“’Tis true.” Conall nodded. “Our babes and their ma’s must never suffer.”
“I agree.” Shannon finally responded to Liam internally.“I’m but applauding your laws before England takes over in five hundred years or so, gets rid of them as fast as it will Scotland’s, and creates their own set of rules.”She narrowed her eyes a little.“I believe it’s Queen Elizabeth I who lands that particular blow here in Ireland.”
He might know and dislike what was in store for his country, but something about Shannon pointing it out seemed inappropriate. Crude, even.
Mór leaned over and murmured in his ear. “She might be saying kind words aloud, but I suspect, based on yer face, she’s already having the revenge I told ye would be coming for kissing me?”
“Nay,” he muttered. Shannon being set to make him jealous with Conall? Yes. That she would choose to remind him of what would become of Ireland’s future if he and his brothers fulfilled the prophecy was difficult to swallow.
“I also learned that according to your Brehon laws, whoever might come to your door, you’re obligated to feed and care for them, no questions asked.” Shannon perked a brow at Conall. “Is that true?”
“’Tis.” He smiled. “We do not turn away those in need.”
“Nor should you,” she said. “And according to what I read, by law, you Irish must see to your elderly. Their family must provide them one oatcake a day plus a container of sour milk. They must bathe them every twentieth night and wash their head every Saturday. Seventeen sticks of firewood is the allotment for keeping them warm.”
“’Tis a wee bit more than that in this kingdom,” Conall corrected, “but,ta, we see to our elderly.”
Shannon nodded. “Very good to hear.” She flinched. “Because nearly three weeks between baths is rough.” She considered his second-in-command. “I’ve also heard a layman may drink six pints of ale with dinner, but a monk only three, so he won’t be intoxicated when prayer-time arrives.” Her brows whipped up. “Six pints is a lot.”
Conall winked and tipped his mug. “We Irish are made of sturdy stuff.”
“No doubt you are,” she murmured, eyeing Liam before she finally got around to what she had been driving toward all along.
Something that very much proved she wasn’t as immune to his history with lasses as she seemed.
Chapter Nine
AGAINST HER BETTER judgment, Shannon could admit she liked the way Liam looked at her when she came downstairs. Liked the way she felt when his gaze flashed with wonder and desire. Emotions that soon darkened with the telepathic conversation he’d had with Cian. One she caught more of than he realized. It seemed Liam was still drawn to the enemy. Still taken in some small way by Siobhán.
And it made her stomach sink in a way that made no sense.
If that wasn’t enough, he hadn’t just asked one of his women, a lovely little blonde, to join them to eat, but had the audacity to kiss her first. Not just a peck on the cheek, either, but a deep passionate kiss that made Shannon wildly jealous, then terrifyingly numb.
She had been okay with the endless parade of women he’d clearly been with up to this point, but something about knowing he still wanted Siobhán, then kissing the blonde, was too much. Pushed her over an edge she didn’t even know existed.
And she hated that it did.
Almost as much as she hated what she said to him telepathically about Ireland’s future while she chatted about Brehon laws with everyone. How England would eventually defeat Ireland as readily as it had Scotland. That wasn’t her. Not how she behaved. Yet here she was doing just that, and she couldn’t seem to stop herself.
Could not help but push Liam away if it were the last thing she did.
