As he passed through his lands, he watched the people preparing for Lughnasa. Young girls busied themselves stringing garlands of flowers. His men practised with weapons, working to perfect their archery. Many would compete in the games over the next few days.
It made him think of Isabel and the way she had defended them with her bow. Her skill was undeniable. But though she could have defeated any of their kinsmen in the contests, he bridled at the idea of Normans joining the ceremony. Even his wife.
Their rituals were as old as Eíreann itself, and he did not want to risk angering the gods. But he didn’t like leaving her behind either. She was trying the best way she knew how, to be a good wife. It humbled him.
Sunlight glimmered upon the waters. Though he had granted Isabel a boat of her own, not once had she made use of it to come to the mainland. Though she claimed it was near to Sosanna’s birthing time, he suspected she was avoiding him.
She had withdrawn from him and from the islanders. Annle told him that she had stopped visiting the others, save herself and Sosanna. It was as if she meant to isolate herself in preparation for her departure.
He blamed himself for her unhappiness. She deserved a better husband, a better life than this. He mounted his horse and rode along the pathway leading to Laochre. The late summer sun warmed his face, and all around he could see the harvest ripening. In the distance lay the hill of Amadán. On the morning of Lughnasa, the entire tribe would climb to the top of the hill and bury the first ears of corn as an offering to Crom Dubh.
And tomorrow, he would meet with Donal Ó Phelan and discover exactly what the man wanted. Patrick drew Bel to a stop, murmuring words of praise to the animal. Then he gazed out upon the sea.
A glimmer of white appeared on the horizon. At first he thought it was a flock of gulls diving for fish. But when he shielded his eyes, he recognised it as three ships.
The Baron of Thornwyck had come. He was sure of it. And with the Norman’s impending arrival, the day turned from promising to threatening. He predicted at least fifty men, if not more.
His men caught up to him and saw the direction of his gaze. ‘Should we arm ourselves, my king?’ one asked.
‘You should. But no one attacks unless I give the command. We will see what Thornwyck’s intentions are first.’ And if the Baron intended war, they would meet their fate.
He’d known this moment would arise. His men had trained for it ever since he’d brought Isabel home as his wife. They would fight the enemy if needed, and if they seized victory, the Normans would leave, once and for all.
Including his wife. After this, he would set her free.
He should have felt a sense of relief, but instead, a part of him felt empty. He admitted to himself that he’d miss her. A more courageous woman he’d never met. But it was the right thing to do. She would gain the life she deserved, among folk who treated her with respect.
After the battle ended, if he and his men survived, he’d petition the Archbishop, Arthur of Bardsey, for an annulment. Arthur had not yet returned to his seat in Wales after his consecration in Ireland, and Patrick knew Isabel’s dowry could become the bribe needed to end their marriage.
To the other man he commanded, ‘I’m going to meet with the Baron. Be prepared to defend Laochre.’
He urged Bel forward, racing towards the coast. If he could divert the Baron away from Laochre, it would grant his men more time to prepare for the invasion. Edwin could meet with his daughter upon Ennisleigh, and there Patrick could learn the Baron’s intentions.
He steeled himself for what was to come.
* * *
Isabel could not help but smile when she saw the ships. She rowed out to meet them, recognising the soldiers’ wives and children. For a long time, she had wondered whether Edwin de Godred would send them. She had specifically asked him not to come with the women, for his own presence would impede her efforts.
He hadn’t listened. Standing at the bow of the ship, her father wore his best armour, trimmed with gold and silver. His hair appeared greyer than the last time she’d seen him, the lines of age a little deeper around his eyes. When he saw her, he did not smile.
Her stomach tightened with fear, and she wanted suddenly to turn the boat around. But it was too late for that. Instead, she rowed closer, inwardly prepared for his disapproval.
When she reached the first boat, one of the men helped her climb onto the vessel, tying her boat alongside theirs. She estimated approximately thirty people in each boat, a mixture of families, mostly women.
