With the weapon drawn, he stood beside Isabel. Any man who tried to harm her would have to go through him first. He raised the shield to protect both of them.
One of the Ó Phelans tried to rush forward, but Isabel loosed an arrow into his heart. “Let us go.”
Slowly, they left the ringfort, Isabel’s arms shaking with the effort of keeping the bow drawn. “Give me the weapon,a stór,” Patrick murmured. “Take the shield and sheathe my sword.” His hands closed over hers, and he kept the weapon drawn.
“I’msorry,Patrick,”shewhispered. She sheathed his sword in the scabbard at his waist and held the heavy shield. He kept the weapon trained upon the tribe. Her body felt numb, and she blamed herself. If she hadn’t been captured, none of this would have happened. Now, both of them would die. She knew it as surely as she knew they had been abandoned by everyone.
“It’s not your fault.” They backed away slowly, and Isabel cast quick glances over her shoulder. The meadow was silent, with no one to help them.
“We have to get out of their range,” she said.
“They aren’t going to let us go. Our only chance of surviving this is if my brothers help us.”
“Will they arrive in time?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. They were supposed to bring the hostages.”
Her heart ached. With her free hand, she touched his shoulder. “I don’t regret a moment of this marriage.” Her voice broke as she continued, “I only wish we had more time.”
He risked a look at her, and in his eyes, she saw a fierce determination. “I’m not giving up on us yet,a ghrá.”
My love.The words slipped inside her heart, warming her. Though she wanted so badly to believe that everything would be all right, she clung to these last moments with him.
“When I give the signal, I want you to run to the forest. Don’t stop, no matter what else happens.”
“What about you?” Terror filled her up at the idea of him facing an army alone. She couldn't lose him.
“I’m going to hold them off and then follow you.”
She shivered, so afraid of what would happen. She didn’t want him to die, or worse, to know that she had caused it.
“My brothers would never abandon us,” he said. “Have faith.”
“I love you,” she whispered, touching his shoulder. “And I don’t want you to die.”
His eyes darkened, and his voice turned gruff. “There’s no other woman I would willingly give up my life for, Isabel. But you have to go. I can't fight until I know you're safe.”
Her eyes filled with tears as she prepared to run. Though she didn’t want to leave, she understood that there was no other choice. The wooden shield was heavy, but she held it to her back as she raced toward the forest. Behind her, she heard the swish of arrows as Patrick released them upon their enemy.
Then in front of her came a deafening battle roar, and she stumbled to her knees. From the hills, the silver of chain mail armor glinted in the sun. Isabel stared at the soldiers, her lungs gasping for air. The Norman army had come upon them.
She froze, glancing back at Patrick. He hadn’t moved, but kept his bow aimed at the Ó Phelan ringfort. The Norman army advanced further, nearly a thousand soldiers surrounding them. Her pulse thrummed faster, and she got up, easing her way back to Patrick.
“Patrick?” she asked, afraid to run.
“Stand with me,” he ordered. He lowered his bow and Isabel returned to his side.
“What do they want?”
He shook his head. “I suspect we’ll soon find out.” He clasped her hand in his, and both of them waited while the men drew closer.
“Whatever happens, I’ll protect you,” he said. “And if I could give up my kingdom to let you live, I would do it.” His mouth brushed a kiss upon the top of her head. “I love you.”
Isabel leaned against him, her heart filled with love for him. “Give me the bow,” she said, and he exchanged the weapon for the heavy wooden shield. “It’s all right.” She nocked an arrow to her bowstring in readiness. “I’d rather die at your side than alone.”
Unsheathing his sword, they stood back to back, awaiting the inevitable. There would be no escape for either of them.
Chapter Twenty-Three
