It wasn’t surprising. Although a year had passed since the invasion at Port Láirge, many of the Irish despised the Normans—especially if their loved ones had died in battle.
“The other four men might still come for you,” Carice offered. “But we will try to reach them.” Inwardly, she wasn’t certain how this woman could possibly travel a mile—not unless Raine returned and helped her mount one of their horses.
What was happening with the Norman soldiers? She had heard no sounds of fighting, nothing at all to suggest that Raine was in danger. He must know the men, she reasoned. Else they would have continued their attack.
But her sense that all was not right only heightened. She kept her attention on Aoife, hoping the woman could continue walking. And in the meantime, she prayed that Raine would return to them.
Raine faced his commander and regarded him. “You were supposed to remain behind us. Lady Carice doesn’t know where we are traveling, but she saw your men.”
“It won’t matter in another day,” Sir Darren countered.
No, but if Carice realized how far to the east they had traveled, she would refuse to go any farther. “I have kept my word to bring her with me. Wait for us at Tara, and we will join you there.”
His commander didn’t seem to trust him at all. “We will continue to follow you, but I will order my men to wait—for now. You should know that we encountered her father’s men. I made an agreement with Brodie Faoilin to help him search for her.”
Raine kept his face neutral, though he suspected that Sir Darren’s patience was waning. But neither did he want Carice to learn the truth until it was necessary. “I will not abandon my duty. But Lady Carice is unwell. She needs another day or two to rest before we can leave.”
Sir Darren shook his head. “I have more men already gathered at Tara. We cannot delay for too long, for I have someone on the inside who may be of use to us.”
A traitor, he meant. Raine’s mouth tightened, and he gave a nod. Sir Darren would not hesitate to use any advantage he held.
The knight’s gaze sharpened upon Raine. “I saw the way you kissed her. You’ve grown too close to her. What will you do when you have to leaveher with Rory Ó Connor?”
He would slit the High King’s throat before he’d allow the old man to touch Carice. But his commander was right—Raine had to let her go. He’d slept hard with her fragile body against his own. It had felt right to hold her in his arms. And when she had spoken of ending her own life, the idea had filled him with dread.
He understood suffering. There were moments when he’d been recovering from the burn wounds when he’d longed for a respite from the endless pain. But he’d fought back to regain his strength. He would never consider seeking his own death, for his sisters were relying upon him.
After his mother had taken her life, the priests would not allow her to be buried upon consecrated ground. Her body had been placed near the woods, far away from the family graves, and all of her possessions had been seized by King Henry’s men. Raine had been left to grieve for a woman who had loved her husband more than her children. He had not been able to forgive her for making that choice, and he would never let Carice even consider the idea of suicide.
He changed the subject, wanting to divert Sir Darren’s attention away from Carice. “Why did your men attack that woman? Were they so desperate to harm a woman expecting a child?”
Sir Darren shrugged. “Her men attacked ours, and we retaliated. She has wealth, so we thought of ransoming her. My men raided their wagons and found gold. She was merely a distraction.”
“I thought you had more control over your men than that, Darren,” he said softly. “They’re turning into common thieves.”
His commander stared at him, his expression stony. “They are away from their homes and families. So long as they obey my orders, I care not if they seize an opportunity where they find it.”
The man’s blatant disregard for the law irritated him, but there was nothing Raine could do. “Let the woman go. I am taking her back to her escorts.”
Sir Darren’s gaze narrowed. “So long as you bring Lady Carice to Tara, it matters not what you do with the other woman.” He wheeled his horse beside Raine. “But if you do not join us at our camp by evening on the morrow, we will come and take her from you.”
It took an effort to hold his tongue, but Raine knew arguing would accomplish naught. They were outnumbered, and if he did not follow orders, they might hurt Carice. “We will be there.” As he left, he sent his commander a warning look. “But if any of your men threaten her, I will tear them apart.”
Chapter Eleven
Carice breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Raine approaching. He drew his horse to a halt and said, “Tell the woman the soldiers won’t bother her any more. I’ve sent them away.”
She translated for him, but Aoife appeared uncertain of whether or not Raine was telling the truth. She clenched her hands together, looking exhausted and afraid.
Carice wanted to ask questions, but the look in his eyes warned her to say nothing. She guessed that he knew the Normans and had used that influence.
“This is Aoife,” she said to him, introducing Raine in turn. “Her escorts are about a mile from here, maybe less.”
“You are one of the Normans,” Aoife accused. To Carice, she demanded, “Why would you trust this man?”
“He is a Norman, yes. But he has earned my trust, and I swear to you, he will only protect us. I hired him to escort me to the west.”
The woman rested her hands upon her swollen belly, and she looked uneasy. “I need to return to my men. They were taking me home to my husband.”