‘Father,’ she said softly. She was glad she had worn the silver torque this day, along with a white léine and a ruby overdress to show her rank of queen.
Edwin’s gaze inspected her, and he frowned. There was no embrace of welcome, only a critical eye. ‘Why would the queen of Laochre approach alone, with no escorts?’
Isabel ignored the question. ‘We will speak of it later.’ To the women and children she smiled. ‘I am glad you have come.’ The children hushed, a few of their eyes widening. ‘I bid you welcome to Erin. We will go to one of the smaller fortresses first, where you may rest and refresh yourselves. I will send word to your husbands and the other men of your arrival.’
Edwin gripped her arm. ‘Why are you avoiding Laochre?’ he demanded. ‘As queen, you—’
‘As queen, it is my right to decide where it is best to bring the women and children.’ She kept her tone calm, though her knees were shaking. She would not risk taking them to Laochre. Already she would have a good deal of explaining to do, and Patrick would not be pleased. But thank the saints, Edwin had only brought a dozen knights as escort instead of an army.
‘You have much to explain, Daughter,’ he said. ‘When we reach land, I wish to have words with your husband.’
Isabel inclined her head. ‘As you will.’
One of the women near to her age dropped to her knees, lowering her head. ‘Thank you for sending for us, Lady Isabel. We have missed our husbands over the past year.’
‘Can we not go to them now?’ one of the younger mothers asked. She carried an infant in her arms, a child the father had likely never seen.
‘They are training,’ Isabel said, ‘and you will see them after sunset.’
* * *
When they reached the shores of Ennisleigh, she led the families into the ringfort, and bid them gather in the donjon. Though several of the islanders saw them while working in the fields, they turned away as though she’d betrayed them.
Isabel hid her own dread, praying that somehow she had not brought more problems among them. When she reached the interior of her donjon, the sounds of excited conversation, crying infants, and whining children soon filled the space.
Her father sat in the high chair at the end of the Great Chamber, waiting. His knights surrounded him, and Isabel brought food and drink to all of them.
* * *
Over the next hour, she helped distribute food, sent the children off to play, and helped arrange pallets for the younger ones. When at last the needs of each person were met, Edwin stood. ‘We will talk privately now.’
There was no avoiding it. She led him out of the Great Chamber and paused at the threshold of her room. Fresh rushes covered the floor and she had made small woven tapestries for the walls. In her chamber, gone was the straw pallet she had once slept upon. In its place stood a canopied bed of sturdy oak. The rich blue coverlet, dyed with woad, was part of her dowry, as well as the goose-feather mattress. Soft cream curtains hung down around the bed to keep the heat within.
She gestured towards a chair. ‘You may sit down.’
Her father remained standing, displeasure tightening his features. ‘Where is your husband?’
‘At Laochre, I imagine.’ She sat down in another chair, folding her hands. Her nerves had grown steadier, and she saw no reason to hide the truth. ‘I live here.’
Edwin’s expression darkened. ‘I arranged this marriage to make you a queen, not an exile.’
Especially her marriage. Though Patrick had softened towards her, she was still a virgin. And though he’d claimed that nothing was the matter with her, it wounded her pride to think of his denial.
‘I should have known you could not manage ruling a kingdom.’ Edwin crossed his arms and shook his head with exasperation. ‘But it won’t matter. In a matter of days, the Earl of Pembroke’s army will arrive here. I will be joining them.’
Isabel’s heart bled at the thought of another battle. ‘What do they want?’
‘Conquest,’ Edwin said. ‘The Earl of Pembroke has come to aid King Dermot MacMurrough in regaining his kingdom. Dermot has promised the Earl his daughter’s hand in marriage.’
She shivered, sympathising with the Irishwoman’s plight. But another matter concerned her more. ‘Will they attack Laochre again?’
Her father narrowed his gaze. ‘That all depends on how cooperative your husband is.’ His anger seemed to escalate. ‘But I can see already that he has not followed the terms of our agreement.’
