“Every man upon the island and the mainland believes that we are man and wife. In flesh as well as in name.”
“But we aren’t.”Step away from her, his resolve warned.
“Is there something wrong with me?” Though she kept her tone light, he sensed the deeper fear beneath it. There was honesty in her question. He no longer knew what to say. She had somehow grown into their lives, learning their language and shifting his doubts.
Was it even possible to keep her as his bride? No. He’d seen the way the other islanders had turned their backs upon her. They could not see the woman she was, only what she represented. Just the way he had once thought of her.
Patrick didn’t breathe, and when she rested her cheek against his, he wanted to damn them all and take her into his bed. He embraced her, holding her curves against him.
“No. There’s nothing wrong with you.” He didn’t pull away when she kissed him. Instead, he took from her, welcoming the momentary respite from being a king. He tasted wine upon her lips, the heady fullness of this woman who stood between him and his tribe.
He wanted to lie with her, to damn the consequences. She was his wife, and there were ways to give one another pleasure without risking a child.
Lug, what had she done to his willpower? He no longer thought of her as the enemy. She’d tried so hard to make the celebration festive for the islanders. Instead, they’d turned on her. She deserved their respect and admiration. How many women would have worked so hard to learn their language and rebuilt a broken-down fortress?
He admitted the truth to himself. He didn’t want to give her up, especially not to another man. He didn’t want anyone touching this woman or giving her children. Except himself.
And that was the greatest problem of all.
His mouth brushed against her temple, burning her like a brand of possession. “We cannot become lovers, Isabel. There might be a child.”
She understood it was because the marriage was only temporary. Beneath her hands, she could feel the heat of his skin, and her body yearned for more. “There are ways to prevent it, are there not?”
Silence again. Then he lifted her face to look at him. The darkness in the set of his mouth, the ferocity of his enslaved needs took her senses apart.
“Some day you’ll be another man’s wife,” he replied. “Someone else will touch you.” He lowered the shoulder of her shift and kissed the bared skin. Shivers of desire raced through her at the contact.
“I don’t want another man,” she answered, raising her mouth to his. “I’d rather stay with you.”
Her expression held sorrow, as if she hadn’t meant to voice the words aloud. And the truth was, he needed her at his side, like never before. “If I were not a king, there’s nothing that would take you from me.” But his words held the weight of the truth. Given a choice between his tribe and her, he could never give up his duty.
“You are a king,” she murmured, touching her hand to his brow where theminn oírrested. “And always will be.”
She stepped back, and the fierce pain of letting her go filled up inside. A thousand regrets passed between them, but he forced himself to leave. There was no point in falling in love with a woman he could never have.
Chapter Fourteen
Summerwaned,andLughnasadrew closer. The corn had grown taller and some of the ears would be ready to harvest soon. Patrick stood, surveying his land when two horsemen drew near. He recognized the orange and crimson colors of the Ó Phelan tribe.
Though he didn’t know what they wanted, their presence was uninvited. Weeks ago, Donal Ó Phelan had not accepted his corp-dire offering, as compensation for his wounds. Though Patrick knew he could have pressed further in the brehon courts, he suspected Donal had another payment in mind instead of silver.
He stepped away from the corn, his hand palming his sword. He didn’t trust the Ó Phelan men.
The men dismounted, and each raised a knee in courtesy. Patrick nodded acknowledgement but wondered why they had come. Two of his tribesmen emerged from the corn field, joining alongside him. A single magpie flew past the men, an ill omen.
“Our chieftain sends his greetings,” one of the messengers began. “He sent us to ask that you meet him tomorrow at sundown on the hill of Amadán.”
“And what does he wish to discuss?” Patrick knew better than to believe Donal Ó Phelan wanted a conversation. The chieftain held grudges, and he did not want the man desiring vengeance against Isabel.
“He desires a truce between our tribes and an alliance. He offers this as a token of good will.” One man dismounted from his horse, offering Patrick the reins. The gray gelding was a prime piece of horse flesh, but he had no desire to accept a bribe.
“Tell Donal I will meet with him. But I’ve no need of his horse.” Patrick dismissed the men but kept a close eye upon them. As he passed through his lands, he watched the people preparing for Lughnasa. Young girls busied themselves stringing garlands of flowers. His men practiced with weapons, working to perfect their archery. Many would compete in the games over the next few days.
It made him think of Isabel and the way she had defended them with her bow. Her skill was undeniable. But though she could have defeated any of their kinsmen or the men from the other tribe, he bridled at the idea of Normans joining the ceremony. Even his wife.
Their rituals were as old as Éireann itself, and he did not want to risk angering the gods. But he didn’t like leaving her behind either. She was trying to be a good wife, the best way she knew how, and it humbled him.
Sunlight glimmered upon the waters. Though he had granted Isabel a boat of her own, not once had she made use of it to come to the mainland. Though she claimed it was near to Sosanna’s birthing time, he suspected she was avoiding him.
