He wasn’t sure if she was awake or dreaming, but he kissed her with all the pent-up need inside of him. His hands moved over her skin, down to cup the heavy breasts beneath her shift. His thumbs caressed the nipples, and she shuddered.
Then her eyes snapped open and she shoved him away. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘Waking you up.’ And the thought of seducing her had crossed his mind as well.
‘Why are you here?’
‘Because I am bringing everyone to Laochre. If what your father says is true about the invasion, we’ll need all the men fighting together.’
She paled, but nodded. ‘Leave me, and I’ll dress.’
‘I’ve seen you unclothed before,’ he remarked. He drew closer, sitting beside her on the bed. ‘Unless you require my assistance.’
She drew back the bedcovers. ‘I don’t need you at all.’
‘Don’t you?’ he whispered. The warm, tempting female skin sent need roaring through him.
He pulled her on to his lap, trapping her in place. He let her feel how much he wanted her, giving her a chance to leave if she would. When she didn’t move, he kissed her again, giving rein to the tide of desire rising within him.
His mind cursed the fact that she could not take her place as queen. They had only stolen moments together, and by God, he meant to make the most of them.
Her bottom twisted against him, and it only made him grow harder. With one hand, he held her waist while his palm slid beneath her shift to her bare breast. He stroked the nipple, heard her gasp when he lifted the shift away. She sat naked in his lap, and he kissed her shoulder, palming both breasts as she stood between his legs.
‘Patrick,’ she breathed. ‘You shouldn’t—’
‘I know it. There are many things I shouldn’t do.’ He fought against the vicious desire gripping him. ‘Do you want me to stop?’
Silently she shook her head. Her full lips tempted him, her hair falling around her bare shoulders like a Saracen veil. Her breath hitched as he kissed every inch he could reach. He kneaded her breasts, turning her to face him before he captured her mouth again.
Like an invader, he seized his plunder, barely aware of why he had come. All he could think of was his beautiful wife standing naked before him. And gods, he wanted her.
Her hands moved down to his trews, unfastening the ties. He tore at his own clothing, needing her skin against his. She touched him everywhere, her palms against his heart, moving down to the hot length of him. He closed his eyes with the dark pleasure.
Before he lost control, he picked her up and laid her upon the bed. Joining her, he leaned down to kiss her breasts. With his tongue he swirled circles over her skin, until he sucked the nipple deep into his mouth. She let out a low moan, and then he reached down to the centre of her womanhood. He rubbed it with his thumb, watching her strain to meet the pleasure. Abruptly, he plunged his fingers inside and she cried out, shaking in his arms as the waves overtook her.
He rolled over and lifted her above him to sit upon his manhood. She slid down, wet and hot with desire. For a moment she sat with him inside her, and the intense agony made him want to beg her to move.
He pulled her mouth down to his, lifting her hips to move her. Her nails dug into his shoulders, but she met his rhythm, taking him deep within her womb.
As he made love to her, his sense of possession grew stronger. He didn’t want any man to ever touch her, save himself. She belonged to him, and for a moment, he allowed himself to imagine a life with her. Even though it was forbidden to him.
He changed their position, standing up beside the bed. He pulled her hips to the edge of the bed and lifted her, driving deep inside. Her breath shattered and he growled as the fierce pleasure took hold. Before he could spill himself in her depths, he pulled out, his seed spurting beside her.
He had done it without thinking. Crestfallen, she turned away from him.
‘Isabel, I didn’t mean—’
‘Yes, you did. I know you don’t want a child. Not by me.’
He stood and got a cloth. While Isabel cleaned herself, he put on his clothing. ‘I am sorry.’ He tossed her the léine and overdress. ‘I did not mean to hurt your feelings. You caught me by surprise.’
Isabel moved to a table and picked up her comb. Running it through her hair, she covered it with a veil.
She counted herself a fool for allowing Patrick back into her bed. She’d let herself be ruled by the needs of her body, instead of thinking clearly. And now he wanted her to join him at Laochre with the rest of the islanders and her people. She dreaded it.
