Ruarcstoodwithintheinner bailey of the ringfort, surveying the land. The Normans had gone, and the entire Ó Phelan tribe entered the gates with triumphant smiles upon their faces.
A part of him curled up in wariness. He’d won the kingship as he’d hoped, but the MacEgan folk did not share in the celebrating. Although the Normans had gone, Ruarc knew they had not seen the last of them.
A few of his tribesmen quietly entered their huts while the Ó Phelans inspected the ringfort. His instincts warned him to be on guard, and though he had agreed to wed Meara, he had not given over Laochre in exchange. The Ó Phelans were behaving as though they had taken control of the land.
“Your men may stay in the soldiers’ quarters this eve,” Ruarc offered. “The wedding can take place in the morning.”
Meara Ó Phelan seemed to be a comely, soft-spoken maiden. He’d barely paid her any notice, but he supposed she would make a fair wife.
He looked to see where his sister was, but Sosanna was not among the MacEgans. He spoke with several members of the tribe, but only one had seen her.
“She went with King Patrick and the others to Ennisleigh,” the woman said.
Ruarc wanted to protest that Patrick was no longer the king, but he knew it would make him sound childish. “Was she forced to go?”
The woman shook her head. “She went willingly.”
He didn’t want to believe it. Sosanna was terrified of the Normans. Why would she leave the safety of Laochre only to be surrounded by them on the island? He couldn’t understand it. His instincts warned him that Sosanna was in danger, especially from the way Sir Anselm had watched her.
And as for her child . . . it was hard for him to look at the infant. His sister should have been happily married by now, not a terrified woman who had lost her will to speak.
He’d wanted so badly to help her, believing that with the Normans gone, she would heal. And now with the Ó Phelan tribe bound to the MacEgans, they had the strength they’d lacked before.
Donal Ó Phelan spoke quietly with his men, and Ruarc approached him at last. “We should talk about the invasion Patrick spoke of. If Strongbow’s army is coming—“
”—we will discuss it inside,“ Donal interrupted. “Let us drink together and make our plans.”
When he went inside the Great Chamber, at the far end stood the king and queen’s chairs. The polished carved wood appeared foreign, and he suddenly stared at the Chamber with new eyes. In his gut, reluctance caught at him.
He’d wanted the kingship so badly, believing that if he held the position, he could rid them of the Normans. He wanted the power to make the decisions. But now that he possessed it, he felt more unworthy than ever. Gods, what was he doing, usurping Patrick’s place? His instincts warned him that this was wrong. Reluctantly, he led Donal to sit near him while he chose the king’s seat.
Donal Ó Phelan signaled to one of his men at the farthest side, and the man lowered a heavy wooden bar across the door.
“There is no need to bar the door,” Ruarc argued. “We are not under any danger from the Normans.”
Donal smiled. “No. Not from the Normans.”
His skin turned cold as he regarded the chieftain. “Are you threatening us?”
Donal laughed. “There is no threat. You’ve opened the gates to us. And there are so few of you, it’s an easy matter to conquer this fortress.” He raised a goblet of mead, as if in a mock toast. “To the new king.”
Ruarc reached for his sword, but found a dagger resting against his throat. He grabbed for Donal’s wrists, but three other men held him down.
He was dimly aware of blades slicing into him, as he fought to free himself. They dragged him from the chair, pressing his face against the dirt while they bound his hands behind his back.
Gods, what had he done? He had betrayed his king and his people, bringing an enemy tribe among them. Why had he trusted Donal Ó Phelan? He’d been blinded by rage, unable to see past anything but his own vengeance.
“Bind him in the Great Chamber so all can see him,” Donal commanded. “He’ll die at dawn.”
Ruarc closed his eyes, blood slipping down over his face. He deserved this.
And in the shadows, a slight figure disappeared. But when he turned his head, it was gone.
Atnight,Patrickgathereda council of both the islanders and Normans, with Trahern to translate. They had spent most of the evening arguing over what to do. Sir Anselm suggested laying siege to the fortress, while Annle’s husband Brendan believed they should wait.
“Ruarc will bring about his own demise,” Brendan asserted. “He lacks the leadership to rule the tribe. And he was never officially given the kingship.”
“They brought the stone chair,” Patrick mused, “but they did not use it. Why?”
