Themultitudeofsoldiersparted and behind them rode the rest of the tribe, wearing the MacEgan colors and carrying the tribe’s banner. Islanders and the men of Laochre all stood together, fully armed.
“Why are they here?” Isabel asked. Hope swelled inside her, and she relaxed the bowstring.
“My brothers brought reinforcements, it seems.”
She started to move toward them, but Patrick stopped her. “Wait.” Seconds later, three arrows embedded in the wooden shield. “The Ó Phelans haven’t given up yet.”
Infuriated, Isabel released her own arrows, taking satisfaction when they struck their mark.
“Enough. Go toward our tribe.” He gave her a push toward them, and then he followed her with the shield raised. Although arrows rained down upon them, miraculously none of them struck. When they were out of range, Isabel stopped in front of the MacEgan tribesmen.
Bevan and Connor were mounted, and they held the reins of Bel, Patrick’s horse.
“Who is caring for Laochre?” she asked, afraid of the answer.
“Sir Anselm guards it, along with the Normans.” Bevan shrugged. “And all of the women, of course.” His scarred face held traces of anger, but he said nothing further.
“Thank you for coming to our aid,” she said quietly.
Bevan grunted. “You are a MacEgan now. And we would never let anyone harm family.”
Isabel reached out and squeezed his hand. “My thanks, Brother.”
As she passed, she was startled to see the Irish raising their knee to her, bowing their heads in deference.
Ruarc came forward and knelt at her feet. “My queen,” he said solemnly.
She offered her hand, raising him to stand. “Do you accept my husband as your king now?”
“I do, yes. And I apologize for my wrongdoing.”
Isabel looked upon the faces of the MacEgan tribe, her eyes brimming with tears. She smiled, greeting each of them in their own language as she passed. When she spoke with the last man, she suddenly saw her father.
Edwin de Godred dismounted and strode forward. He wore full battle armor, and his gaze passed over her as if inspecting her for injuries. “I understand this enemy tribe thought to take you hostage.” He glared at the ringfort. “But at least your husband had enough sense to come after you. Even if he should have waited for our forces.”
“I thought your forces would attack Laochre,” she dared.
He shook his head. “I gave you my word.” Edwin reached out and touched her cheek. “You are well, Daughter?”
“Thanks to my husband.” She heard Patrick come up behind her, and his arm moved around her shoulders in a protective gesture.
“Good.” Edwin glanced at the Normans. “I think the Earl of Pembroke will leave Laochre in peace. He has his sights on wedding King Dermot’s daughter Aoife.” With a glance toward the ringfort belonging to the Ó Phelan tribe, he added, “What of them?”
Patrick spoke up. “Strongbow may do as he wishes with Donal Ó Phelan's tribe. The chieftain seems overly confident that they can withstand the enemy.”
“Indeed.” Edwin de Godred cast a doubtful look. “It’s a small enough piece of land, but it may have its uses.” He paused a moment. “I wish you good fortune, Isabel. And happiness.”
Without waiting for a reply, the baron turned away and rejoined his army. Though he had not said as much, Isabel felt as though he’d given his blessing. And a part of her softened, inwardly forgiving him.
Patrick lifted Isabel into his arms, a possessive expression upon his face. He set her atop Bel, then swung up behind her. “Send the hostages back to Donal Ó Phelan with an escort of Norman soldiers,” he ordered. “And the rest of you return to Laochre.”
“Where are you taking me?” Isabel asked.
He spurred the horse into a gallop. Leaning forward, he whispered in her ear. “I’m going to do what I should have done long ago.”
“What is that?”
His hand moved to caress her breast. “I’m going to tie you to my bed and ravish you until you cannot walk.”
