Chapter Fifty-two: the Price of Loyalty

Ruarc and Fàelàn both cried out in horror. "My Lord, please, no!"

Deirdre and Allan looked up quickly at the prince before exchanging a wide-eyed glance; they had never expected this.

Ruarc spoke quickly, trying to dissuade the prince.

"My Lord, how can I possibly get work out of injured servants?"

"That's your problem."

"But My Lord…" Ruarc thought hard. Deirdre would be angry, but Allan would thank him. He said what he had to to save one of them.

"Deirdre A' Dale is breeding, My Lord. Thirty lashes will kill the child she carries and if I allow that, the geis is broken and I am dishonored. There would be no sense in my paying the price on their heads at that point."

The prince rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.

"Then you shall take Deirdre A' Dale's punishment for her. Am I not merciful?" he put forth, preening proudly before the crowd. Shouts of "Yes, Your Highness!" were heard, most notably from those standing closest to the dais or to guards. As the guards moved forward to grab the men and steer them toward the door, Allan saw the panic in Deirdre's eyes.

"Leave be, luv. We're getting' away with our lives, and our hands intact. We'll get a chance at a life now, and give Tom a better chance, too. O'Brian and me'll heal," Allan whispered to her. "Mind, I'll need extra attention from my wife to make me feel better," he added with a brave wink as the guards took hold of him and hustled him out the door.

Once in the courtyard, the prince's soldiers made quick work of tying both Allan and Ruarc to posts; the men who would carry out the sentence seemed to materialize from nowhere. Allan looked for Robin, saw his grim countenance peering out from under a vegetable-seller's stall. Allan shook his head, denying the rescue he knew Robin would be compelled to launch. Ruarc's men were moving among the crowd, seeking out other members of the gang, telling them the terms had been accepted, the whipping was just the prince asserting his authority over the matter, and a rescue now would only endanger them all. One by one, the gang looked to Robin, who shook his head, letting them know the rescue was off.

The prince sat on a dais which had been erected permanently for him to view public events and called to the men who would be doing the whipping. Fàelàn O'Niall sat once more to his right, with Guy and Adelaide on his left. Prince John gave the men their instructions; they would be using an ordinary whip, not a flail or a cat o'nine tails. The prince wished to assert his authority, not cause permanent damage. The men stepped away from the dais and moved to Allan and Ruarc, ripping their shirts from their backs to add to the drama. Out of the corner of his eye, Prince John watched the men on his sides, noting their tense postures.

Next to Guy, Adelaide was clutching his hand, her face a mask of horror as memories assailed her. Lord Henry had liked to whip her, sometimes even beating her bare back while he was yet inside her. The scene before them was too much for her and she gave a little mewl of protest, leaning forward to try to quell a bout of nausea that suddenly overtook her.

Guy looked over quickly at her, leaning over her protectively.

"Adelaide, what is it? Are you all right?"

She shook her head, looking up at him pleadingly, begging him to understand. "Please, Guy. I simply cannot bear…" She nodded her head meaningfully at the two men who were tied to the poles, their backs bare and vulnerable. "Please, stop this."

Guy turned to the prince.

"Your Highness, you said earlier that I should decide the punishment of the A' Dales. I believe that paying Your Highness sixty crowns extra every year, swearing fealty to you, and being made to leave the country and work as serfs on that man's land, are punishment enough."

Frowning, Guy looked back at Adelaide, who nodded to him. Guy nearly rolled his eyes, unable to believe that he was actually trying to convince the prince to not whip Allan; being gentle for Addy was going to be harder than he thought.

"Do you wish to join them, Sir Guy?" the prince asked dangerously.

"No Sire," Guy had noted Ruarc's "slip" in using the more kingly address and decided to employ it himself. "I just believe that they will love you that much more if you decide that they have paid the price of their unlawfulness before they are physically injured. It would be most…merciful of you." Guy nearly choked on the word "merciful", his temper increasing as he tried to remain calm and act mercifully himself; the sight of Allan and Deirdre together was making Guy's more violent side quake with the need to punish them. The touch of Adelaide's hand on his cooled his temper, as he closed his eyes and let her gentleness waft over him.

Prince John stroked his beard, his lips pursed in thought as the whips cracked the air below them. Rising almost apathetically from his throne, the prince caught the attention of the gathered crowd.

"Good people of London! My brother, King Richard, fights a war in a far away land, asking you to sacrifice yourselves, your sons, your fathers and uncles and grandsons in his name. He leaves me here to watch over you who are left behind. There is enough good English blood being spilled in the name of my brother; I shall not see more of it spilled here today over a trifle." Fàelàn did not fail to notice the prince using the more personal "me" instead of the royal "we", thereby making himself seem more approachable.

