After her sisters had married, she’d taken care of Thornwyck Castle. Nearly two dozen servants had worked under her command, and she’d taken pride in mastering the inner workings of the dwelling.
Not that Edwin de Godred had ever noticed or uttered a word of praise.
Isabel shivered and walked back to the entrance of the donjon. In the distance, she saw Patrick speaking with his brothers. Trahern and Bevan disappeared down the slope of the hill, moving toward the boat. Her husband strode toward her with all the fierceness of an invader.
His black hair fell against his shoulders, eyes of steel boring into hers. The folds of his cloak draped across his strong shoulders, while leather bracers encased his forearms. “I have arranged a hut for us, this night.”
“I am sleeping here in the donjon.”Where you cannot touch me, she thought. She didn’t trust him for a moment. He might claim he had no intention of bedding her, but eventually he would want sons.
Patrick seemed to read her thoughts. “Sleep wherever you wish. It matters not to me. But the nights are cold.”
Her skin prickled, but she did not look away. “You’re not staying here on the island, are you?”
He took another step closer until his body almost touched hers. His gaze assessed her, and in his eyes she saw fury. “As I said before, I won’t be sharing your bed.”
“Good.”Don’t look away, she warned herself. Though every part of her wanted to run from him, she held steady. “But I want to dwell at your fortress on the mainland.” Once she saw the structure, she would know whether he’d lied to her. And then she could decide whether to stay or leave.
“No.”
Isabel continued, “I’ve had no choice in what has happened to me. I’ve lost my home, my family, and now I’m forced to live here. Put yourself in my place.”
“Put yourself in mine,” he countered, his expression hardening. “I watched my people die at your father’s blade. Did you think I wanted a Norman as my wife?”
Isabel did not let him see how he affected her. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“No.” He pulled away, his visage growing cool. His glance moved across the thatched cottages within the ringfort. “But to them, you are an enemy.”
And he viewed her in the same light, it seemed.
“What am I to you?” she whispered.
“A means toward peace,” he replied. “But you have my protection. Call our marriage what you will.”
Isabel closed her mind to the images he evoked. She needed no imagination to see the coarse barbarian before her. His tunic stretched against battle-hewn muscles. Black hair contrasted sharply against his warrior’s face and granite eyes. His face never seemed to smile.
“There was no choice for either of us, Isabel.” Like a droplet of water, his baritone slid over her. The very sight of him made her want to flee. At her belt, she palmed the familiar hilt of her eating knife.
A spark of amusement seemed to soften his eyes. “Do you think to stab me with that?”
“Widowhood looks promising.”
He reached out and captured her wrist, holding her still. “I’ll return to you later with the supplies you’ll need.”
“I hope not.”
He ignored her. “In the meantime, you may explore the island.” He turned to leave and the wind slashed at his threadbare cloak, revealing its holes.
Her mind warned her not to be deceived by appearances. A king Patrick MacEgan might be, but beneath the cloak of his authority lay the demeanor of a warrior. Merciless, unyielding. And fiercely loyal to his people.
After he’d gone, she began traversing the island as he’d suggested. She needed to learn every inch of her prison. For only then, could she find a way to reach the mainland.
Chapter Four
Patrick’spalmcurledacrosshis spear as he waited near the wooden gates. His brothers held steady by his side, all mounted and heavily armed. His skin prickled with coldness, as though he were standing outside himself. At any moment, the Normans might break their word and attack. He gripped the spear so tightly his knuckles grew white. Silently, he murmured prayers that they wouldn’t be slaughtered where they stood.
The darkening sky turned indigo, storm clouds rising. He smelled earth and peat smoke, along with his people’s fear. And now, it was time to open the gates to their enemy.
Behind him stood the remainder of his tribe. A motley group of farmers, blacksmiths, and laborers, their fighting skills were few. His best men had surrendered their lives in battle, and only these few remained.
