Isabel didn’t know how, since Anselm’s grasp of the Irish language was little better than a young child’s. “They did, yes. Connor MacEgan was there and saw it. He’s gone with Patrick to free Ruarc.” She hid her frustration from Sosanna, for she didn’t believe any of the men should have gone. Ruarc had brought this upon himself.
Annle’s expression turned grim. “Anselm believes that the Normans should go and support them.”
“Why would he? He and the other soldiers did nothing the day the Ó Phelans first attacked.” Though she wished it could be so, she doubted if the men would intervene.
Sosanna blushed, and Annle explained, “Because Sosanna asked him to.”
“She spoke?” Isabel drew closer, hope rising within her.
This time it was Annle’s turn to blush. “Anselm is courting her. And there are other ways for a woman to ask.”
Though Isabel had hoped that one day the Normans might join with the Irish, she didn’t believe the remainder of the Normans would help. They still held grudges against the Irish for the rebukes and teasing they’d suffered.
“The soldiers won’t do it,” she argued. “They are too stubborn.”
Annle shrugged. “Their wives side with us. They don’t like living in this tiny ringfort, and they have promised to coerce their husbands. By any means possible,” she added, with a gleam in her eye.
“Do you think it will work?” Isabel asked. Her husband would never support the Normans going into battle against the Ó Phelans. But four men could never defeat another tribe, no matter how strong they were.
“We can only try.”
Patrickmovedthroughinstinct,his mind detached from the forthcoming fight. He was hardly aware of the danger or the cold of night.
Though he knew it was the right action to save his cousin’s life, he hadn’t forgotten the fear upon Isabel’s face. She’d wanted him to stay behind, not to risk the danger. He’d seen the look in her eyes and the hurt. Although it was wrong, he had wished for a moment that he could comfort her. He wanted to tell her what she meant to him, and how much he wanted her to be his wife in every way.
Yet, how could he choose between Isabel and his people?
Even though his people had turned their backs on him and had refused him as their king, he still couldn’t abandon them. Not even for his wife.
They moved past sleeping men, treading softly. A few of his tribesmen saw them, but they held their silence. Patrick only breathed easier when he reached the interior of the Great Chamber. He and Connor kept their backs pressed to the wall, while they moved into position.
Ruarc knelt upon the dirt floor, stripped bare. His hands were tied behind him, as were his ankles. With a lowered head, his cousin appeared the image of a broken man. At the far end of the Great Chamber, Donal Ó Phelan slept. He sat in the king’s seat, a silver cup dangling from his palm.
Patrick let out a breath while Connor moved along the side wall, past the men. Once, an Ó Phelan yawned and raised his head, seemingly staring right at them. Then he let out a loud belch and settled back to sleep.
They waited in the shadows, until the night's darkness transformed into the gray light of predawn. For hours, they remained near the stairs, out of view from the others. Then Outside, he heard a high-pitched scream, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The woman's voice was familiar, and for a moment, he thought no. She wouldn’t dare.
But then again, this was the woman who had swum across the channel to join them. She would dare anything.
The sounds of steel clashing and battle cries emerged from the courtyard. The drunken men roused their heads and stumbled towards the door. Donal Ó Phelan continued to snore, his head leaning against the high-backed wooden throne.
Patrick signaled to Connor to get Ruarc. His brother hissed to catch the man’s attention. Their cousin jerked in surprise when Connor emerged from the shadows, a knife gleaming in his hands. Ruarc tensed, as if unsure of whether Connor meant to murder him or to free him. Connor sliced the blade against the ropes and beckoned for him to follow.
Patrick removed his cloak and tossed it. With a grateful expression, Ruarc covered himself. When they reached the back staircase of the Great Chamber, Patrick opened up a hidden doorway. It could be locked from the interior, so enemies could not use it to breach their defenses.
Connor stepped through first, then Ruarc, and last himself. Patrick searched for a sign of Isabel. He prayed he was hearing things. He needed her to stay behind, safe upon Ennisleigh.
They did not make it past the inner bailey before the Ó Phelans saw them. A small group of men charged with their swords drawn.
Patrick and Connor unsheathed their own weapons. He focused his attention on the fight, tripping one of the men and disarming him. He tossed the enemy’s sword to Ruarc, who joined them. His cousin fought with a fierce intensity, a man focused upon vengeance.
His own kinsmen joined in the battle, and he noticed that they had begun using their new training. No longer did they attack the Ó Phelans, recklessly charging forward. Instead, they waited for the right opportunity.
At the far end of the ringfort, he saw Trahern and Bevan fighting. They were well outnumbered, and several of the tribesmen flanked them, using whatever spears or weapons they could find against the Ó Phelans.
The Ó Phelan men refused to surrender. Within moments, several of them lay wounded or dying, along with a few of the MacEgan tribesmen. Ruarc’s fighting had slowed down, as if exhaustion had crept up on him. He kept up the motions in a daze, as if completing a training exercise, rather than fighting.
Outside the ringfort, Patrick heard a thunderous noise. His attention shifted toward the entrance, and Normans poured into the ringfort. Wearing chain mail and fully armed, the Normans began to fight alongside his kinsmen.