He turned to the guards who were holding back the crowd from the center.

"Release the prisoners!"

Everyone stared, shocked, as the guards began untying Allan and Ruarc; Guy and Adelaide exchanged a smile—Guy's rueful, Adelaide's warm—as the two men were hustled before the prince. Prince John looked down at the men, and at Deirdre, who had also been brought forward.

"You will remember this day the next time you decide to go against your sovereign. You will remember how close you came to punishment and pain, and how you were saved by our mercy. Remember that it is at our whim that you live or die. You will kneel, and swear fealty to me now."

The prince declared that Ruarc must to make a renewal of his vows, and that the A' Dales must swear to his royal personage as well as to Ruarc, thereby doubly binding them. Deirdre and Allan spoke the words, knowing they had no choice but still feeling the accusing eyes of Robin and the others in the crowd. Deirdre and Allan spoke the words, knowing they had no choice but still feeling the accusing eyes of Robin and the others in the crowd. The prince sat in his chair, slumped down, thumb on his chin, pointer finger against his temple and middle finger under his nose, eyes glazing over, as the priest droned the ritual words and the five people each repeated them in turn. Every so often, something would catch his eye—a scrap of cloth snapping in the breeze, the movement of a bored child, a bitch being mounted by a dog—and then his gaze would shift rapidly to the new entertainment before returning dully to the ritual before him. When the ceremony was over, he rose and stretched, yawning widely.

"See to it, Fàelàn, that the proper papers are written up and delivered to them before they leave, yes?"

"Yes, Your Highness. Right away, Sir."

"You will leave with your new master once the papers are in his hands," the prince commanded of Allan and Deirdre.

With that, Prince John turned and moved indoors, grabbing one of his kitchen wenches and steering her toward his chambers. "You had better be entertaining," he whispered to her dangerously as they moved up the stairs.


Allan looked incredulously from Ruarc to Deirdre.

"Is that it then? We're really free?'

"Well, you're not really free, you're my serfs," Ruarc replied teasingly.

Allan frowned at him; Deirdre was too busy smiling at her father as she walked toward the dais to notice the men's exchange.

Fàelàn jumped down to wrap Deirdre in a hug—a hug he hadn't been able to give her since before her second wedding to Allan, nearly a year before. By the time they separated from the embrace, Guy and Adelaide had disappeared; Deirdre frowned—she had hoped to thank Guy for his unexpected generosity. Now she would have to track him down, but first, she had to answer the questions her father was shooting at her like a quiver-full of Robin's arrows. She held up her hand to stop the assault so she could begin answering.

"The baby is fine. His name is Tom. You can tell Mam she was right about him being a boy. Allan and I are fine, especially now. We found Ruarc in the forest one day…"

"...and were bent on robbing me until I charmed 'em out of it," the big warrior cut in, striding up to where Deirdre and Fàelàn stood. He smiled warmly and took the hand his former lord held out, but the smile never reached his eyes; he still wondered why the O'Niall* had denied his own suit only to allow Deirdre marry Allan.

Fàelàn pulled Ruarc to him, embracing him warmly for a minute; when they pulled apart, Fàelàn's eyes were wet.

"Ruarc O'Brian, as I live and breathe. I never thought to see you again once we left Ireland, yet here you are, saving my Deirdre's life. I owe you a great debt, my friend."

Ruarc framed his answer carefully. "I have always cared very deeply for Deirdre. It is for her that I do this."

Fàelàn frowned, and tension began to fill the air once more before Deirdre took her father's arm and steered him toward the castle. "I am quite hungry, Da. Can you show me to the kitchens?"

Allan had wandered up during Fàelàn and Ruarc's exchange; he shot Ruarc a confused look before hurrying to catch up to his wife and father in-law.


Inside the cold, drafty castle, the kitchen was a warm oasis that smelled of baking bread and cooking meat. Deirdre inhaled the familiar scents as her father motioned one of the servants to get them some food. The kitchen staff gawked as the trio sat at one of the sturdy work tables rather than re-entering the hall to eat.

"How's Mam?" Deirdre asked around a mouthful of bread.

"She is well, but she misses you, and is wanting to see the babe desperately."

"I'll ask Ruarc if we can't stop at Dun Aisling on our way to Ireland. It would be wonderful to see the family again, and give everyone a chance to meet my Allan."