‘He wed me, as you ordered.’ Needles of fear pricked at her, wondering what else he’d wanted.
‘You are not carrying his babe.’
She blanched and shook her head. With a frank appraisal, her father added, ‘And I would wager you’re still a virgin.’
Isabel’s mouth tightened, and she did not answer. Her father expelled a curse. ‘I might have expected this.’
Heavy footsteps approached the chamber. Isabel rose and moved towards the door. It flew open and her husband stood glaring at her and Edwin de Godred.
Patrick had not donned the finery of a king, but even in a soldier’s garb, his presence commanded her. His sun-warmed skin peeked from behind a leather corselet while the grey tunic accentuated the steel of his eyes. Isabel could hardly breathe, for he looked upon her as though he wanted to take her apart with his bare hands.
He didn’t speak, but closed the door behind him. His furious stance made her wonder exactly what to say.
‘Hello,’ she began.
His eyes focused on her, an intense gaze that burned her confidence into ashes. ‘What is he doing here? And the Norman women and children?’
Isabel didn’t quite know how to answer, since anything she said would only fuel his anger.
But it was Edwin who replied. ‘I told you I would come at the end of harvest to see to my daughter’s welfare and to ensure the terms of your surrender.’
‘You’ve brought more Normans upon my island,’ Patrick accused. ‘Those were never part of our terms.’
Isabel was about to confess that it was her idea, but Edwin strode forward to face Patrick.
‘It was never part of the terms for my daughter to remain a virgin. And she is, isn’t she?’
‘No child of your blood will ever sit upon the throne of Laochre,’ Patrick proclaimed.
The fury upon her father’s face made Isabel long for an escape. Her cheeks burned with humiliation, and they spoke as if she weren’t there. She stood, fully intending to leave. But Patrick blocked her path.
‘Within days, the armies of the Earl of Pembroke will invade these lands,’ Edwin answered. ‘But they will leave you in peace if I ask it.’
‘I am not hiding behind your men,’ Patrick gritted out.
‘You will do as I command, in order to save your people’s lives,’ Edwin countered. ‘This marriage will not be annulled.’
‘Won’t it?’ Patrick’s voice dropped to a low pitch, though Isabel recognised the contempt behind it.
‘Let me go,’ she murmured to her husband. ‘I don’t wish to hear any more of this.’
‘You aren’t going anywhere,’ Edwin said. ‘This marriage will be consummated now, and there will be no divorce.’
‘Father, please. This isn’t your concern.’
‘It is. This marriage will be binding or I will let the Earl’s men do whatever they like to these lands. They can slaughter the entire tribe, for all I care.’
Hot tears gathered in her eyes. Isabel sank down in the chair, wishing both of them would leave. Caught in the middle, she sensed that Patrick could not win this argument.
Patrick opened the door and glared at Edwin. ‘Get out.’
Her father held his ground. ‘It is your choice, MacEgan. I want to see the evidence of my daughter’s bedding. You won’t be ending this union. And my grandsons will be among the kings of Erin.’
While her husband forced her father to leave the room, Isabel could not stop the tears from falling. She had feared Edwin’s arrival, but she’d not expected him to go this far.
Patrick bolted the door and removed his cloak. He moved towards her like a predator, not a trace of mercy written on his face.
‘You heard his orders.’
‘Don’t, please,’ she whispered, lifting her face to meet his. ‘Not like this.’
He unlaced his tunic, revealing the carved muscles from his training. Only a few nights ago, she had desired to touch him, to feel his skin against hers. But now he had become the warrior once more, unreachable.
She turned away, tears burning her cheeks.
His hands touched her shoulders. ‘I am sorry, a chara.’ He moved her hair aside, drying her tears. Then he raised her to stand before him.
Powerful and sleek, her husband intimidated her with his strength. Her body trembled with the knowledge of what he must do. ‘Patrick,’ she breathed.
His hand moved up her back, the lazy touch prickling across her skin beneath the thin layer of fabric.