Outside the donjon, the folk gathered. Trahern and Ewan had loaded their boats, and a few of the islanders took their vessels, filling them with people. The grey sky released soft drops of rain, coating her skin with a fine mist. Isabel raised her brat over her head to shield it from the rain.
She caught a glimpse of her husband watching her, and his gaze seared her with the memory of this morning. Though she understood the reason for bringing all of the people to Laochre, she sensed the disorder it would bring. The lack of space, coupled with the resentment of the Irish, would only increase the tension between the two peoples.
But if they remained separate, the invaders would conquer them all. The women and children remained blissfully ignorant of the circumstances, and Isabel intended to do whatever she could to soothe the animosity between both sides.
The boat rocked gently upon the journey to the mainland. Annle and Sosanna joined Isabel, along with the Norman women and children. The Normans fawned over Sosanna’s baby, exclaiming at the sight of the delicate hands and ears. Sosanna glowed with happiness.
At the bow of the boat, Sir Anselm’s face softened at the sight of the newborn boy. He offered Sosanna a gruff smile, and her face coloured in response.
Isabel wondered if the pair might not become more than friends. It seemed possible. She tucked her knees in, watching the green coastline. Patrick rowed along with the other men, his muscles flexing. He continued watching her, and her skin warmed under his gaze. Yet the only thread holding her marriage together was the threat of invasion. Though Patrick desired her, his feelings did not run any deeper.
She wanted so badly to believe that he might claim her as his true wife and make her queen of Laochre. More than ever, she wanted to be at his side. But she could not forget Donal Ó Phelan’s offer—for Patrick to divorce her and wed his daughter instead.
When they reached the shoreline, the Norman women walked with eagerness, as if anticipating a new home. Children raced ahead, a mixture of both Norman and Irish, laughing when they tripped and collapsed into a grassy heap. Sir Anselm walked beside Sosanna, offering her his arm and letting her take a slower pace.
Patrick brought forth a horse from the small shelter near the coast, a creamy mare. Isabel recognised his own horse Bel, a sleek black stallion. Patrick lifted her atop her saddle, then mounted his own horse.
They rode side by side, not speaking, towards the massive ringfort. She was intensely aware of him, from the fine clothing he wore, to the crown upon his brow. ‘How long will we stay at Laochre?’ she asked quietly.
‘Until the invasion is over. It’s safer if we stay together.’
‘What if our people fight one another?’ she asked. She didn’t trust Ruarc not to start another disagreement.
He looked over at her, his own doubts mirroring hers. ‘I’ll need your help. The women may be of use in keeping the peace.’
It was the first time he’d openly asked for her assistance. Isabel tried not to behave as startled as she felt. ‘I will do what I can.’
He said nothing, but stared back at the surrounding landscape. Isabel was surprised to see the expansion efforts at Laochre. In the past few weeks, Patrick had begun plastering the exterior a pure white, to give it the appearance of stone. Just as she’d suggested.
‘It looks almost like you’re building a castle,’ she said, marvelling at the changes. Although it wa
s far from complete, she could see his efforts to transform the fortress into a Norman motte and bailey. Long rectangular wattle-and-daub houses formed barracks for the Norman soldiers.
‘You approve of the changes, then.’
‘Yes.’ She couldn’t hide the awe in her voice. Wooden scaffolding stood high above the donjon, while men worked to build battlements.
‘Sir Anselm sent one of his men, Roger, to help with the designs. He worked on the plans for Thornwyck’s castle, as I understand.’
‘It isn’t quite the same as my father’s.’ She noted differences in the structure. ‘How long will it take you to finish it?’
‘Years, most likely. That is, if no one attacks us again.’
When at last they reached the inner bailey, she handed the horse to a stable lad and followed Patrick inside his dwelling. She lowered the brat from her hair, drawing the shawl across her shoulders. The interior of the donjon, though still needing decoration, had been cleaned and fresh rushes were scattered. The trestle tables had been pushed to the side, providing a large gathering space. Baskets filled with bilberries stood waiting.
