Isabel unwrapped a cloth package of peas and realized Annle’s intention to prepare a pot of soup. She wished she could ask questions about what other vegetables were ready this season. Perhaps they had onions to add for flavor.
Her frustration intensified. In the days since she’d arrived in Erin, no one had offered to teach her the language. Well, perhaps it was time to start learning.
“What is the word for this?” she asked Annle, picking up a carved wooden bowl. The woman’s brows furrowed, not knowing what Isabel was asking.
“Bowl,” Isabel repeated.
“Babhla?“ Annle asked.
Isabel held up the bowl. “Babhla?“ When the woman nodded her head, Isabel brightened. Thank the saints. It was a beginning, at least.
She walked around the room, pointing toward each item and asking Annle to name them. Then she repeated them back. Though Annle seemed hesitant, she answered Isabel’s queries.
Hours passed, and several of the islanders came to visit. Isabel strained to distinguish the different words, but the stream of conversation was lost to her, much as she tried.
Then finally Patrick arrived. His strong form seemed to fill the door frame, his dark hair falling upon his shoulders. A few cuts marked his face, and one hand was bound with a linen cloth, as though he’d been fighting. At the sight of Sosanna, he sobered.
Isabel could not understand all of his questions, but Patrick seemed satisfied with Annle’s responses. Then, he dismissed everyone. Isabel got up to leave, but he stopped her. “I want you to stay.”
“I thought it would be better if I left.” It was hard to look at him, for she kept remembering last night and her embarrassment.
Patrick removed his dark red cloak and moved to sit near Sosanna. “What did Anselm tell you? Was he responsible for her fall?”
“She didn’t fall. She jumped, and he went in to save her.”
At the doubtful look on his face, Isabel stood. “You don’t believe me.”
“I don’t, no.”
Her jaw clenched. How could he not see the woman’s pain? Couldn’t he guess that she’d likely been raped? The child growing inside her was an everyday reminder of her suffering.
“Anselm brought her here,” she reminded him. “He rescued her.”
“He should have prevented the fall.”
“And what was he supposed to do? Dive off the cliff and catch her?”
“She shouldn’t have been out there alone.”
There was worry beneath the shell of anger, and Isabel ladled a bowl of soup, handing it to him. “She’s hurting, and it’s more than just the child or her physical injuries. How long has it been since she’s spoken?”
“Since last summer.” He blamed himself for not investigating the true reason behind Sosanna’s refusal to speak. Ever since he’d brought the Normans inside therath, she’d withdrawn even more.
Had he known, he’d have brought her to Ennisleigh sooner. The man who had dishonored her might be here among them even now. He ate the bowl of soup Isabel offered, hardly tasting it.
“Does the babe live?” he asked.
Isabel nodded. “I felt it move not long ago.”
He was relieved to hear it, though he wished he’d known about the child earlier. He didn’t even know when it would be born. The shapelessléinesSosanna wore made it difficult to tell. But if Isabel had felt movement, it could not be very long now.
“Has she awakened since Anselm brought her here?”
“No.” Isabel remained near the hearth. “But she did take some of the broth we fed her.”
“Good. Stay with her tonight and I’ll return on the morrow. Ruarc will want to see her.” And if his cousin learned that his sister had been saved by a Norman, he would be furious to hear of it.
“Have you told him what happened to Sosanna?” she asked.