‘I won’t hurt you,’ he said brusquely. Before she could say another word, his mouth crashed down upon hers. Isabel clutched at him for balance, her mind hardly able to think. The forbidden heat of his mouth, and his hands moving over her skin made her burn for more.
He lifted away her overdress, his mouth hungry upon hers. Isabel clung to him, trying to silence her fears. But when he lowered her léine and bared her skin, she tried to cover herself.
Patrick trapped her hands at her sides, looking upon her with intensity. Though she had wanted him to share her bed at the gathering, now she was afraid. This was a man trapped by duty, infuriated by her father’s will. Not a husband who wanted to touch her.
With a kiss, he conquered her, battling for control. He placed her hands upon his chest, and Isabel felt the violence of his heart beating. She moved her hands over the firm muscles, and then drew her hands lower to his hips.
His hard arousal rubbed against her, and her breath splintered, her womanhood responding by growing moist.
In a single motion, Patrick picked her up and lowered her on to the bed.
Inside, this was killing him. He wanted her; there was no question of that. But he resented being forced into this.
He caressed her hips, moving down her thighs, and she jerked. ‘Shh,’ he whispered, opening her legs. With his hands, he teased her womanhood, stroking her until she trembled. He inserted a finger and felt from the wetness that she was ready for him.
He removed his trews and covered her body with his own. Guilt and resentment flayed him, for he wanted to join with his wife. The Baron’s command infuriated him, but, worse, he craved touching Isabel. He didn’t deserve taking pleasure from this moment.
Patrick closed his eyes, steadying his willpower. He shouldn’t do this, for it would make it even more difficult to end the marriage. But instead, the softness of her silken skin, the sweetness of her, invaded his mind and drove out all reason.
He poised at the entrance and slid himself inside, inch by inch until he felt the barrier of her maidenhead. Then he plunged inside her and broke the fragile membrane.
Her cry of shock caught him like a fist in the gut. Had he hurt her? Shame invaded, and he watched her face for signs of pain.
He moved inside her a few times,
but then stopped. At the moment, he despised himself for what he’d done. He could have shed a few drops of blood on the sheets without even touching her. Edwin de Godred wouldn’t have known the difference.
But selfishly, he’d seized this moment, wanting to be with her. And she hadn’t known any pleasure at all.
He withdrew without letting himself come to fulfilment. Upon the sheets he saw the evidence of her lost virginity.
‘Are you all right?’ he managed to ask.
Her face was pale and stricken. Isabel turned away, sitting with her back to him as she pulled the léine over her bare skin. The silence cut him like a blade, and he dressed quickly, stripping off the sheets.
‘I am sorry, a stór,’ he murmured. As he left her chamber, he damned himself for what he’d done.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Isabel stood beside the window, staring outside at the crowd gathered. The women mingled inside the ringfort, smiling and anxiously awaiting their husbands.
She hugged her waist, feeling numb about what had just happened. Her body ached, and her heart was hurting. Patrick had started to treat her like a lover, arousing feelings deep within her. And then he’d stopped. Without any warning at all, he had joined their bodies and ended it.
Why? Did he loathe touching her that much?
A soft knock came at the door, but she gave no reply.
‘Isabel?’ The voice of her father intruded, and she heard the door creak open.
She didn’t know what he wanted now, nor did she particularly care. Hadn’t he done enough? ‘What do you want?’
‘Are you—did he—?’ Her father seemed at a loss for words. Good. He deserved it, after what he’d forced.
‘Aye.’ She turned to face him, clenching her hands behind her back. ‘It’s done now, and I think you’ve interfered with my marriage enough. I want you to leave us. Go and join whatever armies you like, but don’t return here.’ Her face grew taut with anger. ‘And see to it that the Earl stays far away from here.’
Her father’s expression turned uncomfortable. ‘I only wanted to make you a queen, Isabel. You could not have wed a more powerful man had you remained in England.’
The MacEgan Brothers Series Volume 1 Page 45