Patrick looked as though he were about to protest, but she cut him off. “Do not worry. I’ll behave like the false queen that I am and not disgrace you.” She picked up her skirts and strode up the path away from him.
He stood in front of her, blocking her way. “You deserve better than us, Isabel. Would that I could change things.”
“You have the power,” she said softly. “But you’ve chosen not to use it. You’ve put them in command of your life.”
“What would you have me do? Give up my duty?”
She didn’t answer. He’d already chosen his tribe over her, and nothing she could say would make any difference.
He placed a hand on her shoulder. “I can still give you your freedom, if that is what you want. The archbishop can grant a divorce—“
Isabel turned her back on him, not waiting to hear the words. She began to run, needing the exercise to release her frustrations. Her mind raged at him, and she ran until her lungs ached. She sat down upon one of the rocks on the far end of the island beach, her heart burning.
This was what she deserved, for letting herself believe they had a chance. He didn’t care for her, and in spite of the wonderful night they’d spent together, nothing had changed. She wanted so badly to weep, but she could not change the way Patrick thought.
Ruarcstaredatthelights upon the island. This afternoon, he had watched the Norman baron depart the island, accompanied by his escort. And yet the enemy women and children remained behind. Patrick had done nothing to stop them.
With each passing month, his desire for vengeance grew stronger. Though Sosanna’s time for birthing drew near, not once had she spoken of the man who had harmed her. Ruarc grasped his knife, wishing he could strike the Norman bastard down. He had studied each man over the past few moons, looking for the likely culprit. But he was no closer to finding him.
Rage seethed inside him. Now that the women had come, it meant the Norman soldiers would stay here. He couldn’t allow that to happen. And he no longer trusted his king to act in the tribe’s best interests.
He took a breath, sheathing the dagger once more. If all went to plan, Patrick MacEgan would no longer be king. And Ruarc could drive the Normans forth once and for all.
Chapter Sixteen
Intheearlyafternoon,the MacEgan tribe finished their walk up the hill of Amadán. Patrick stood back while his brother Trahern buried the ceremonial ears of corn. They murmured prayers of thanksgiving and the tribesmen stood together as one. Afterwards, his people enjoyed games and competitions, while the mead flowed freely. Patrick remained upon the hillside while his people journeyed downhill for the blessing of horses within the small river cutting across their lands. From his vantage point, he watched the festivities and awaited the arrival of Donal Ó Phelan. A few kinsmen stayed with him as escorts.
At sundown, the chieftain arrived. Torches blazed along the pathway, while the sky darkened. Donal Ó Phelan raised his hands for silence and regarded Patrick. He raised a knee in deference then spoke. “Our tribes have raided one another for many seasons,” he began in a booming voice. “On the last raid, Isabel MacEgan wounded me with one of your arrows. She is one of the Normans, isn’t she? You wed her to save your people.”
Patrick did not deny it. “What is it you want from me?”
The chieftain did not answer the question. Instead he remarked, “The Normans outnumber you.” He gestured toward Laochre where the fortress stood, illuminated by torches. “And in time they will destroy your tribe. Unless you accept my help.”
Patrick crossed his arms. “My men are strong enough to defeat any foe.”
“What if my tribe joined with yours?” Donal asked. “You would have double the forces to overcome the Normans.”
Patrick didn’t trust the Ó Phelan chieftain. Donal would never offer to join their tribes, not without a better bargain for himself. “And what did you want in return?”
“Set your wife aside and wed my daughter. Meara is a beautiful maiden, and she would make a better queen than the Norman you have now.”
He knew his men would approve of the match. But Isabel’s words came back to plague him.You’ve put them in command of your life.He had sacrificed his own desires once, wedding Isabel to save his tribe. And the marriage had been nothing like he’d expected. She was impulsive, disobedient . . . and the most fascinating woman he’d ever met.
“There are greater problems at the moment,” Patrick stated. “Edwin de Godred informed me that Strongbow is planning another invasion. Their ships will arrive at any moment now, and we must be prepared for them.”
“And what makes you think Strongbow’s men will not conquer Laochre?” Donal scoffed. “They will take the fortress and put a Norman king in your place.”
“They would already have done so, were that true.” He dismissed the idea. “Your men should prepare for what lies ahead.”
Donal’s gaze narrowed. “I wouldn’t trust the Normans. And my offer stands. Set your wife aside and wed my daughter. Send word to us when you’ve made your decision.”
Patrick stared hard at the man. He refused to let anyone intimidate him, especially not a chieftain whose loyalty he questioned. “I have made my decision. And the answer is no.”
He turned to walk down the hill. Donal Ó Phelan was not a man he trusted, and he saw no reason to ally himself with the tribe. They’d been enemies for far too long.
Across the water, he saw lights gleaming upon Ennisleigh. Though he had not lingered for long this morn, he had noticed a difference in the Norman soldiers. There was an air of contentment instead of anger. One or two had greeted him with a smile this morn, before he’d left for the mainland. Their sudden change in demeanor surprised him.
Was Isabel right to bring the wives and children? If the Norman soldiers had their women to fight for, would they join together and battle against the Earl of Pembroke with his tribesmen?
