Her Warrior King

by Michelle Willingham

  But each night, he would watch her sleep for a time, memorising her face. He remembered what it was like to join with her and fall asleep with her body entwined with his.

  Though he liked having her with him, he saw the effect upon his people. Isabel worked tirelessly from dawn until dusk, trying to care for everyone, but her efforts only seemed to drive a larger wedge between his tribe and the Normans. The Normans championed her, standing by their lady, while his people stayed far away.

  But this morning, a small group of Ó Phelans arrived, joined by their chieftain Donal. Though he didn’t like granting them entrance to Laochre, they were joined by two brehon judges. He winced, realising that they had yet to settle the fine for the chieftain’s injury.

  At his command, the men were permitted entrance. Strangely, their arrival seemed to provoke a signal. His cousin Ruarc came forward, along with the other members of his tribe. One by one, they joined together inside the inner bailey. A sense of warning pricked inside him, for the folk had not spoken to him in the past three days.

  The chieftain of the Ó Phelan tribe came forward. ‘King Patrick of Laochre. I offered you marriage to my daughter in an effort to unite our tribes. You refused the agreement.’

  Patrick stepped forth and crossed his arms. ‘Why are you here, Donal? If it is the matter of corp-dire, let us settle the fine for your injury now. We are not here to discuss a marriage.’ He ventured a glance at the Normans, grateful that they could not understand the Irish tongue, nor what was happening.

  Donal glanced at the tribesmen. ‘I made an offer, one that would let you rid yourselves of the Normans once and for all. Do you not think your people would desire it? Instead, you brought more of the enemy among them.’

  ‘You still haven’t answered my question.’ Patrick crossed his arms, infuriated at the chieftain’s arrogance. If the man didn’t come to the point soon enough, he’d dismiss them.

  The tribesmen stepped aside, and it was then that he saw what they had brought forth—the large stone chair. The chair meant for crowning a new king.

  And he suddenly understood why Donal had come. With a grim expression, he said, ‘I refuse to bring war among my people. And what you ask me to do is for your benefit, not the benefit of Laochre. My answer is still no.’

  ‘I thought you might say that.’ Ruarc spoke, moving towards the brehons. ‘And since you have broken your oath to protect our tribe, I am calling for your displacement.’

  Rage and betrayal streamed through him. Ruarc’s ambitions had brought this, not any desire to keep the tribe safe. If he persisted in this action, their people would die at the hands of the Normans.

  Ruarc addressed their tribesmen. ‘I have agreed to wed Meara Ó Phelan and join their tribe with ours. If you will have me as your new king.’

  Patrick faced his cousin, the dark anger tightening inside him. He held his temper by the thinnest control. ‘You don’t know what you are doing, cousin.’

  ‘I will fight you for the kingship,’ Ruarc said, raising his fists. ‘If needed, I’ll prove myself before the people.’

  ‘There is no need for fighting,’ Donal said. ‘The brehons will allow the people to elect the king they prefer. Unless another man wishes to compete for the right?’

  No one stepped forward. Patrick searched the crowd for a sign of his brothers, but none were present. He hadn’t seen Trahern or Bevan since last evening, and his suspicions tightened.

  Even his youngest brother Ewan was missing. Tension knotted up inside him, and he saw Isabel at the far end of the fortress. Her hands were pressed to her pale cheeks, and she shook her head at him as if trying to prevent what was about to happen.

  He knew he could provoke a fight with Ruarc. But the frigid hatred upon the faces of his tribesmen stilled his sword. Even if he defeated his cousin, he could see the truth of what was happening.

  As each man and woman approached the judges, giving their answer, he remained standing. And he knew, before the brehons spoke, what the answer would be.

  ‘It is done.’ One of the brehons stood and addressed the gathering. ‘You have chosen to depose King Patrick and set Ruarc MacEgan in his stead.’

  Patrick said nothing. It was like seeing his surroundings through a blurred haze. When the decision was announced, there were no cries of celebration. Patrick took a small measure of comfort in that. But his instincts warned him that the Ó Phelan chieftain was using Ruarc. He didn’t for a moment believe that the two tribes would unite.

