The boy scurried outside, and Isabel stoked the fire, adding more peat to warm the space. Lighting torches, she set them inside the iron sconces upon the walls. Before long, the Chamber glowed with a warm light.
She lifted herbratover her head, dashing outside into the rain. She needed Annle’s help to bring in more seating.
Outside the rain poured, and Isabel pounded on Annle’s hut. Her husband Brendan let her in, and Isabel stumbled past the tall, thin Irishman. Quiet and softspoken, he was one of the few men to show her kindness.
“What is it?” Annle asked. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes, something is wrong.” Isabel glanced around the small hut, counting benches and stools. “I need your help getting enough benches and stools. Trahern is coming to the island for storytelling.”
Annle shrugged. “I know it. We’ll have the gathering inside the fortress as we usually do.” She frowned. “That is, if you do not mind.”
“Of course not. But there is nowhere for anyone to sit,” Isabel moaned. From the shadows, Sosanna moved forward. Her fair hair was braided across her forehead, the rest spilling down her shoulders. She wore a simple greenléinewith a cream overdress. Her stomach swelled out in late pregnancy, and she supported her back with a hand.
“Will you help me?” Isabel pleaded, her gaze upon both women. Sosanna offered a tentative smile, glancing at Annle.
“This is important to you, isn’t it?” the healer asked.
She nodded. “I need to find enough benches. And then I haven’t enough food or drink for the people. There aren’t any decorations either.”
Isabel wanted to bury her head. This was her first, and perhaps only opportunity to be a hostess to the MacEgan tribe. Although the people did not seem to despise her any more, neither did they welcome her.
“We’ll make do,” Annle said. She remained calm and sincere. “You should go and ask the others to bring their benches and stools. And food.”
Isabel hesitated. “I thought I should be the one to feed them.”
“There is not time for you to cook enough, and it is not expected. Each will bring a dish to share, you’ll see. Go and speak to them.”
Isabel would rather have faced a den of lions, but she knew Annle was right. She had to ask for their help. Hard memories intervened, of when she’d first asked the islanders for a torch and they’d kept silent. Would they turn her away now?
She swallowed hard. “All right.”
She didn’t mention anything about the Norman soldiers. It would only make them angry. Her nerves stretched even more, worrying that she hadn’t made a good choice in asking Ewan to send the men.
Annle embraced her, pressing her cheek to Isabel’s. “It will be fine.”
Isabelpacedthelengthof the dwelling, nervously awaiting her guests. The past hour had frayed her nerves down to a single thread. Though each of the islanders listened to her request, their expressions showed no welcome. It was as though she were still a stranger. But she’d mustered her courage and managed to visit each of the huts.
Now she stood at the entrance and saw Ewan and the islanders struggling with the barrels of wine. There was no sign of the Norman soldiers, nor her husband. Her spirits fell, for she’d hoped they would join in the celebration.
She wanted Patrick to come, to see him once again. Though he had stayed apart from her, each sennight he’d sent more supplies, and always a gift. Once, he’d sent a mirror of polished silver. Another time, he’d sent silk fabric in the same color as her ruined wedding kirtle.
They were almost gifts a man might send to court a woman. But the gift that moved her the most was when he’d sent the gray and white cat. She’d named the feline Adelade, and on many days the cat would curl up on her lap, purring softly.
“Drink some wine,” Annle urged, after the men had set up the barrels. “There is no need to be anxious.”
Isabel accepted the cup and took a deep sip of wine. The spicy aroma of fermented grapes mingled with the flavor of the barrel, and she forced herself to calm down.
Brendan and the others had joined together to bring several low tables into the hall. The scent of roasting venison mingled amid the peat smoke, and as each guest arrived, more platters of food were set upon the tables. Boiled turnips, carrots, platters of salmon, loaves of bread, and even a dish of boiled goose eggs were part of the feast.
Isabel breathed a little easier when she realized there would be more than enough food. As the folk drank wine and enjoyed the food, she sat down near the entrance where the night air blew inside. The wetness of rain mingled with the warm interior, and Isabel moved away from the downpour.
Conversations rose in a din of merrymaking, and though Isabel could now understand most of their talk, she leaned back against the wall. She didn’t feel comfortable joining them, not even after spending almost a season upon the island. Shyness prevented her from speaking to them.
“Why are you hiding in the shadows?” a voice asked. Isabel turned and saw Patrick. Her heart gave a leap, and she mentally berated herself for feeling like a lovesick maid. But it had been so long since she’d seen him last.
“I’m not hiding.” She did not move from her place, not knowing what he expected from her.
His black hair was pulled back, emphasizing his handsome face. He wore a tunic of deep red with dark trews, and his sapphire cloak was fastened with an emerald brooch. Upon his head, he wore a circlet of gold that was slightly tilted. Gold gleamed about his muscled arms.
