“Then rouse him. We’ve more important concerns.”
Connor disappeared toward the circle of huts. When they were alone, Isabel said, “You’ve brushed me aside all night. I want to know why.”
What could he say? His life had been ripped apart, his people’s lives in danger, and all because he’d considered keeping her as his wife. Even to his own brother, he’d acknowledged her as a MacEgan. More than anything, he wanted it to be true. He wanted her to stay, bear his children, and rule at his side. But it was as though God had cursed him. He had no right to be with her, not after all that had happened.
“I don’t have an answer to give you, Isabel.”
“Do you have any feelings for me at all?”
Words could not describe the way she made him feel. Jealousy when Connor had smiled at her. Passion when she kissed him. But more than all else came regret. He couldn’t see any way to bring her into his tribe. And with each day that passed, he hurt her more. No woman deserved this. The best thing he could do was let her go.
“I shouldn’t,” he said, hardly above a whisper. It was all he could give her. “Just as you should not feel anything for me.” He glanced out at the black horizon, with only the soft hush of the tide against the sand to break the stillness.
She reached out and with the touch of her hand upon his shoulder, he moved away. “Isabel, you were right about us.”
Her hand drew back, her eyes filling with tears. “There is no us, Patrick. There is you and your tribe. And there is me.”
He nodded, an aching pain seizing up inside of him. In the darkness, her face remained in shadows. But he could feel her pain, as though it were a tangible thing.
“What are you going to do?” she whispered.
“My brothers and I are going to go after Ruarc in a few hours.”
He heard her sharp intake of breath. “You’re not planning to rescue him.”
“He is one of us, and of my blood. We won’t let him die at their hands.”
“He is a traitor to you.”
There was ice in her voice, mingled with anger. Patrick couldn’t understand why she would spurn a rescue mission. “Ruarc is family.”
“He wants you to die, Patrick,” she warned. “I do not trust him.”
“He wanted the kingship, not my death.” He took a step closer to her, and the soft scent of honeysuckle drifted to him. It was as though he needed to be near her, even if it was wrong to touch her.
“If you are caught—“ She didn’t finish the rest of her sentence. Her face paled, her hands tightening. And it was then that the truth struck him. She cared what happened to him. He hadn’t expected it, didn’t know how to respond. Even now, he could see the way she was looking at him, like he’d wounded her.
Instinct warned him not to embrace her. Instead, he held back. “If I cannot break inside my own home and bring back a single man, then I am not much of a warrior king, am I?”
“Don’t go.” Her plea rived through him. He sensed it was not a lack of faith in his abilities but instead, fear of what might happen to him.
“I have to. It’s his life at stake.” He needed to leave now, join his brothers and make their plans. Instead, he found it nearly impossible to tear himself away from her.
“I don’t have a good feeling about this.” She wrapped her arms around herself, as if to guard against evil spirits.
“Then pray for us.” He left without saying goodbye, though it bothered him. He needed to set her free. For her own happiness, Isabel needed to leave Eíreann with no regrets.
Withonlyasingletorch to guide their way across the small channel, Patrick rowed alongside his brothers. Connor, Bevan, Trahern, and Ewan sailed with him. Though he hesitated about bringing his youngest brother, Ewan was the smallest of them and could slip past nearly anyone.
They had made their plans, intending to use the darkness to their advantage. As they traversed the mainland towards Laochre, they relied on instinct and familiarity to guide them. Patrick found himself looking back at Ennisleigh, his thoughts fixed upon Isabel. She deserved so much more than he could give. And that man could never be himself.
Against the midnight darkness, pinpricks of light lay ahead, along with the fortress they would enter. They took no horses but kept stealth as they approached.
“We could enter the souterrain passage,” Ewan suggested. The stone passageway led beneath the ringfort to their storage cairns and there was a ladder underground that they could climb up to slip inside one of the cottages.
“It will be heavily guarded,” Bevan warned. “They would expect us to enter through it.”
“Then what should we do?” Ewan asked. “We cannot go through the front gates.”