  And Críost, the bloodshed. Soon enough, the invading forces would arrive. He feared what would happen when Edwin de Godred learned of this. It would mean war and death to his people.

  Ruarc was addressing the crowd now, but Patrick paid little heed to his words. He walked away from them, trying to think of what he could do.

  One of the Normans stepped forward. ‘My lord, what is happening? None will tell us.’

  Patrick forced his attention to the man. If Ruarc intended to wage war against the Normans, it would happen almost immediately. Though he could order the Normans to fight back, he couldn’t risk harming his own tribesmen. It was better to pull the men back to Ennisleigh and to find another way of protecting everyone.

  ‘Take your wives and your children, along with all the men, to Ennisleigh. Do it now, and do not protest. I will explain there. Your lives are in danger.’

  The soldier nodded and gathered the others. When he began leaving with the large group, Ruarc ordered them to stop. The soldiers continued walking, for they did not understand his words. Several of the islanders joined them, which infuriated Ruarc even more.

  ‘What did you tell them?’ he demanded, striding in front of Patrick. ‘I am the king now, not you.’

  Patrick stared at his cousin. ‘You may wear the title. But you know not what it means to lead the people. You are bringing them to their deaths. What do you intend to do when the Baron of Thornwyck arrives?’

  ‘With our united tribes, we will fight. There will be no more Norman invaders to bother our people.’

  ‘You are a fool if you believe that,’ Patrick said. ‘If you allow the Ó Phelans to join you, you open yourself to their invasion.’

  ‘You are wrong. And now that I hold the kingship, I’ll not allow the Normans to set foot upon Laochre. It will be death to any man who does.’ Ruarc set his jaw.

  ‘I have given them sanctuary upon Ennisleigh,’ Patrick said. ‘They will go there now.’

  ‘You cannot.’

  ‘I can. Ennisleigh belongs to my family. You have no claim upon the land.’

  He took satisfaction in Ruarc’s fury. Then he turned his back on him in a deliberate insult. Isabel was speaking to some of the soldiers, and she moved to his side.

  ‘We cannot find Trahern, Bevan or Ewan. I don’t know what he’s done with them.’ She glanced behind her, as if Ruarc were listening.

  Patrick stilled. If Ruarc had laid a hand on his brothers, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill him, new king or not.

  He strode back and grabbed Ruarc’s tunic, snapping a punch directly into the man’s nose. Blood trickled down into Ruarc’s mouth. ‘What have you done to my brothers?’

  Ruarc tried to return his own blow, but Patrick blocked him with his forearm. His rage gave him a greater strength. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘They’re on Ennisleigh,’ Ruarc gritted.

  ‘They had better be unharmed, or you will answer for it.’ Patrick released him, shoving him down.

  Ruarc stumbled, but managed to right himself. ‘Stay out of Laochre,’ he commanded. ‘You are not welcome here again.’

  ‘I would not set foot upon this ringfort, so long as you are leader.’

  It was as though he were walking through a haze of red, he could hardly see through the anger. He blamed himself, for he should have recognised Ruarc’s treachery earlier.

  They rowed their boats across the channel, and Patrick noticed that Sosanna had joined them. Before they had gone too far, he cautioned, ‘R
uarc will send men after you.’

  Sosanna only raised her chin and looked away. He didn’t know why the young woman would cast her lot with the Normans, particularly after what had happened to her. But then he caught Sir Anselm’s gaze. The Norman knight seemed intent on keeping Sosanna safe.

  When they reached the shore, Patrick ordered all the vessels brought out of the tide’s reach, inside the cavern. With possession of the boats, they could at least avoid more problems from the Ó Phelan tribe.

  He strode up the pathway, searching for a sign of his brothers. Within moments he found them, stripped from the waist up and bound to trees in the orchard. Relieved to find them alive, he cut through the ropes and freed them.

