Patrick sheathed his knife. “Ruarc will pay for what he has done. At the moment, we need to form a council and decide how we will handle this situation.”
To Bevan he asked, “Can I rely on you to gather the right men? I want to meet with them at the donjon in an hour.”
His brother nodded, rubbing his wrists. Blood caked his skin from where he’d tried to free himself. The sight of it heightened his fury. Ruarc would regret endangering his brothers.
Isabel moved to his side. “Bring them to the donjon and let me tend their wounds.”
“It’s nothing,” Bevan remarked. “Leave it be.” Patrick wasn’t surprised at the refusal, along with Trahern’s assent that he, too, was fine. But Ewan was young yet, and was humiliated at being taken captive.
“Ewan, go with Isabel,” he ordered. To Trahern and Bevan, he added, “Come and quench your thirst while she tends him.”
His brothers followed, and one of the islanders brought them clothing.
Isabel refused to ignore his brothers, cleansing their raw wrists and offering particular sympathy to Ewan. The extra attention seemed to lift the young boy’s spirits, along with the food she offered.
When the men dispersed, she said in a low voice to Patrick, “May I speak with you alone?”
He nodded. Isabel led him into her private bedchamber, and though Patrick followed without argument, she sensed that he was careful to stay far away from her. At the sight of her own bed, she remembered their lovemaking a few days ago. It hurt to think of how much had changed since then.
“I feel as though this is my fault,” she murmured. She hadn’t even imagined they could take away his rank. In her country, kings were born, not made. But worse, her husband was meant to be a king. She couldn’t imagine him living the life of an ordinary man.
“Ruarc was looking for a way to become king. He conspired with our enemy.” Patrick eyed the door, as if deliberating what to do.
“But you are the rightful king,” she whispered. “You have to take your position back from him.”
“It is not a decision I can make. The people chose to take me from power. That is their right.”
Though his voice sounded calm, his eyes held the edge of pain.
“You sound as though you plan to give up.”
His mouth drew in a firm line, his gray eyes cold. “I don’t care about being king, Isabel. What I care about is my tribe. Ruarc does not see the consequences of what he has done. He cannot overpower Strongbow’s men. And I have no doubt that this invasion will happen.”
“What will you do?”
He shook his head. “I’ll meet with the others, and we will decide together.”
“You’ll have to attack your own people,” she said quietly. “He’s counting on you not to do that.”
He regarded her with a thoughtful expression. “I don’t think so. We’ll prepare our forces and defend our people if necessary. There are other ways to infiltrate the fortress.”
“I hope you are right.” She folded her hands and drew closer. Patrick had a distant expression on his face, and she wished she could do something to help him.
Though her heart had leaped with hope when he’d refused marriage to the Ó Phelan’s daughter, she now understood the price he had paid. It was far too great.
She placed her hand upon his heart. He didn’t move, didn’t even look at her. Though he had said nothing, she sensed hidden emotions locked inside him.
“It is all right to be angry,” she whispered. “You lost a great deal today.”
“No.” He took her hand and removed it. Isabel tried to hold a brave expression, not wanting him to see her discomfiture.
“I haven’t any right to feel sorry for myself,” he said. “What matters most is that Ruarc has brought my tribe into a crisis. I won’t stand back and see them suffer for it.”
“What can I do to help you?”
He shook his head. “There’s nothing you can do.” As he left her chamber and closed the door behind him, Isabel ached inside. Their lives had grown even more tangled, and she knew that her presence was only making matters worse.
Chapter Nineteen
