Lathir met her father’s gaze, blinked. “Of whom?”
His lips thinned. “Sir Rónán O’Connor.”
“Which,” she said as she started up the gangway, “I would expect of the knight as King Robert chose the warrior to oversee the transfer of arms.”
“Lathir—”
“Father, my marital status, or lack thereof, isna one I wish to discuss, more so,” she said, keeping her voice low, “as we prepare to sail.”
A deep frown settled upon his mouth. “’Tis time foryou to marry.”
“I dinna need a man to accept responsibility for the realm of Tír Sèitheach when the time comes.”
“You are as stubborn as your mother,” he blustered.
She arched an amused brow. “Mother said I acquired my obstinacy from you.”
“Aye, she did,” he said, his face softening. “I miss her and want you happy.”
An ache built in her chest, and she lay her hand upon his arm. “I know, Da.”
He covered her hand with his, winked. “What do you say we set sail and return home?”
She smiled. “I would like that very much.”
* * * *
“The fog is thicker than mud,” Rónán said as he stood at the bow of theAodh, scanning the thick, dense gray that had moved in several hours after they departed. The soft slap of waves against the thin layer of ice upon the hull played in eerie harmony to the ghostly cries ofdistant gulls.
“Aye,” Lord Sionn agreed at his side, sounding equally displeased. “Nor with the wind having decreased to a light breeze in the last few hours have wetraveled far.”
“’Tis clearing overhead,” Lathir said from her father’s other side. “Mayhap the fog will break soon.”
Rónán rolled his shoulders and wished that unease didn’t trail up his spine as it was wont to do in times of danger.
He allowed his gaze to skim over her plaited gold hair, adorned with a weave of silver, accenting the silver torque around her neck clasping an emerald at the base of her throat, before meeting her gaze. “Fog formed over the sea is not something that tends to fade beneath the sun’s rays. I expect we may be in the thick of it for a while.”
She gazed at him and opened her mouth as if to answer, then looked away, leaving him to wonder what he’d done anewto offend her.
A distant creak, the faint rattle of a chain, and the muted tangle of voices echoed in thegloomy setting.
On alert, Rónán scanned the dense swath toward the sound. “Someone is out there.” He glanced toward the earl and said under his breath, “Did you leave ships farther from port for protection?”
“Nay,” the earl replied, his jaw tight. “We saw several English ships en route, but they were at a distance, and we were still inIrish waters.”
“King Robert warned me that the English are determined to sever any attempt for the Irish to support his cause.”
“Aye, but they will fail,” thenoble replied.
A soft splash sounded, this time closer. The outline of a ship sailed into view, men running to the rail, their swords drawn.
Lathir gasped. “Their standard is English.”
“God’s truth,” Rónán hissed, “preparefor an attack!”
Chapter Two
Engulfed within the dense fog, wood groaned and splintered as the English cog slammed into the side of theAodh.
