“I don’t need a war with the Ó Phelans as well as with the Normans.”
“You would seek peace with their chieftain and not with my father’s men?” Why were her people any different?
“The Normans killed our men. A far greater crime than stealing cattle.”
She had believed there was hope of moving beyond the conquest. But it seemed impossible. “You won’t ever let the past lie buried, will you?”
“No. I can’t.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve received word that more invasions are happening in the east, at Ath-cliath.”
Isabel’s didn’t look at him, afraid to hear what he was about to say.
“Over three thousand men were driven from their homes. The Normans are capturing the chieftains.”
“For what purpose?” A numbing chill passed through her at the thought of someone taking Patrick captive.
“Execution.”
“And they’re coming here?” Her voice trembled. She knew without having to ask from his austere manner.
Patrick nodded. “I’ve received word that they are not far from Port-lairgi. If we are to survive, we need the help of the Ó Phelan tribe.”
“And my father’s men.” Isabel cupped her chin in her hands. Trepidation iced through her body. She had never seen the face of war, not in her nineteen years of life. But she knew without any doubt that their survival depended on bringing the men together as one.
“They’ll never fight for us.” The grave tone in his voice sounded distant and hollow.
She feared he was right, not if his men continued to treat the Normans as enemies. “When do you expect the invasion forces here?”
“At any moment. And my men aren’t ready.” He studied her, concern lining his face. “This is why I wanted you to remain on Ennisleigh, away from our battles. But now they may invade our lands.”
He softened his tone, reaching out for her hand. “I could send you away, far from the bloodshed.”
Though he’d given her the chance for a reprieve, to take it would mean turning her back on everyone. Their fate should be her own. Isabel laced her fingers with his. “I won’t deny that I’m afraid. But my place is here.”
He watched her, his expression discerning. “Perhaps one day you’ll have a castle of your own, with many sons and daughters. And you’ll forget about all of this.”
Though his words were meant to reassure her, instead they pierced her with the knowledge that he would never view her as his wife. Only an outsider.
Chapter Thirteen
Atsunset,Patrickreturnedto release her from the chamber. She was barely aware of how much time had passed, so troubled had been her thoughts. All her life, she was accustomed to looking after people. Her father’s castle, the servants, and the common folk all knew her. She felt responsible for their care and well-being.
But here, she was only a burden. And no matter how hard she tried to forge a place for herself, her husband fought her at every step. Part of her wondered whether she should give up.
While Patrick went to collect more supplies for Ennisleigh, Isabel walked across the ringfort towards the Norman soldiers. She studied the faces of the Irish as she passed, and most turned away, pretending as though they didn’t see her. She squared her shoulders, hiding the disappointment.
Sir Anselm stood near a group of Normans sparring. He was correcting one of his men, but when he saw her, he bowed. “Queen Isabel.”
The title almost felt like a mockery, but she did not say so. “May I speak with you for a moment?”
“Of course.”
She stood at the gatehouse, leaning up against the wood. Ewan MacEgan, Patrick’s youngest brother, sat above them upon a wooden platform. Listening to their conversation, no doubt.
“Why didn’t you help the Irish during the raid?”
He crossed his arms and flicked a glance toward the tribesmen. His gaze was set in stone, merciless. “The MacEgans follow their own path, my queen. They want no part of us, and we would rather not help them.”
“They seek to provoke us at every moment,” he continued. “My men must constantly be on guard for a knife in their back. It is better to remain separate.”
