He wasn’t going to let her go through with this. She would not sacrifice her own happiness to spare his life—he would fight his own battles.
The Ard-Righ stood and motioned for his men to draw closer to Carice. In a low voice, he said, “This Norman was holding you as a lover would. He never left your side when you were poisoned. What is he to you?”
Don’t speak, Raine wanted to warn her. Lies or truth would not matter to the High King. But Carice met his gaze and said, “I was unconscious, Your Grace. I can hardly be blamed for someone attempting to save my life.”
“Do you know what the ancient law requires of a woman who is guilty of infidelity?” the High King asked. His voice hardened and he said quietly, “Years ago, we used to burn them alive.”
At that, Raine moved behind her. He wasn’t going to allow any man to lay a hand upon her. “She is innocent.”
To Carice, he spoke beneath his breath in the Norman tongue. “Tell the High King that if I am guilty of admiring a beautiful woman, of not wanting her to die, then let that punishment fall upon me.”
But her face turned sad and she shook her head. In a whisper, she answered, “I will not translate words that will bring you suffering. Not when I can set you free.” There was bittersweet love within her words, and he wondered whether the High King had overheard their quiet conversation.
She stepped away from him and knelt before Rory Ó Connor. “Your Grace, I am yours to command, whether you want me to wed you or return to Carrickmeath.”
Raine wanted to go to her, to pull her from her knees and take her away from this place. The lines of her face were drawn, as if every movement took an effort. To Brodie, he said beneath his breath, “If he lets her go, take her away from here. She’s about to fall, she’s so weak.”
The chief gave a slight nod to show he’d heard him. But before he could move toward his daughter, Rory asked, “Did you know de Garenne was a Norman?”
Carice raised her face and nodded. “I did, yes. Raine heard there was a plot against you, and he warned us about it. We believed that he could find the culprit and stop him.” The liescontained enough truth to be believable, and her swift thinking seemed to make the king reconsider. “We never realized that the guilty man was his comrade in arms.” She lowered her face again, and asked, “Please, Your Grace, search for Sir Darren de Carleigh. He is the man you seek, the one who wanted you dead.”
The High King descended from the platform and came forward. “Why should I believe a word from either of you?”
“You may not believe them,” came a woman’s voice, “but perhaps you will believe me.”
The crowd parted, revealing Aoife, the heavily pregnant woman whom they had saved. She was dressed in silks, her hands resting upon her swollen womb. A rope of pearls rested upon her forehead and a veil covered her red hair.
“Lady Aoife.” The High King inclined his head in greeting. Raine noted a slight tension within the man. “You did not send word that you were stopping at Tara.”
She continued to walk slowly toward the Ard-Righ, and when she reached Rory’s side, she sent him a smile. “No. I came because my husband is journeying here. He received word that Norman soldiers attacked Tara, and several died.”
Again, Raine saw the flare of uncertainty cross the High King’s face. “The Normans were traitors who disguised themselves among my people. But we resolved the matter, and there is no need for Strongbow to travel here.”
“Since Norman soldiers died in the battle,” Aoife continued, “my husband will have to notify King Henry of those men who were involved.”
There was a thread of steel beneath her voice, of a woman unafraid of the High King. She was far more than a noblewoman—she spoke to him as an equal.
Raine put the connection together, suddenly realizing her identity. Aoife was the daughter of Diarmuid MacMurrough, the King of Leinster. It meant that her husband was the notorious Richard de Clare, known to all as Strongbow. A dawning hope broke within him, for she might speak on their behalf. But he worried that she also could endanger Carice, by her knowledge of their relationship.
“I will have rooms prepared for you and your servants while I await him, then,” Rory said, signaling one of his stewards to come forward. “You will want to rest after your travels.”
Aoife nodded, her expression serene. “You are very kind. I am certain we can renew the peace between the Irish and the Normans. But that is not the only reason I am here.”
Her glance fastened upon Raine, and she beckoned for him to come forward. “My husband will want to reward the Norman who saved my life from soldiers who attacked our traveling party. This man protected me, as well as my unborn child.”
She sent a slight smile toward the Ard-Righ. “Strongbow would not be pleased if you harmed the man who saved the life of his wife and heir. I have heard the witnesses, and I can tell you that Raine de Garenne is innocent of any attempt upon your life.”
Her gaze passed over him, and in Aoife’s eyes, Raine saw the trace of warning. She knew what Carice meant to him, but it also appeared that she also recognized the consequences of revealing the truth.
Lady Aoife extended her hands to the High King and added, “Will you release him so that my husband and I may reward him for his service to us?”
Chapter Fifteen
Carice forced herself to look downward to avoid revealing any joy. Though she knew the High King was furious at being interrupted, he had no valid reason to hold Raine prisoner. To do so would only threaten the peace with Strongbow.
“He may be innocent of trying to poison me,” the Ard-Righ hedged, “but his demeanor toward my bride was not innocent.”
“Let him leave, and you will not have to see him again,” Aoife suggested. “There is no reason to keep him as your prisoner.”
