He sat beside her, his expression serious. “I’m not sure it could ever be done, Isabel. They will always be enemies.”
And with those words, he severed any hope she might have held. Her idea of unifying them was naught but a foolish dream. If Patrick did not believe it could happen among his own people, then it would never happen. Though he sat only a small distance away from her, she sensed the gap widening between them. Not once had he touched her or made any move toward her.
“I should go,” he said, pulling the training tunic over his head.
She veiled her emotions, steadying herself. “Will you join us for the meal?”
He shook his head. “Enjoy yourselves. I must speak with my men about our defenses for the invasion.”
When he’d left, Isabel touched the ceremonial tunic he’d worn, feeling the heat of his body. And though she longed to release the tears, she held herself back.
Though he had offered her a place at Laochre for the first time, even granting her the status as a queen, it felt impossibly lonely.
Chapter Eighteen
TwonightspassedandPatrick stayed away from his wife. Though he had shared their chamber, he’d slept upon a pallet on the floor. He told himself it was because he needed to dedicate himself to the ringfort’s defenses. Sleeping with Isabel would only tear his mind apart, leaving him a slave to his body’s needs.
But each night, he would watch her sleep from a time, memorizing her face. He remembered what it was like to join with her and fall asleep with her body entwined with his.
Though he liked having Isabel with him, he saw the effect upon his people. Though his wife worked tirelessly from dawn until dusk, trying to care for everyone, her efforts only seemed to drive a larger wedge between his tribe and the Normans. The Normans championed her, standing by their lady, while his people stayed far away.
But this morning, a small group of Ó Phelans arrived, joined by their chieftain Donal. Though he didn’t like granting them entrance to Laochre, they were joined by two brehons. He winced, realizing that they had yet to settle the fine for the chieftain’s injury, which was likely the reason for the judges being there.
At his command, the men were permitted entrance. Strangely, their arrival seemed to provoke a signal. His cousin Ruarc came forward, along with the other members of his tribe. One by one, they joined together inside the inner bailey. A sense of warning pricked inside Patrick, for the folk had not spoken to him in the past three days.
The chieftain of the Ó Phelan tribe came forward. “King Patrick of Laochre, I offered you marriage to my daughter in an effort to unite our tribes. You refused the agreement.”
Patrick stepped forth and crossed his arms. “Why are you here, Donal? If it is the matter ofcorp-dire, let us settle the fine for your injury now. We are not here to discuss a marriage.“ He ventured a glance at the Normans, grateful that they could not understand the Irish tongue, nor what was happening.
Donal glanced at the tribesmen. “I made an offer, one that would let you rid yourselves of the Normans once and for all. Do you not think your people would desire it? Instead, you brought more of the enemy among them.”
“You still haven’t answered my question of why you are here.” Patrick crossed his arms, infuriated at the chieftain’s arrogance. If the man didn’t come to the point soon enough, he’d dismiss them.
The tribesmen stepped aside, and it was then that he saw what they had brought forth—the large stone chair. The chair meant for crowning a new king.
Then he suddenly understood why Donal had come. With a grim expression, he said, “I refuse to bring war among my people. And what you ask me to do is foryourbenefit, not the benefit of Laochre. My answer is still no.”
“I thought you might say that.” Ruarc spoke, moving toward the brehons. “And since you have broken your oath to protect our tribe, I am calling for your displacement.”
Rage and betrayal streamed through him. Ruarc’s ambitions had brought this, not any desire to keep the tribe safe. If he persisted in this action, their people would die at the hands of the Normans.
Ruarc addressed their tribesmen. “I have agreed to wed Meara Ó Phelan and join their tribe with ours. If you will have me as your new king.”
Patrick faced his cousin, the dark anger tightening inside him. He held his temper by the thinnest control. “You don’t know what you are doing, cousin.”
“I will fight you for the kingship,” Ruarc said, raising his fists. “If needed, I’ll prove myself before the people.”
“There is no need for fighting,” Donal said. “The brehons will allow the people to elect the king they prefer. Unless another man wishes to compete for the right?”
No one stepped forward. Patrick searched the crowd for a sign of his brothers, but none were present. He hadn’t seen Trahern or Bevan since last evening, and his suspicions tightened.
Even his youngest brother Ewan was missing. Tension knotted up inside him, and he saw Isabel at the far end of the fortress. Her hands were pressed to her pale cheeks, and she shook her head at him as if trying to prevent what was about to happen.
He knew he could provoke a fight with Ruarc. But the frigid hatred upon the faces of his tribesmen stilled his sword. Even if he defeated his cousin, he could see the truth of what was happening.
As each man and woman approached the judges, giving their answer, he remained standing. And he knew, before the brehons spoke, what the answer would be.
“Itisdone.”Oneof the brehons stood and addressed the gathering. “You have chosen to depose King Patrick and set Ruarc MacEgan in his stead.”
