Bevan grunted. “I’d rather we sent them back to England instead.”
“It is too late for that.” He turned to his brother. “You are needed here, Bevan. Will you stay?”
Bevan’s visage tensed. “I will stay a fortnight for your sake. But promise me you’ll drive them out.”
“I’ll do what I can.” A headache gnawed at him, and he thought again of Isabel. She had no supplies, for he had forgotten to send them. His mind had been so consumed with the Normans, he had not thought of it. What kind of a provider did that make him? And yet he could not leave his men alone. He felt as if he were holding two ends of a rope while both sides pulled against each other.
He should send someone to her. Darkness had descended, bringing a moonlit sky. Patrick gave orders for a sack filled with food and several jugs of mead.
“What is that for?” his brother Bevan interrupted.
“My winsome bride,” Patrick commented dryly. “She’ll want to eat and drink over the next few days, I presume.”
“You’re not thinking of going to Ennisleigh.” Bevan gestured towards the food.
“Later, perhaps.” He didn’t like the thought of Isabel alone, especially with the islanders who did not understand the reason for her presence.
“Tonight is not the time to leave, brother,” Bevan argued. “Not with such a fragile situation. The men need your calm.”
He knew his brother was right. This night he needed to prevent both sides from killing each other. “Would that it were possible. Sir Anselm wishes to see to Lady Isabel’s welfare. He will accompany me to the island later this eventide.”
He glanced over at the knight. Sir Anselm ate slowly, his eyes scrutinizing every face as if trying to memorize the men. At this pace, the Norman looked nowhere near to finishing his meal.
“I’ll return afterward,” he assured Bevan.
“Ewan!” He called out to his youngest brother. Ewan was caught in the awkward age between child and adolescent. Despite his gangly thin frame, the boy ate as much as a fully grown man.
His brother eyed the roasted mutton before him, as if wondering whether anything could be more important. “What is it?”
“I need you to go to Ennisleigh. My bride Isabel has no food or supplies for this night. Will you take them to her?”
Ewan’s ears turned red. “If you wish.” He stuffed a small loaf of bread into a fold of his tunic, then tore off another bite of the meat. “Is she fair of face?”
“What do you mean?”
“I heard Sir Anselm say that many noblemen wanted to wed her. Like a princess from one of Trahern’s tales.”
“She is a woman, like any other.” Even as he denied her beauty, the vision of her face taunted his memory. The stubborn set to her mouth had caught his attention more than once, and her deep brown eyes held intelligence.
Patrick walked outside with Ewan, staring at Laochre. The wooden fortress wore its battle scars like the rest of the ring fort. Once, he’d dreamed of building one of the largestrathsin Eíreann, a dwelling worthy of his tribe. Now he worried about whether they would survive next winter. Though the corn and barley flourished in the fields, he now had to feed even more people with the addition of the Normans.
He led Ewan outside to where his horse was waiting with supplies. “Go now. If it rains again, she’ll need a better shelter. I fear she’ll want to dwell inside the fortress.”
Ewan’s eyes widened. “Why?”
“To spite us.”
“Oh.” He shrugged. “She’ll just get wet, then. But I’ll go and tell her you sent the food.”
“Do not eat any of it,” he warned. “It belongs to her.”
“I wouldn’t.” The lad’s voice cracked upon the last word.
Patrick hid his smile. “Of course you would. I mean it, Ewan. Not a bite.”
He added another loaf of bread to the sack, tying it off. His brother rolled his eyes and set off to the island. Patrick cast a look toward Ennisleigh. He would come to Isabel later. Though she would protest, he had to make her understand that she had no other choice but to make the island her new home.
“Forgivemeforintruding,but might I please light a torch from your fire?”
