Chapter 5
C omgall could barely hide his displeasure as he helped Princess Eithne down from his horse and offered to escort her to the guest suite. She smiled and accepted the offer prettily enough, but he would not let that make up for her rudeness. Really, arriving unannounced, weeks before she was expected. She could at least have given them adequate time to prepare. She must know that even Dunadd was not permanently ready for the arrival of a foreign princess. He was already predisposed to dislike her, but he had at least expected good manners from a woman raised as a princess. Her polite behaviour now would hardly make up for it.
“This will be your home until the wedding,” he said, bowing low before her once they reached the door to the small house. She eyed it dubiously and he felt another stab of resentment. So, a Dal Riada house was not good enough for an Irish princess?
“I’m sure it will be lovely,” she said politely, but he could still see that doubt in her eyes. As ungrateful as expected. The boy ran to clutch her legs, and she reached down to pat his head. Comgall almost smiled at that. Whatever her many other faults, she did seem a devoted mother, at least from the few moments he had known her. That boded well for their future children. After all, Comgall would never have become king without the efforts of his mother.
“She’s not bad looking,” someone whispered in his ear. He turned to meet the gaze of Ciaran, his chief guardsman and oldest friend. “Although I swear we heard she was a redhead.”
Comgall shrugged. “I don’t care what she looks like,” he murmured in return. “As long as this damn marriage stops the fighting.”
He turned back to his betrothed and bowed as shallowly as he could without breaching the bounds of politeness.
“Good day, my lady. I will leave you to settle in.”
She smiled at him, but something shifted in her eyes. For a moment, she looked lost and afraid. On impulse, Comgall reached out and captured her hand. He pressed the briefest kiss to her fingers before he turned and strode away. Beside him, Ciaran sniggered.
“Shut up,” Comgall told his friend.
Leaving the rest of his guards behind - he always had at least one bodyguard beside him, but any more grew irritating - Comgall went to find his mother. As expected, she was in Dunadd’s hall, ordering around a legion of servants. She had grown up here, daughter of a previous king, and she still ruled the place like it was her own. She’d swooped back in the very moment that Comgall was chosen as the new king.
“I hear the Irish girl is here,” she said, waving away a servant and frowning up at her son. He sank into the chair beside her and resisted the urge to rest his head in his hands. His mother always knew everything the moment it happened .
“She is,” he said heavily. “Without a single word of warning. And she’s got a son with her.”
He quickly explained the story to his mother, who narrowed her eyes in an expression that mirrored his own.
“It’s a good sign that she has a healthy boy, I agree, but otherwise I don’t like the sound of her at all.”
Comgall nodded glumly. He’d expected as much. His mother was difficult enough to impress at the best of times, and a competing princess in Dunadd would have to be wonderful indeed to earn any sort of approval. In fact, it was difficult for anyone to earn his mother’s approval. Kings of Dal Riada did not inherit from their fathers, but were instead elected from any surviving relatives of a dead king. His mother had grown up knowing that her sons would have a right to the kingship, and that knowledge often made her haughty.
“At least she seems polite and pleasant enough,” he said, not sure where the urge to defend Eithne came from. Perhaps because she had looked so lost. She was alone in a foreign court, after all. And perhaps she was not to blame for her family’s sins.
His mother’s lips thinned. There was not a trace of compassion in her eyes.
“Don’t forget who that woman is,” she says. “She knows all about her brother’s crime, and yet she refused to hand him over for punishment. She is no friend of our family.”
“It is time for us to overcome that rift,” Comgall said, keeping his voice steady. “We must let go of the past if we are ever to have peace. But make no mistake, I like it no more than you. Donall’s ghost must be resting uneasy indeed.”
His mother crossed herself.
“I hope that your poor cousin understands peace as well as revenge. And do not worry, son, I will treat this woman with the respect your wife deserves, even if I cannot like her. We will have an appropriate feast to welcome her to Dunadd.”
“Thank you,” Comgall said, nodding to her as he rose. His mother was always perfectly polite, no matter how unpleasant the situation. She truly was a princess.
He was almost at the door when his mother caught at his sleeve. Standing, she reached up to stroke his cheek.
“I’m sorry for arranging this marriage, my son,” she said softly. “I understand how difficult it is for you. But a king must have a wife, and Dal Riada needs peace with its Irish neighbours. This was the best way.”
Comgall had no words for her that he had not already spoken. He nodded brusquely and strode off. He had a kingdom to run.