‘We will speak with the people here,’ he said. ‘I want them to know what lies ahead.’
Isabel drew the ends of her shawl closer. ‘What do you mean, “we”?’ He didn’t expect her to address the people, did he? Her nerves tensed at the thought.
‘You will address the Normans while I speak to the Irish.’ He reached into the basket and lifted out a ripe bilberry. As if to bribe her, he brought it to her lips. She tasted the blue berry, its sweetness spreading over her tongue.
Her heart quickened with fear. ‘They would never listen to me, Patrick.’
‘Can you not pretend to be a queen? They will heed your command.’ She doubted it, but let him lead her up to the dais.
Through the door opening, she could see the people approaching. Her hands felt like they’d been frozen in ice, her pulse racing. She hated speaking in front of large groups. Saints, even her knees were shaking.
As the Normans and islanders filled the Great Chamber, they were forced to stand shoulder to shoulder. Once all had arrived, almost a hundred men, women, and children filled the space. Isabel noticed that hardly any of the people of Laochre had come; only the folk from Ennisleigh. Most of the Irish stood on Patrick’s side while the Normans stood on her own side.
Isabel wanted nothing more than to flee, to hide beneath a table. But her feet remained rooted, even as she fought to keep her composure.
‘I will speak in Irish,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Translate for me into your own language.’
‘But my Irish is not good enough yet,’ she protested. ‘I do not know all of your words.’
‘You know enough,’ he said, squeezing her hand. Addressing them he began, ‘People of Laochre, we are about to face another invasion.’
And so, as he spoke, Isabel translated for her own folk. They listened without interrupting, nodding their heads when she spoke of the difficulties they would encounter. As time drew on, she relaxed, realising the enormous trust Patrick had placed in her.
He had granted her the chance to be queen, even if only for a short time. It humbled her, and she suddenly understood the immense responsibility of caring for her tribe and her folk. He’d given her that gift. She straightened, finding the strength inside to be the queen he needed her to be.
‘If we are to survive what is ahead,’ Patrick continued, ‘we must not divide our forces.’
A few of the people looked uncomfortable, but did not voice their opinions. When Patrick had finished speaking, somehow Isabel found the courage to speak on her own.
‘We will face many enemies in the coming weeks,’ she said, ‘and the tribes do not want us to join together. Look around you,’ she said, gesturing towards the immense crowd. ‘They wish to keep us apart because they know that no tribe in all of Erin can defeat us if we stand beside one another. If we falter from this path, they will destroy us.’
Patrick translated her words into Irish for the islanders. But there were no sounds of approval, only a sullen silence. Isabel’s face flushed. Had she overstepped her bounds?
Her husband dismissed the people, ordering the soldiers to bring their wives and children to the barracks.
‘Where were your people?’ Isabel asked Patrick in a low voice. ‘The only Irish folk I saw were the islanders.’
‘Likely hiding in their homes,’ Patrick replied. ‘They will answer for it later.’ He followed the others, and Isabel hung back in the Great Chamber.
She stepped down from the dais, studying the interior. The empty space on the walls made her wish for her loom to weave tapestries and other decorations. For a moment she stood in the space alone, wishing she could stay. Although Ennisleigh had become a home, Laochre was a castle of dreams.
She stared at the two chairs on the far end of the room, one for Patrick, and the other for his queen. Looking at the carved wooden chair made her wonder if another woman would ever sit there.
Would he reconsider Donal Ó Phelan’s offer? He’d said he would not put her aside, not until the threat of the Norman invasion was past. She blinked, wishing for all the world that she could be a part of this kingdom.
As she neared the door frame, she saw Sosanna waiting with her child in her arms. A few of the Norman women milled around near the entrance, speaking quietly. One of them moved forward and curtsied. ‘Queen Isabel, what may we do to help? The others won’t speak to us.’
