She moved to stand before the men, aware of her disheveled appearance. Though she didn’t know many of the soldiers, she recognized a few faces, including her father’s captain Sir Anselm.
“What of your families?” Her voice came out hardly above a speaking tone, but a few glanced in her direction. “Would you have them sleep on the ground when they arrive? If this is to be your home, it is not unreasonable to ask for your help in rebuilding it.”
Behind her, Patrick moved in. His hand curled around her upper arm like a steel manacle. “Go inside the Great Chamber.” His voice held a tangible threat, but Isabel refused to back down.
“My father has arranged for a truce between our people,” she said to the Norman soldiers. “And you won’t be going back to England.”
“Trahern.” Patrick nodded to his brothers. “See that the men are fed. Our men first, then the Normans. Any man with cuts or bruises from fighting will not eat.”
His words startled Isabel. Would he really deny the soldiers food? Surely things weren’t that bad.
Her husband’s grip tightened over her arm, and he half-dragged her to the dwelling. Isabel didn’t fight him, not wanting to make a public spectacle. But she intended to discuss several matters with Patrick, especially the treatment of her own people.
Inside the entrance, he closed the door. “What are you doing here? I gave orders for no one to bring you to the mainland,” he demanded. His gray eyes blazed with untold fury. Dark hair framed an angular face, his mouth a harsh line.
“I brought myself.” She raised her chin. “And I swam, if you must know. It was rather cold.”
“Have you lost your wits? You might have drowned.”
“No. But you’ve lost your wits if you believe those men will obey your orders.” She placed her hands on her hips, meeting his anger with words of her own. His methods would only result in more conflict and anger.
“They will obey, or they will not eat.”
“And that will make them respect your authority?” Isabel could not believe he would be that cruel. “Denying them food will only breed more hatred.”
“If you’ve finished, I am taking you back to the island.”
“I have not.” She poked a finger at his chest. “I am your wife, and I belong here. Not buried upon an island far away from where I’m needed.”
“You aren’t needed, Isabel.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” she insisted. “If you intend to bring the Irish and the Normans together, I can help you. I know these men.”
“Bringing the Irish and the Normans together was never something I wanted.” The coldness of his tone sliced at her heart. What did he mean, it was never something he wanted? Wasn’t it the reason for marrying her? To heal the strife and end the battle?
“What’s done is done,” she said softly. “We must make the best of it. Including our marriage.”
Patrick shook his head. “We have an arrangement. Not a marriage.”
She straightened, feeling the tenebrous anger exuding from him. Though he made no move to touch her, the brunt of his frustration was tangible. His fists clenched, but somehow she sensed that there was more behind it. He held the burden of an entire tribe, struggling to keep his people alive.
She took a step forward and touched her hands to his fists. He froze, startled by her gesture. “I’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve no cause to despise me the way you do.”
His hands relaxed their grip, and he did not move away. “You aren’t very good at following orders.”
She shrugged. “That may be. But do you truly wish for our marriage to be so distant? We could be friends.”
The mask of distance shadowed him once more and he moved his hands back. “It can be no other way.”
“Why?” She couldn’t understand what was wrong with her. “Am I not fitting to be a wife?”
He lowered his gaze. “Someone else’s wife, perhaps. But you were never meant for this.”
A heaviness gathered in the pit of her stomach, and she didn’t know what to do. Tears pricked at her eyes, but she refused to lower herself by begging. If he didn’t want her, so be it.
“Dry yourself by the fire. I’ll come for you soon.” A moment later, warmth covered her shoulders. When she looked up, Patrick had gone. Across her shoulders, he’d draped his own cloak.
The heat from his body clung to it, along with the spicy scent of him. An angry tear broke free, sliding down her cheek. Isabel let the cloak fall to the floor and cursed herself for ever thinking she could be a part of the tribe.
