Was it the whiskey? Maybe. Because shewasfeeling it. But she didn’t think so. And if it were, she didn’t much care at the moment.
“I’ve also read about the various forms of marriage,” she continued on. “That beyond handfasting for a year and a day, there are ten degrees of acceptable marriage here in eleventh-century Ireland.”
She wasn’t surprised when a hush fell over the room at that relatively quiet statement. Without a doubt, because many of them expected she would marry their king. Curious, considering he wasn't a monogamous man, nor did he seemingly want to be. And hell, if she would be okay marrying a medieval prick who got to have as much on the side as he wanted while his wives got their heads chopped off for looking sideways at a guy. Granted, she had watched too many episodes ofThe Tudors, he wasn’t King Henry the Eighth, and it wasn’t the right century, but some things didn’t change.
Men, one way or another, pretty much ruled the roost prior to the turn of the twenty-first century. Or should she say in all fairness to certain cultures, at least in these parts, it could be said until Christianity or other such religions came along. Or, more pointedly, until those in power decided to wield such religions to their viewpoint and advantage, which rarely gave women many rights.
But she wasn't dealing with that right now in medieval Ireland. Not at all. Not yet. As it were, according to her research, under pagan Brehon laws, husbands and wives retained all land, flocks, and household goods each brought to the marriage in the event they separated. Heck, Irish husbands even got fined if, through listlessness, they didn’t go to their wife’s bed.Something she couldn't imagine Liameverbeing accused of if he married.
“Ta, there are ten degrees of marriage, Druidess Shannon,” Liam confirmed, his tone soft and his gaze dangerous as it darkened on her face. “Some much more relevant than others.” He arched a brow. “Yer point?”
“Well, I thought it only appropriate to congratulate you on what is, I assume, by law, a fifth-degree union with Mór.” Having caught her name, she smiled kindly enough at the woman beside him. “Which I believe is the mutual consent of a man and woman to share their bodies but live under separate roofs as I hear you two do?”
Clearly comfortable responding on Liam’s behalf, Mór replied.
“Then ‘twould mean m’lord is married to quite a few of us.” She chuckled. “And I can assure ye, ‘tis not how we look at things.” She shook her head. “Certainly not how he looks at things.” Amusement rather than jealousy lit Mór’s eyes when she gazed at Shannon. “Nay, I imagine the only marriage m’lord will soon consider is something akin to a first-degree union.”
Shannon sensed rather than saw how disgruntled Mór saying that made Liam. More interestingly, he couldn’t seem to deny it. As if something held his tongue and he literally could not say the words.
“Enough talk of marriages.” He gestured at the food. His gaze swept over everyone at the table yet avoided her. “Continue eating.”
Before Shannon could push the issue, he lost himself in a conversation with Dúghlas. Meanwhile, Mór winked and smiled at her before she chatted with another.
“She likes ye, lass.” Conall added more food to her plate to sample. “All the lasses here do.”
“I’m glad,” she managed, not sure what she thought of that. Thankful, she supposed, because she had no issues with them. Even Mór. She seemed nice enough and clearly wasn’t possessive, so who was Shannon to take issue with her?
What got her and shouldn’t was Liam’s reaction to Aodh and Siobhán. To the enemy herself. Did Liam still care for her after everything she had done? Not that Shannon knew the details of his time with her but still. It bothered her more than it should. More than she would admit.
She enjoyed chatting with Conall as the eve went on. He flirted but not overly so. Then again, she didn’t miss the looks Liam shot him every so often. Looks he had no right to, considering his own behavior with Mór earlier, not to mention those he flirted with during dinner.
“’Tis unheard of,” Conall eventually said, undoubtedly catching the frowns Shannon tossed Liam’s way every so often. His second-in-command was more forward than she expected. “He has never intruded when I have taken to a lass. ‘Tis not our way.” A regretful smile curled his mouth when he looked at her. “Yet it seems ye are more special than most, and not just for obvious reasons.”
Obvious reasons being her potential Unnamed One status, she assumed.
“I’m no more special than any other.” She made things clear despite what she had taunted Liam with earlier. “And while I’m flattered, I’m not looking for anything serious while I’m here.”
“Mayhap not.” He eyed her with perceptive amusement. “But I suspect ‘twill find ye regardless. Otherwise, why would ye have flirted with me these past few hours if not to goad my king?”
“I would never,” she denied.
“Yet ye did.” It seemed he wasn’t too worried about Liam’s looks because he stood, held out his hand to her, and smiled.“Come dance with me, lassie, before my chance to dance with ye will be no more.”
She shook her head and eyed the merry crowd. “Dancing’s not really my thing, so—”
That’s all she got out before he pulled her after him into the cheerful crowd. Blame it on the whiskey or Conall’s infectious smile, but she ended up enjoying herself more than she expected. These people made it easy, though. They drove away the unease she had felt since arriving in Ireland with their smiles and goodwill. In fact, she enjoyed herself so much that it took her a moment to realize it when Conall eventually spun her right into Liam’s waiting arms.
Overly aware of him far too fast, she went to step away, but his arm slipped around her, and he kept her close.
“You seem to be enjoying yourself a great deal, lass,” he mused. “Mayhap a wee bit too much.”
“I’m not sure I understand your meaning.” She put her hands on his broad chest, determined to push him away but became ensnared by his turbulent eyes instead. The conflicting emotions she saw in them. Jealousy. Anger. Even hurt if she wasn’t mistaken.
“Yedounderstand my meaning,” he rumbled, his accent thickening. “And it sits no better with me than the act itself.”
What act? Was he referring tosex? Surely not. But then she didn't speak fluent medieval.
“Theact?” she managed, trying to gather her thoughts. Trying to ignore the way her body responded to him. Determined to keep itoffsex. Especially with Liam. “You mean talking with Conall when I had no one else to talk to? Chatting with him when technically, assuming I’m here to help you,youshould have been the one talking to me? Showing me around?” She shrugged, saying more than intended. “That would takemanners, though. It would mean taking a moment away from your various women to be a good host.”