Deirdre smiled warmly at Allan and took his hand; he smiled back, feeling more than a bit self-conscious as his body reacted to her touch . He shook away the mental image of throwing her over the table and having his way with her, concentrating on the fact that they were in a roomful of people, her father being foremost among them. He watched her smile turn into an impish grin as she noted his condition and he silently cursed her as she leaned over to place a kiss on his cheek, laying her head on his shoulder. Fàelàn soon rose from the table.

"I must be off to see that the scribe gets your pardon written correctly. You will stay the night in my London home, and be off first thing in the morning." Fàelàn paused in the doorway. "Stay out of trouble, eh?"

Allan snorted as Deirdre blinked ingenuously at her father. "Of course, Athair."

O'Niall frowned at her, striding back to the table to lean in close to his daughter's ear.

"You're on a dangerous cliff, Muirnín. Careful where you tread. Just behave until you're safe in Ireland, at least." Fàelàn played a card he hoped would help. "For Tom."

O'Niall watched in satisfaction as Deirdre frowned, glaring at him. "That was a nasty trick, Da."

"Oh, so I'm "Da" now instead of "Father" am I, Deirdre?"
"And I'm "Deirdre" now instead of "Sweetheart"?"

Allan cleared his throat, trying to break the tension that was rising between the O'Nialls. With a grin, father and daughter threw their arms around one another.

"I'll stay safe, I promise, Athair," Deirdre whispered into her father's ear.

"It's good to have you back, Muirnín," he responded, his voice muffled by her hair. He gave her one final squeeze and turned to leave the room, his eyes shiny and wet.

Allan grinned at his wife. "Well, let's go get us some rope and a gag, eh?"

"What for?" Deirdre raised an eyebrow at her husband.

"You promised to stay out of trouble, so I thought we ought to tie you and gag you to 'elp you keep that promise."

Deirdre nuzzled Allan's ear, tightening his groin even more as she whispered to him, "I never knew your tastes ran that way, Mo Croi." Allan began to sweat as her tongue reached out to flick his ear and she suckled on the lobe before kissing his neck. He heard snickering behind him and got up quickly, grabbing Deirdre and placing her in front of him to hide his obvious arousal.

"We're, ah, we're gonna go now. Thanks for the food," he said to the portly old cook and her helpers, who were desperately trying to hold in their laughter.


Allan had steered Deirdre quickly out of the kitchen and through the corridors of the castle, looking for a private spot. On the second floor, he found an unoccupied room down a quiet corridor, and pushed Deirdre through the entryway. Closing the massive oak door as quickly as he could, he pressed his wife against the wall, hitching up her skirts. His kisses were almost violent in their intensity as he pushed a finger into her soft core; he was rewarded by her cry of pleasure as he delved into her before adding another finger. With his other hand, he opened his trousers, allowing his erection to come free of the cloth. He opened her with his fingers while he pressed against her, pushing into her on a groan of sheer bliss.

The blood was pumping through both of their bodies furiously now, as the high of surviving danger filled them. As Allan entered her, Deirdre's body opened for him, wet and ready; she hitched first one leg and then the other around his waist as he grabbed her bottom, holding her against the wall as he thrust hard, burying himself completely inside of her. Deirdre held onto his head and his shoulders for support, urging him on as he began to drive into and out of her quickly; the violence he had escaped translating itself through his body into hers. Deirdre could feel the stone of the wall abrading her back through her clothes, but she didn't care; all she could think of was Allan—how close she might have come to losing him, how close he had come to an agonizing whipping. With that thought—completely unbidden—came a thought of Ruarc, who had stepped forward without hesitation to take her whipping for her; she forced thoughts of Ruarc from her mind as her husband continued to make love to her. It wasn't long before she felt her body lose control, tightening around him as his thrusts became harder and faster; he buried himself in her deeper each time until he cried out his release on top of hers.

Allan collapsed against Deirdre, holding himself up on the wall with his hands. When they had the strength to raise their heads, they exchanged grins of pure delight, before Allan slid bonelessly to the floor and re-closed his trousers with effort.

"Jazus, luv. I didn't sleep a wink last night for worryin'. I could use a kip."

Deirdre yawned.

"Me, too."

What she really wanted to do was to go find Guy and his new wife, and discover why they had helped her and Allan. She knew Allan would never agree, though, and so she lay down beside him, resting her cheek on his chest until she felt his breathing even out.


A/N: So Allan & Deirdre have been given amnesty. Now what? As always, I love your comments!

*The term "the O'Niall" is an Irish expression, particularly from history, which denoted the head of a clan, so Fàelàn is referred to as "the" O'Niall being as he is the head of his family.