He didn’t know what kind of sheltered walls had veiled her eyes, but he refused to condone Edwin de Godred’s actions. “Believe it.”
She took a few steps toward the stream, her steps faltering. He doubted if she was accustomed to riding for long distances. If she were any other woman, he’d likely stop for the night.
But she wasn’t. She was a Norman and not to be trusted. As long as he remained upon English soil, he had no way of knowing whether Thornwyck would keep their agreement. Even now, his people might be suffering. Three dozen Norman soldiers held them prisoner.
He wasn’t about to waste time with wedding feasts, nor with bedding the woman. The sooner they reached Eíreann, the better.
Patrick knelt beside the stream and lifted the cold water to his lips. Isabel sat nearby, her hands folded in her lap.
The wind skimmed against her veil, lifting it to reveal a length of golden hair. With full lips and high cheekbones, her brown eyes illuminated her face. For a moment, he almost pitied her. No woman should have to endure a marriage like this one.
She handed him the water bag. “What am I to call you? Your Majesty? My sovereign lord?”
“Patrick will do.” Though he had earned the rank of petty king, reigning over his tribe, it had been hardly a year. He had not yet grown accustomed to being their leader. He didn’t know how his father and eldest brother had shouldered the responsibility so easily. Every decision he made, he questioned. Especially the agreement with the Baron of Thornwyck.
“You promised me my freedom. Do you intend to give it to me now?”
He shook his head. “When we reach Eíreann. I give you my word.”
“And is your vow worth anything?”
He folded his arms. It was becoming apparent why Thornwyck had offered his daughter as part of the agreement. “Are you always this difficult?”
“Always.”
Her bluntness almost made him smile. “Good. I’ve no need for a spineless woman.” He lifted her atop the stallion once more. A flash of irritation crossed her face, but she made no complaint.
She had courage; he’d grant her that. Even still, he could never forget what her people had done to his. Worse, the marriage was only part of the surrender terms. The rest of the treaty made slavery seem inviting. The price he’d paid for the lives of his people was far too high.
As he urged his horse onward, he could only pray that his tribe could endure what lay ahead.
Isabelclungtothehope that somehow the improper marriage was not binding. She knew better than to try an escape. Without a horse of her own and supplies, she wouldn’t survive. Not unless she could find someone to help her.
Edwin de Godred had made it clear that he wanted this alliance. He didn’t seem to care that his youngest daughter was now bound to a foreigner, and an uncivilized one at that.
Why had she ever agreed to this? She should have listened to her instincts instead of believing Patrick’s tale about captive women and children.
They rode through a forest, the road curving in the midst of fallen leaves. Stately oaks and rowans crowned the path, their branches weaving a canopy high above them. The landscape of her homeland faded into a sea of green and rich earth.
Near the Welsh border, slate gray mountains wore a halo of afternoon sunlight. They rose above the landscape, beautiful and stark. Flocks of sheep dotted the hills, flecks of white against the sea of green. The spring air cooled her skin, a reminder of the coming night.
Perhaps it would be the last time she saw England. She tried to quell the panic.You must not be afraid, she told herself.Keep your wits about you. Erin cannot be so bad.
But her stray thoughts kept returning to the wedding night. She glanced down at MacEgan’s hands, roughened with labor. They were not at all smooth like a nobleman’s. His forearms controlled the horse’s reins, revealing a subdued strength.
“Night approaches,” she ventured. “Do you plan to ride in the darkness?”
There was no reply. She tried again, raising her voice.
“Perhaps when it has grown too dark to see our path, a tree will knock you senseless. Then I could run away.”
Again, silence. The man might as well have been a statue from his stoic demeanor.
“Or if I am fortunate, wolves might devour us.” She pondered the thought, imagining other ideas that could make this day any worse.
“You talk overmuch,a chara. In a few hours, we camp for the night.”
Isabel clamped her mouth shut. The thought of stopping for the night, alone with this man, unsettled her. Even now, riding against the heat of his body, kindled her nervousness. He sheltered her, confining her in arms chiseled with a warrior’s strength.
