“Patrick,” she whispered. He forced his mouth away from her delectable skin, and he kissed her lips again to silence her. He wanted nothing to interrupt this moment.
Sunset bathed her body in golden rays, while the boat moved in the gentle rhythm of the tides. Her hands slid beneath his tunic, caressing his chest. By the gods, she was taking his honor apart. Even now, he rationalized that there would be no true harm in making love to her. He could still set her aside later, and she could marry another.
But if there was a child, he’d be forever bound to her. He couldn’t break the vow he’d made, never to let her bear a child of his blood. If he succumbed to this temptation, he might as well surrender everything to the Normans. Never did he want the tribe to fall into their hands or lose what his kinsmen had died for. And giving Isabel a child was rewarding Edwin de Godred for his conquest. He couldn’t do it.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice came out breathless. Isabel’s lips were swollen from the kiss, and she touched her throat as if afraid of him. And well she should be. At the moment his control was about to snap. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“No. You shouldn’t have.”
At the harsh words, she closed her eyes with embarrassment. He could see that he’d hurt her feelings, but he couldn’t bring himself to soothe her.
Patrick glanced behind him and saw how close they were to shore. Without thinking, he jumped over the side of the boat, extinguishing the evidence of his lust in the waist-deep water. The frigid waves cooled his desire instantly, a welcome respite.
He guided the boat onto the strand before lifting her out of the vessel. After dragging the boat beyond the tide’s reach, he gathered up the two large bundles of supplies and strode up the path toward the ringfort.
Isabel remained behind him, still standing where he’d left her. The breeze lifted her hair, billowing thebratfrom her shoulders. Like a legendary goddess, she appeared born of the sea. The water swelled to touch her ankles, but she stepped away.
He forced himself to walk up the hill, entering therath. Eventually her footsteps sounded behind him. He walked to the stone hut they had shared last night and pushed open the door, dropping the supplies inside the entrance. It took time to kindle a fire, but he coaxed a small flame and fed it with tinder. At last, he added the peat bricks.
He heard the door close, and Isabel stood at the entrance watching him. In the dim light, her golden hair gleamed. With graceful steps, she neared the fire. Gods above, he didn’t know how he would endure a full night, knowing that she was within reach of him.
“What food do we have?” Isabel asked, kneeling beside the supplies.
“I have no idea what Trahern packed. I told him to send enough for a sennight.”
He stood warming himself while she untied the bundles. A moment later, he heard her cry out with joy. Had Trahern packed a bit of the roasted mutton? Or roasted fowl?
“A comb!” Isabel revealed her prize, smiling as though she’d been handed a treasure. He hadn’t thought of such a simple need, and he frowned. His wife held it out as though Trahern had sent her a sack of gold pieces.
“What of the food?” he asked.
“Oh, there’s bread and dried apples. Some meat, too.” Joy brightened her eyes. “But oh, the comb. Thank the saints.”
She knelt beside the fire, dragging the carved antler comb through her hair. Gently, she untangled the strands, pulling her hair over one shoulder.
What would it be like to touch that hair? Silken, like spun sunlight, he supposed. It fell to her hips, and he pictured her lying upon the pallet wearing nothing but her hair.
He prayed Trahern had packed the chess set. For otherwise he’d need another swim this night.
Thewindbitintohis bare chest as Ruarc struggled against the leather bindings. Bevan had left him there alone, bared from the waist up. Blood caked his wrists from where he’d fought the restraints. His face had swollen up, and his lips were cracked.
He didn’t care about any of it. But he feared for his sister. Earlier, Sosanna had come to see him. She’d touched his head, then his cheek. She shook her head as if to reprimand him. Then sadness filled her eyes. Moments later, she’d walked outside the ringfort.
Ruarc had called out for her to stop, but she’d behaved as though she hadn’t heard him. He’d called out for his friends to go look after her. But they ignored him.
One of the Normans, Sir Anselm, had followed Sosanna.Críost, Ruarc had to break free from this damned post. For all he knew, the captain might have been the man to hurt her. He couldn’t let that happen again.
He gasped as a shooting pain lashed up his arm. His efforts had only drawn the bindings tighter. A few of the Normans glanced at him, but they spoke amongst themselves in an unfamiliar language.
His voice was hoarse from calling out. At last, Bevan emerged from the Great Chamber and approached the wooden post. He held out a horn of mead and tilted it so Ruarc could drink.
“My sister,” Ruarc urged. “She’s gone. Send someone after Sosanna.”
“We did earlier. She went out to the fields with some of the other women. She’s well enough.”
He relaxed a little, at that. “Send one of the women to look in on her for me.”
Bevan nodded. The scar upon his face drew tighter. “I will tell Patrick about the child.” His voice held vengeance in its tone. “We will discover who did this to her.”
