“My grandfather Kieran did.” A slight hint of pride brimmed in his voice.
Isabel sat down upon the chair, studying the carvings to avoid looking at Patrick. She didn’t know why he’d brought her into his private chamber, but the tightness of his jaw and the caged tautness of his body made her uncomfortable. It was as though he wanted to berate her for her interference but didn’t know how to begin.
In the corner, a large gray and white cat slept. It made her smile. “At least I won’t have to worry about the rats this night.”
Patrick did not return her smile. “You have much more than that to worry about,a chara.” He stood near her, his stance intimidating.
But Isabel squared her shoulders and let him see that she wasn’t afraid. She’d made her decision to help them without taking anyone’s life. It had felt good to offer her skill, though it wasn’t wanted.
“Go on. I know you’re angry. Tell me that it wasn’t my place to intervene and that I don’t belong here.”
“You seem to believe my orders are unnecessary.” A hard rim of iron coated his conversational tone.
She rose from the chair. “I’m not a child, Patrick. I make my own decisions. And from where I stood, you needed my help.”
He did not soften. Instead, he moved forward. His black hair framed a grim, resigned face. In the firelight, the golden bands around his upper arms gleamed. “You could have been hurt. I won’t allow that.”
She shot him a doubtful look. “You’re only angry because a woman saved your men.” She knew better than to think he cared whether anything happened to her.
“What if you’d missed?”
“I never miss my aim.”
“It was far too dangerous. And since you have such difficulty with obedience, you will remain in this chamber for a night and a day. You will stay confined until I give the order for your release.”
Isabel didn’t like that idea at all. She bargained for time. “You’re injured. Let me tend your cut.”
“It’s nothing. And I need to speak with my men.”
“Are you afraid I might hurt you?” She feigned a motherly croon. Taking his hand, she led him to the bed. “Sit down. I promise to be gentle.”
He cast a disbelieving look, as if he didn’t think it were possible. With a soft push, she forced him to be seated. Even in such a position, his height nearly reached hers. “What are you doing, Isabel?”
“Stalling,” she answered honestly. “You can continue ordering me around when I’ve finished binding your injury.”
His mouth twitched, but he held out his wounded arm. Isabel removed his leather bracer and saw that the blade had only sliced the surface. His arm would not need stitching.
“It isn’t as bad as it looks.” She lowered his hand, planning to get water, but he pulled her forward until she stood between his thighs. His powerful muscles pressed against her legs. The touch of his body seemed to melt away the clothing she wore, burning her own skin.
“When did you learn Irish?” he asked. The deep tone of his voice washed over her like honey.
“Annle is teaching me. I don’t know very much yet.”
He stared at her, his eyes catching the light until they turned silver. The roughened stubble of beard, the fullness of his mouth, seemed to beckon.
He was one of the most powerful men in Erin. A handsome king whose kiss ripped apart her imaginings of what a husband was like. Though he refused to share her bed, the raw masculinity of him made her crave his forbidden touch.
She forced herself to step backwards. “I’ll get water and linen.” Her voice held a slight tremor, revealing the uneasiness she felt.
Why was he looking at her this way, as if he wanted to share her bed? This marriage was not going to last much longer. She crossed the room, grasping a pitcher of water.
Gather yourself together, Isabel, she warned herself.Don’t fall prey to him.With steady hands, she poured the water into a basin. She knew better than to let this intimacy deceive her. Patrick MacEgan did not see her as his wife, only as an inconvenience.
When she turned back, he removed the other bracer and then lifted away his tunic. Bare-chested, he sat upon the bed watching her. His dark hair covered the back of his neck, and sweet saints, he made her nervous. Her plan to delay her imprisonment now seemed foolhardy.
Isabel cradled the basin against her stomach, almost like a shield. Then she dipped the edge of herbratinto the water and wiped the blood away.
“Aren’t you afraid of ruining your wrap?” he asked.
