atop the hill of Amadán. ‘Let us light the fires and begin our celebration.’

      The king gave the signal to a man mounted on horseback. ‘Go.’

      After a short time, the rider reached the piles of wood and started the fires, setting them ablaze. The bonfires burned in the darkness, while a cheer resounded from the people.

      Then the rider returned with a torch and dismounted. He knelt down before the queen, and she lit a candle from the torch. Dozens of candles were passed out to all the folk, and one by one, they lit their wicks until there was a sea of light within the castle walls. It was beautiful in an ancient tradition, binding them together.

      Ronan had held the same ritual with his own clan, last year, on behalf of his father. Seeing it here at Laochre only strengthened his resolve to bring peace to Clonagh and his people. With any hope, they would celebrate Imbolc in the spring, free from Odhran’s rule.

      An old woman received a large ewer of water from a priest and poured some of it over the threshold leading to the Great Chamber. The priest murmured a blessing over the holy water, protecting Laochre from any evil spirits that might wander this night.

      Ronan moved through the people, making his way towards King Patrick and his brother Connor. When he reached them, Connor came forward to greet him. ‘We met a few years ago, Ronan.’

      He gripped the man’s forearm, and Connor did the same, but with his left arm. At this close distance, he saw that the man’s hand was heavily scarred, and it appeared as if the injury had not healed well. When Connor saw the direction of his gaze, he shrugged. ‘My hand was crushed, and Aileen did everything she could to save it. Thanks to her, I still have a hand.’ His face softened at the mention of his wife.

      ‘She must be a skilled healer.’

      ‘There is no one better. I brought her here to meet my family and to stay a while.’ He sobered a moment. ‘I was sorry to hear about your brother’s death. Ardan was a good man.’

      Ronan nodded, forcing back the ache of guilt. ‘He was.’

      ‘Patrick tells me that you are in need of soldiers to reclaim your kingdom.’

      ‘I intend to take a scouting party back to Clonagh soon. You are welcome to join us, if you like.’

      ‘My fighting days are at an end, I fear.’ Connor held up his mangled right hand. ‘But I can offer strategy, should you need it.’

      ‘My strategy has not been working well thus far.’ Ronan explained about the betrothal Rhys de Laurent wanted to make between himself and Joan. ‘Neither of us wants to marry, but I could use her brothers’ men.’

      At that, Connor thought a moment. ‘Do you like her well enough, Ronan?’

      ‘I do,’ he agreed. Joan was different from any other woman he’d met, and the other maidens seemed like foolish girls by comparison. He thought of her smile when they had carved turnips and her teasing manner. There had been an ease between them, as if they had been friends for a long time. But it contrasted with the way her hands had slid over his skin during the bath she’d tended. On that night, she had aroused him deeply in a way he had never expected.

      He’d kissed her in an attempt to satisfy the СКАЧАТЬ