“Because they never intended to crown him king,” Bevan interrupted. “The Ó Phelans want Laochre and its holdings. I don’t like it. They’re up to something.”
Patrick let them voice their opinions and speak freely about what to do. When the hour drew late and no decision was made, he called an end to the discussion. “We will speak more at dawn. Go back to your dwellings.” He turned to the islanders. “If any of you are willing to open your homes to the Normans who need shelter, it would be appreciated. Our donjon has little space.”
The men hesitated, but when Annle touched her husband’s arm, Brendan relented. “Anselm and a few of his men may come into our home.”
Once he had agreed, a few others reluctantly voiced an invitation. They left in small groups until only a half dozen families remained in the donjon.
Patrick turned and saw Isabel standing near the door to their chamber. She extended a hand in invitation. “It has been a long night for you.”
He wished he could close the distance and join her. But if he did, he’d spend the night making love to her instead of giving his attention to the problem of his people.
“It has.” He didn’t move but instead rested his hands upon his knees. “Go on to your chamber and sleep.”
“What about you? Are you not going to join me?”
He shook his head. “I’m going to walk outside for a while.” After all that had happened, he needed to clear his mind, to decide what to do.
“Shall I come with you?”
“No. I would rather be alone.” He stood and walked outside the dwelling. The night air chilled his skin, so he drew his cloak around him. The familiar sounds of people talking, mixed with babies crying and couples making love surrounded the air. Though none had spoken to him of the loss of his kingship, he suspected they had talked extensively amongst themselves.
He had never truly felt like a king while the rank had been his. But now, instead of feeling like a burden had been lifted, the strain had only increased. He blamed himself for letting this happen. He should have banished Ruarc long ago, for his cousin could not conceive of the greater threat.
Patrick walked down to the water’s edge, the black sea gleaming against a silvery moon. A flickering light cast a golden glow upon the water, and he saw a solitary vessel moving towards the island.
He narrowed his gaze, not understanding how anyone could have found a boat in such darkness. But as the solitary figure drew closer to shore, his face broke into a smile. It was his younger brother, Connor MacEgan, back from his fostering.
At the age of eight and ten, Connor had spent most of his childhood at Banslieve, several days’ journey from here. They had expected him to return at any moment.
He raised a hand, signaling his brother. When at last Connor arrived, Patrick helped him pull the boat upon the strand before embracing him.
“It has been a long time,” Patrick said in greeting. Connor had gained the height and stature of a young man, though his face still held traces of adolescence. With dark gold hair and gray eyes, Connor had captured more than one maiden’s heart upon his rare visits to Laochre during his fostering.
“I came from Laochre just now,” Connor admitted. “What has happened there?”
Patrick explained the events while his brother listened. When he had finished, Connor added, “Already the Ó Phelans have claimed Laochre as their own. They’ve taken Ruarc prisoner and mean to execute him at dawn.”
“How did you learn this?”
Connor shrugged. “I know how to stay in the shadows.”
Patrick knew it was so. Even as a child, Connor had sneaked up upon them on more than one occasion. Like a silent wraith, he could be invisible to anyone.
The grim news sobered him. Though he disliked his cousin, Ruarc did not deserve to die. “We’ll have to get him out, then.”
Connor’s attention flickered to his side, and Patrick saw Isabel standing nearby. A look of interest sparked in his brother’s eye.
“This is Isabel MacEgan. My wife,” Patrick said, with warning in his voice. Connor could charm the wings off a butterfly, and he didn’t trust his brother’s tendency to flirt. To Isabel, he said, “This is my brother Connor.” Isabel approached, holding out her hands in greeting. A warm smile creased her face. “Hello, Connor.”
His brother shot him a wicked smile and lifted Isabel’s hand to his lips. “A pleasure it is to meet you, and a shame that my brother has already stolen you away.”
Isabel’s face colored. Patrick took her hand back, silently warning Connor to keep his hands away.
“I—ah, think I’ll see if there’s anything to eat.” Connor grinned, stepping back towards the ringfort.
“Find Trahern and Ewan. We’ll speak about Ruarc in a few moments.”
“I believe Trahern has . . . company this night.” Connor winked at Isabel.
