“We will face many enemies in the coming weeks,” she said, “and the tribes do not want us to join together. Look around you,” she said, gesturing toward the immense crowd. “They wish to keep us apart because they know that no tribe in all of Erin can defeat us if we stand beside one another. If we falter from this path, they will destroy us.”
Patrick translated her words into Irish for the islanders. But there were no sounds of approval, only a sullen silence. Isabel’s face flushed. Had she overstepped her bounds?
Her husband dismissed the people, ordering the soldiers to bring their wives and children to the barracks.
“Where were your people?” Isabel asked Patrick in a low voice. “The only Irish folk I saw were the islanders.”
“Likely hiding in their homes,” Patrick replied. “They will answer for it later.” He followed the others, and Isabel hung back in the Great Chamber.
She stepped down from the dais, studying the interior. The empty space on the walls made her wish for her loom to weave tapestries and other decorations. For a moment she stood in the space alone, wishing she could stay. Although Ennisleigh had been her home, Laochre could become a castle of dreams.
She stared at the two chairs on the far end of the room, one for Patrick, and the other for his queen. When she looked at the carved wooden chair, it made her wonder if another woman would ever sit there.
Would Patrick reconsider Donal Ó Phelan’s offer? He’d said he would not put her aside, not until the threat of the Norman invasion was past. She blinked, wishing for all the world that she could be a part of this kingdom.
As she neared the door frame, she saw Sosanna waiting with her child in her arms. A few of the Norman women milled around near the entrance, speaking quietly. One of them moved forward and curtsied. “Queen Isabel, what may we do to help? The others won’t speak to us.”
Isabel glanced outside at the stone huts, understanding that the Irish were silently rebelling against the visitors. “I need to prepare the Great Chamber for our guests and also arrange the food for the afternoon meal.”
She turned to Sosanna. “Will you help the women?”
Sosanna looked down, her face showing her dismay. Isabel reached out and took the young woman’s hands in hers. “I need your assistance.”
The woman looked doubtful, but then Sir Anselm entered the fortress. In halting Irish he asked about the young mother’s health. “Conas tá tú?”
Sosanna nodded and managed a faint smile. She lifted the infant to her shoulder, patting him lightly.
“You . . . sit.” Anselm’s Irish was barely understandable, but he gestured for her to rest.
“Anselm, will you help Sosanna find a place where she may sit and help the Norman women work among the others?” Isabel asked.
The knight agreed. He drew close to Sosanna and waited a moment before lifting her into his arms. The young mother did not protest, but looped an arm around his neck, to Isabel’s surprise.
One of the Norman women drew closer to Isabel. “I’ve never seen him in such good temper before,” she remarked. “Sir Anselm was one of Lord Thornwyck’s best fighters, but I’ve never seen him smile before.”
“Much has changed,” Isabel replied. “And I hope you will find a new home here.”
More than that, she hoped the Irish would eventually welcome them. The stony reception did not bode well for the future.
Throughout the morning, the Norman women worked while their children gathered peat for the fires and made games together. Despite their efforts, the tribesmen and women of Laochre kept an awkward silence, behaving as if none of the Normans were there.
Isabel never stopped moving throughout the morning, instructing the Normans, and trying to engage the folk of Laochre and the islanders in the preparations. Whenever she approached one of the people, they stiffened and turned their gaze away as if they didn’t see her.
By the noon meal, Isabel was near tears. She gave final instructions to the women, and walked up a winding stone staircase to Patrick’s chamber, hoping for a moment alone. If she could just have a good cry, she could gather herself together again.
But when she pushed the door open, she saw Patrick standing inside. His earlier finery lay upon the bed while he stood wearing only his trews. It appeared that he was about to change into sparring attire, to train with his men.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, and turned to leave.
“Don’t go.” He approached her, closing the door so she was forced to stay inside. With his bare skin so near, she tried to keep her eyes away from him. But saints, he was a handsome man. She wanted to wrap her arms around his waist, bury her face in his neck, and forget all about the problems with the Irish.
“What is it?” he asked.
“It’s been a difficult morning,” she admitted. “Your tribe won’t speak to me or any of the others. They refuse to leave their huts.”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t surprise me. They aren’t likely to welcome your people here.”
“I don’t know what else to do.” She sat down upon the bed. “I thought we could bring them together as one. But they won’t even try.”
