“I’m a little bruised, but it’s nothing serious.” She closed her eyes, drinking in the luxury of his touch. Even in the darkness, she craved his nearness.
“Why did you come for me?” she asked. “I saw the Earl of Pembroke’s men.” Part of her wondered if her father had forced Patrick here.
“Why do you think I came,a chroí?” His deep voice washed over her like the answer to a prayer. Then his mouth descended, kissing her as though he would never stop. He took from her, stealing her very breath until her knees trembled. Isabel gripped him, moving her hands over his back, down to his hips. The rigid length of him pressed against her body.
She willed herself to ignore her own desires. This was not the time or the place for a stolen moment. “You shouldn’t have risked it,” she managed, her voice catching. “They’re not going to let us go.”
His long silence unnerved her before at last he spoke. “I swore I’d keep you safe.”
“Your tribe needs you as king,” she argued.
“I’ve done everything I can for them,” he said. “If God wills it, they will succeed against Strongbow’s forces. When I left them, the men were standing together to defend the ringfort.”
A strange sense of hope encircled her heart. “Together?”
“Both our tribe and the Norman soldiers,” he admitted.
There was no trace of resentment, only acceptance. She could hardly believe it. “Can they withstand the enemy?”
“I hope so.”
She reluctantly moved out of his grasp. “You have to go back.”
“I came to set you free. If your father learns you were taken, he’ll destroy us.”
Was that the main reason why he had come? She had wanted so badly to believe it was because he cared about her.Careful, Isabel,she warned herself.
“What bargain did you make with Donal Ó Phelan?” she asked.
“I offered him an exchange of prisoners. We hold his sons hostage. My brothers have gone to bring them from Laochre, and they will take you back with them.”
“What about you?” she asked. When he gave no reply, her heart sank. He knew, as surely as she did, that Donal Ó Phelan wanted him dead. Only then could he claim Patrick’s kingdom.
She didn’t like the implications, that he was offering up his life for hers. “I won’t let you do this.”
His hands moved around her shoulders, pulling her to him. “It’s all right,a chroí.”
Tears burned her eyes as she gripped him around the waist. “I won’t leave you, do you understand? If I do, he’ll kill you.”
“He may kill me anyway, Isabel. But it doesn’t matter. Our tribe is safe, and so will you be.” He brushed away her tears, and Isabel was torn between wanting to strike out at him and wanting to sink into his embrace.
“When he comes for you, swear you’ll go to Laochre," he said. "I’ve chosen my fate.”
“You’ve chosen death. I can’t let that happen.” She let her tears fall freely, resting her head beneath his chin. His strong arms encircled her while he murmured soothing words in Irish.
“Our people may come for us,” he offered.
She didn’t answer. With the Norman invasion happening all around them, their tribe could never leave Laochre. Even if they did, it might be too late. She didn’t want to face being alone without him.
He tightened his embrace, pressing a kiss upon her forehead. “We have tonight,a stór.” He sank down with his back to the wall, holding her close. Isabel wanted so badly to weep, but instead she prayed for both of them.
The hours slipped by, each one more precious than the last. She never knew if she slept, but she would not let go of Patrick, the man she loved.
At last, the noise of men broke through the stillness. Patrick raised her to a standing position. “If something happens that Donal does not keep his word, try to find the hut closest to the back of the ringfort. There is a storage chamber like this one with a passageway that leads to the outside.”
There was hardly time to argue when the piercing sunlight cut through the darkness. A ladder lowered into the chamber. Isabel didn’t move.
“It’s time for you to leave,” Patrick said softly.
