Chapter Fifty-Two
His Parting Word
Neave, August 26, 1565, Ulster, Ireland
Two days followingmy arrival, Tiernan O’Donnell showed up in Benburb unannounced but not unexpected.
“Apologies, m’lord.” Dylan cleared his throat as I helped myself to a generous serving of porridge at our late breakfast. “Lord O’Donnell is at the gate, demanding admission. Mad as a wasp and with two dozen piked men in tow.”
I put down my spoon, the porridge turning to stone in my mouth.
Aedan stood and unsheathed his sword. His officers followed suit as one. “He may enter alone,” he said, cool as the mist outside. “His piked men will meet an untimely end should they follow him.”
I got up, too, but he shook his head. “Remain inside, Lady Neave.”
But this battle wasn’t Aedan’s.
Heartbeat pounding in my ears, I followed behind them into the courtyard.
The mist had turned to drizzle. O’Donnell’s stallion’s impatient jig left vanishing hoof imprints in the mud.
His face darkened at my appearance, but it was Aedan he addressed. “You may have slaughtered my sentries, but I still have all my gallowglasses and the English queen’s ear, withal. Is it war you hanker for, O’Neal?”
Aedan stood motionless, his expression unreadable.
“Fret not, young chieftain—war it is. But today, I’ve come to collect what’s lawfully mine.” He pulled on his mount’s reins so hard, the beast reared in protest. “Or d’you mean to add wife-poacher to your ledger?”
“Go home, m’lord.” I stepped forward, my words clear and even. “Naught in Benburb is yours.”
Aedan’s eyes were so cold and hard when he turned, I drew back. “Go inside, my Neave,” he bit out. “It is an ill time to show yourself.”
“I’ll drag you with me if I must, wife.” O’Donnell’s voice cracked with an unfamiliar mixture of menace and shame. “You and my child you carry in your womb.”
I braced myself and stepped to Aedan’s side. He was humming with rage and bloodshed.
“Go home, m’lord,” I said louder, placing a hand on my belly, “and I’ll remain here, with my child’s true sire.”
O’Donnell froze in his saddle but for an unguarded spell. Then, he threw back his head and roared with laughter—a strained, bitter sound.
“The whispers are true, then. You must have truly lost your wits to heed such a tale, O’Neal!”
Aedan flicked Kian a faint nod, and before I knew it, his brother’s arm was intertwined with mine, urging me back inside.
I yanked it away with such force, Kian lost his hold on me. When I dashed back, Aedan was a moment away from charging forth.
“The child was conceived the day I returned with the O’Neal’s scent on my skin and his seed in my womb, as is well known in all of Ulster, owing to your efforts.” I set a firm hand on Aedan’s sword arm and fixed my gaze on O’Donnell’s unblinking, watery eyes. “I tell you for the third time, m’lord, spare yourself further indignities and go home.”
O’Donnell’s expression shifted into something I never thought I’d see—a grimace of boiling rage. “You made me believe the child was mine!” His voice was the snarl of a cornered wolf. “Blasted harlot!”
Aedan’s arm jerked from my slipping grip; I dug my fingers into it.
“I’d rather be the O’Neal’s harlot than your wife!” I tossed back before I could stop myself.
My erstwhile husband spat, wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his saffron. “You’re welcome to it, then, woman!” Pale eyes glinting with ice, he turned his mount round. “I’ve no need for O’Neal’s leavings, and I’m done raising his get.”
Like an eagle ready to strike, Aedan lunged forward. Startled, O’Donnell’s stallion came to an abrupt halt. A blot of lighting split the sky in half. Before it disappeared, Aedan was standing beside the steed, holding the reins.
“Get off your mount and fight me like a man,” he growled, “instead of hurling insults like a jester at the Tudor court.”
O’Donnell jumped off his horse. “Gladly—” Scowl on his lips and murder in his eyes, he barreled toward Aedan.
He had eight years on Aedan and stood half a head shorter but was just as powerfully built. Shaking as if with ill fever, he swung out his arm with a clenched fist. I clamped a hand over my mouth as Aedan dealt O’Donnell a blow that brought him to his knees.
“Don’t fret, m’lady—it is but sport for him.” Kian touched my shoulder, brow furrowed. “Best you go inside.”
Heart hammering, I dug my fingers into my skirts.
Aedan towered over O’Donnell, nostrils flaring, feet anchored wide apart. “Get up and fight, Tiernan. Or d’you mean to add cravenness to your ledger?”
Blood streaming from his nose, O’Donnell shook himself, planted his palms into the mud. Before he could lift his head, Aedan slammed into him with all his force, toppling him to the ground.
He dug his knee into the small of O’Donnell’s back. “Go home, Tiernan—” Aedan’s voice boomed throughout the courtyard, punctuated by the first crash of thunder. “Go now, before I break your neck.”
The rain came down like a blast of arrows as the King of Tyrconnell struggled to mount his steed while Aedan watched, still and mute.
It was only when O’Donnell crossed the gate and joined his piked men, that he turned with a cold, bloodied smile.
“Have you relished in your ceaseless, murderous raids of the Pale, Aedan? I’ll go home and will dwell there, safe and content amongst my men and women. Unlike you here—or any place henceforth. For speaking of the Tudor court, haven’t you heard the queen has put a mighty bounty on your hot head!”