Patrick brought forth a horse from the small shelter near the coast, a creamy mare. Isabel recognized his own horse Bel, a sleek black stallion. Patrick lifted her atop her saddle then mounted his own horse.
They rode side by side toward the massive ringfort without speaking. She was intensely aware of him, from the fine clothing he wore to the crown upon his brow. “How long will we stay at Laochre?” she asked quietly.
“Until the invasion is over. It’s safer if we stay together.”
“What if our people fight one another?” she asked. She didn’t trust Ruarc not to start another disagreement.
He looked over at her, his own doubts mirroring hers. “I’ll need your help. The women may be of use in keeping the peace.”
It was the first time he’d openly asked for her assistance. Isabel tried not to behave as startled as she felt. “I will do what I can.”
He said nothing but stared back at the surrounding landscape. Isabel was surprised to see the expansion efforts at Laochre. In the past few weeks, Patrick had begun plastering the exterior a pure white, to give it the appearance of stone—just as she’d suggested.
“It looks almost as if you’re building a castle,” she said, marveling at the changes. Although it was far from complete, she could see his efforts to transform the fortress into a Norman motte and bailey. Long rectangular wattle and daub houses formed barracks for the Norman soldiers.
“You approve of the changes, then.”
“Yes.” She couldn’t hide the awe in her voice. Wooden scaffolding stood high above the donjon, while the men worked to build battlements.
“Sir Anselm offered one of his men, Roger, to help with the designs. He worked on the plans for Thornwyck’s castle, as I understand.”
“It isn’t quite the same as my father’s.” She noted differences in the structure. “How long will it take you to finish it?”
“Years, most likely. That is, if no one attacks us again.”
When at last they reached the inner bailey, she handed the horse to a stable lad and followed Patrick inside his dwelling. She lowered thebratfrom her hair, drawing the wool across her shoulders. The interior of the donjon, though still needing decoration, had been cleaned and fresh rushes were scattered. The trestle tables had been pushed to the side, providing a large gathering space. Baskets filled with bilberries stood waiting.
“We will speak with the people here,” he said. “I want them to know what lies ahead.”
Isabel drew the ends of her shawl closer. “What do you mean, ‘we?’“ He didn’t expect her to address the people, did he? Her nerves frayed at the thought.
“You will address the Normans while I speak to the Irish.” He reached into the basket and lifted out a ripe bilberry. As if to bribe her, he brought it to her lips. She tasted the blue berry, its sweetness spreading over her tongue.
Her heart quickened with fear. “They would never listen to me, Patrick.”
“Can you not pretend to be a queen? They will heed your command.” She doubted it but let him lead her up to the dais.
Through the door opening, she could see the people approaching. Her hands felt like they’d been frozen in ice, her pulse racing. She hated speaking in front of large groups. Saints, even her knees were shaking.
As the Normans and islanders filled the Great Chamber, they were forced to stand shoulder to shoulder. Once all had arrived, almost a hundred men, women, and children filled the space. Isabel noticed that hardly any of the people of Laochre had come; only the folk from Ennisleigh. Most of the Irish stood on Patrick’s side while the Normans stood on her own side.
Isabel wanted nothing more than to flee, to hide beneath a table. But her feet remained rooted, even as she fought to keep her composure.
“I will speak in Irish,” he said in a low voice. “Translate for me into your own language.”
“But my Irish is not good enough yet,” she protested. “I do not know all of your words.”
“You know enough,” he said, squeezing her hand.
“People of Laochre,” he said. “We are about to face another invasion.”
And so, as he spoke, Isabel translated for her own folk. They listened without interrupting, nodding their heads when she spoke of the difficulties they would encounter. As time drew on, she relaxed, realizing the enormous trust Patrick had placed in her.
He had granted her the chance to be queen, even if only for a short time. It humbled her, and she suddenly understood immense responsibility of caring for her tribe and her folk. He’d given her that gift. She straightened, finding the strength inside to be the ruler he needed her to be.
“If we are to survive what is ahead,” Patrick continued, “we must not divide our forces.”
A few of the people looked uncomfortable but did not voice their opinions. When Patrick had finished speaking, somehow Isabel found the courage to speak on her own.