Isabel glanced outside at the stone huts, understanding that the Irish were silently rebelling against the visitors. ‘I need to prepare the Great Chamber for our guests and also arrange the food for the afternoon meal.’
She turned to Sosanna. ‘Will you help the women?’
Sosanna looked down, her face showing her dismay. Isabel reached out and took the young woman’s hands in hers. ‘I need your assistance.’
The woman looked doubtful, but then Sir Anselm entered the fortress. In halting Irish he asked about the young mother’s health. ‘Conas tá tú?’
Sosanna nodded and managed a faint smile. She lifted the infant to her shoulder, patting him lightly.
‘You…sit.’ Anselm’s Irish was barely understandable, but he gestured for her to rest.
‘Anselm, will you help Sosanna find a place where she may sit and help the Norman women work among the others?’ Isabel asked.
The knight agreed. He drew close to Sosanna and waited a moment before lifting her into his arms. The young mother did not protest, but looped an arm around his neck, to Isabel’s surprise.
One of the Norman women drew closer to Isabel. ‘I’ve never seen him in such good temper,’ she remarked. ‘Sir Anselm was one of Lord Thornwyck’s best fighters, but I’ve never seen him smile before.’
‘Much has changed,’ Isabel replied. ‘And I hope you will find a new home here.’
More than that, she hoped the Irish would eventually welcome them. The stony reception did not bode well for the future.
Throughout the morning, the Norman women worked while their children gathered peat for the fires and played games together. Despite their efforts, the tribesmen and women of Laochre kept an awkward silence, behaving as if none of the Normans were there.
Isabel never stopped moving throughout the morning, instructing the Normans, and trying to engage the folk of Laochre and the islanders in the preparations. Whenever she approached one of the people, they stiffened and turned their gaze away as if they didn’t see her.
By the noon meal, Isabel was near tears. She gave final instructions to the women and walked up a winding stone staircase to Patrick’s chamber, hoping for a moment alone. If she could just have a good cry, she could gather herself together again.
But when she pushed the door open, she saw Patrick standing inside. His earlier finery lay upon the bed while he stood wearing only his trews. It appeared that he was about to change into sparring attire, to train with his men.
‘I’
m sorry,’ she murmured, and turned to leave.
‘Don’t go.’ He approached her, closing the door so she was forced to stay inside. With his bare skin so near, she tried to keep her eyes away from him. But saints, he was a handsome man. She wanted to wrap her arms around his waist, bury her face in his neck, and forget all about the problems with the Irish.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘It’s been a difficult morning,’ she admitted. ‘Your tribe won’t speak to me or any of the others. They refuse to leave their huts.’
He shrugged. ‘It doesn’t surprise me. They aren’t likely to welcome your people here.’
‘I don’t know what else to do.’ She sat down upon the bed. ‘I thought we could bring them together as one. But they won’t even try.’
He sat beside her, his expression serious. ‘I’m not sure it could ever be done, Isabel. They will always be enemies.’
And with those words, he severed any hope she might have held. Her idea of unifying them was naught but a foolish dream. If Patrick did not believe it could happen among his own people, then it would never happen. Though he sat only a small distance away from her, she sensed the gap widening between them. Not once had he touched her or made any move towards her.
‘I should go,’ he said, pulling the training tunic over his head.
She veiled her emotions, steadying herself. ‘Will you join us for the meal?’
He shook his head. ‘Enjoy yourselves. I must speak with my men about our defences for the invasion.’
When he’d left, Isabel touched the ceremonial tunic he’d worn, feeling the heat of his body. And though she longed to release the tears, she held herself back.
Though he had offered her a place at Laochre for the first time, even granting her the status as a queen, it felt impossibly lonely.
Chapter Eighteen
T wo nights passed and Patrick stayed away from his wife. Though he shared their chamber, he had slept upon a pallet on the floor. He told himself it was because he needed to dedicate himself to the ringfort’s defences. Sleeping with Isabel would only tear his mind apart, leaving him a slave to his body’s needs.
Her Warrior King Page 20
