To break his family's curse, Faolan mac Domnall seeks to marry the beautiful Saoirse, princess of Mide. Spirited and outspoken, the wild Saoirse wants nothing more than to escape the life that's been decided for her. Determined to outmaneuver a twis...
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There were no such things as curses, Saoirse of Mide was quite certain. For no matter how she cursed her father and the boorish Macan, Lord of Delbna, their determination to see this wedding did not falter.
She had argued eloquently, passionately. Though she had surely made her tutors proud with her clever words, her father, High King Aed, would not budge. She had threatened to invoke divine protection, to flee to a convent. A priest would not have found a flaw in her pious commitment, but the king only offered to send her there himself. She had screamed and cried, pulled at her hair. A banshee could not have been a more convincing picture of grief. And yet, her father only asked that she take her wailing outdoors.
"I am not heartless, Saoirse, my child," he had said when she had proclaimed the opposite. "If you find yourself in love, perhaps I'll reconsider."
There were no potential heart matches within the castle walls, as her father well knew. Even if Saoirse found herself hopelessly and completely in love, the High King would not hand his kingdom over to a kitchen boy or a castle guard. She would have to find someone with noble blood to love, and that was quite impossible. The pity of having a cunning king for a father!
Her wild rides through the countryside had been as she said: a last taste of freedom before the inevitable surrender to arranged matrimony. Each afternoon sent her racing faster, trying to outrun a destiny she had no interest in meeting. It had been luck, providence, fate that dear Apple had thrown a shoe and led her to Faolan mac Domnall.
Faolan who was once the son of a chief. Faolan who made her laugh. Faolan who admired her so.
"How could I refuse you, princess?" It was not the romantic enthusiasm she expected in a proposal, but, at that moment, the sincerity he wore so casually was more beautiful than any poetry.
"Just Saoirse, please."
"Just Saoirse, then."
Her name on his lips sent a warm flush to her face. Only her father called her by her name. It seemed so silly to have a name and have no one use it.
Just Saoirse watched dreamily as Faolan led her foul-tempered horse to the stables. That same soft voice that sent her heart aflutter, praised Apple's strength and handsomeness. By the time he locked Apple in a cozy stall, the dark horse nudged at his shoulders, his hips, begging for attention. Almost like magic.
Though he had offered to lend his own horse, she had graciously refused. Her father would send someone to find her once he felt she'd been gone long enough, Saoirse well knew. Though she told Faolan that was her reason for staying, being around the magical horse boy made her feel alive: she could laugh with her head back, complain without censure, and let herself feel without fear of judgment.
For her tenacity, Saoirse had won an entire afternoon with Faolan. Hours of provoking the dimple of his amiable smile, hours of freedom in a world High King Aed tried to keep her from. He listened as she described the tedious world of a daughter to the High King. The warmth of his eyes seemed to burn with affection before he gave her one of his easy, honest answers.
