He stood, facing away from her. “Isabel, this is no place for you. I cannot undo our marriage, for it was the only way I could save my people from being slaughtered. But remain at my side until after your father leaves, and I’ll help you gain your wish. I’ll grant you a husband who will treat you with the respect you deserve and give you children.”
It was the last thing she’d expected him to say. Was he talking of an annulment? That, at least, explained why he hadn’t bedded her. Once, she would have felt overjoyed. But now, her feelings bled. She straightened her shoulders, wishing she could push away the anger and sense of being spurned.
She rubbed her arms against the chill of the wind. “Is that what you want?” she whispered. “To be free of me?”
His gray eyes bore into hers. “It would be best, yes.” Moving closer to her, he added, “It’s what you want as well, isn’t it?”
“Of course.” Her voice did not ring with much confidence. Now she felt even more foolish for her attempt to consummate their alliance. He didn’t intend to share her bed because he didn’t intend to remain her husband.
“But the Church would never allow it,” she argued. “Not if I’m still married to you.” Though she tried to keep her face calm, inwardly her thoughts tangled in despair.
“It isn’t impossible.”
“Nearly impossible. My father—“
“He’ll be gone by then, along with his soldiers.” Patrick’s gaze shifted back to the sea, and a light clouded mist drew closer from the coast. The moisture dampened her lips, and she smelled the harsh scent of salt.
After everything he’d put her through, knowing that this was a temporary marriage wasn’t as satisfying as she’d thought it would be. Instead, fear of the unknown future rose up to taunt her. Would she return to England? Stay here in Erin? “How long am I to remain your wife?”
He lifted his gaze to hers. “Until winter.”
“Where will I go?”
“Wherever you like.” He took her hand, stroking her knuckles with his thumb. “I have many allies, chieftains and other kings. There are men who would not care about your heritage. They would see only a beautiful woman.”
Beautiful. The word cut her like a shard of glass, for he had never taken the time to know her. He would not allow himself to be her husband, though he might want her. The burden of kingship overshadowed all else.
“I want something in return from you,” she said. “If I am to live here for a time, I want my dowry brought to Ennisleigh. And something else.”
He shrugged. “Ask.”
“I want you to send for the families of the Norman soldiers.” When he was about to protest, she set her hand upon his shoulder. “Hear me out. The men have not seen their wives and children for nearly a year. My father would not allow any women to travel with the soldiers.” She blushed, for not even the camp harlots had been allowed. “If you bring their families, you’ll gain their cooperation.”
He stood. “You want me to make their lives comfortable.”
“Yes.”
Fierce anger darkened his expression, and she involuntarily took a step backwards. His voice took on a deadly tone. “They killed our people, Isabel. I am not about to make their lives comfortable.”
He would not forgive the Normans for his people’s loss. Though the battle might have ended, the war was not over. Not in his eyes.
The easiest path would be to turn away from the MacEgan tribe, to be blind to the people’s needs. She could live upon the island in peace, without any knowledge or care of what was happening to them.
But then, that was a coward’s path.
He’d said she would never be a true queen. Perhaps he was right. Though it was the habit of kings to wage war, it was often the queens who built peace.
Was there any way to overcome the resentment festering from their losses? Though it might seem insurmountable, Isabel wanted to believe she could help.
If she could somehow bring the tribe back into prosperity and gain the help of her own people, they might come together. Instead of killing each other, they could live in peace.
But she wondered whether it was worth it, to fight for a marriage that was destroyed before it had even begun.
Chapter Ten
Thefollowingmorn,Patrickand his men watched as the Normans sparred outside the ringfort. Bevan stood at his side, analyzing every move the men made. Though both he and his brother wore leather armor, they did not don the heavy chainmail armor of their opponents.
“They’re stronger,” Patrick remarked, “but slower. The armor weighs them down.”