  Though Trahern and Bevan appeared unharmed, Ewan’s eyes were overbright as though he were fighting back tears. ‘We did nothing wrong,’ he said, sniffing. ‘They took us here last night.’

  Patrick sheathed his knife. ‘Ruarc will pay for what he has done. At the moment, we need to form a council and decide how we will handle this situation.’

  To Bevan he asked, ‘Can I rely on you to gather the right men? I want to meet with them at the donjon in an hour.’

  His brother nodded, rubbing his wrists. Blood caked his skin from where he’d tried to free himself. The sight of it heightened his fury. Ruarc would regret endangering his brothers.

  Isabel moved to his side. ‘Bring them to the donjon and let me tend their wounds.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Bevan remarked. ‘Leave it be.’

  Patrick wasn’t surprised at the refusal, along with Trahern’s assent that he, too, was fine. But Ewan was young yet, and humiliated at being taken captive.

  ‘Ewan, go with Isabel,’ he ordered. To Trahern and Bevan, he added, ‘Come and quench your thirst while she tends him.’

  His brothers followed, and one of the islanders brought them clothing.

  Isabel refused to ignore his brothers. She cleansed their raw wrists and offered particular sympathy to Ewan. The extra attention seemed to lift the young boy’s spirits, along with the food she offered.

  When the men dispersed, she said in a low voice to Patrick, ‘May I speak with you alone?’

  He nodded. Isabel led him into her private bedchamber, and though Patrick followed without argument, she sensed that he was careful to stay far away from her. At the sight of her own bed, she remembered their lovemaking a few days ago. And it hurt to think of how much had changed since then.

  ‘I feel as though this is my fault,’ she murmured. She hadn’t even imagined they could take away his rank. In her country, kings were born, not made. But worse, her husband was meant to be a king. She couldn’t imagine him living the life of an ordinary man.

  ‘Ruarc was looking for a way to become king. He conspired with our enemy.’ Patrick eyed the door, as if deliberating what to do.

  ‘But you are the rightful king,’ she whispered. ‘You have to take your position back from him.’

  ‘It is not a decision I can make. The people chose to take me from power. That is their right.’

  Though his voice sounded calm, his eyes held the edge of pain.

  ‘You sound as though you plan to give up.’

  His mouth drew in a firm line, his grey eyes cold. ‘I don’t care about being king, Isabel. What I care about is my tribe. Ruarc does not see the consequences of what he has done. He cannot overpower Strongbow’s men. And I have no doubt that this invasion will happen.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  He shook his head. ‘I’ll meet with the others, and we will decide together.’

  ‘You’ll have to attack your own people,’ she said quietly. ‘He’s counting on you not to do that.’

  He regarded her with a thoughtful expression. ‘I don’t think so. We’ll prepare our forces and defend our people if necessary. There are other ways to infiltrate the fortress.’

  ‘I hope you are right.’ She folded her hands and drew closer. Patrick had a distant expression on his face, and she wished she could do something to help him.

  Though her heart had leaped with hope when he’d refused marriage to Ó Phelan’s daughter, now she understood the price he had paid. It was far too great.

  She placed her hand upon his heart. He didn’t move, didn’t even look at her. Though he had said nothing, she sensed hidden emotions locked inside him.

  ‘It is all right to be angry,’ she whispered. ‘You lost a great deal today.’

  ‘No.’ He took her hand and removed it. Isabel tried to hold a brave expression, not wanting him to see her discomfiture.

  ‘I haven’t any right to feel sorry for myself,’ he said. ‘What matters most is that Ruarc has brought my tribe into a crisis. I won’t stand back and see them suffer for it.’

  ‘What can I do to help you?’

  He shook his head. ‘There’s nothing you can do.’ As he left her chamber and closed the door behind him, Isabel ached inside. Their lives had grown even more tangled, and she knew that her presence was only making matters worse.

  Chapter Nineteen

  R uarc stood within the inner bailey of the ringfort, surveying the land. The Normans had gone, and the entire Ó Phelan tribe entered the gates, triumphant smiles upon their faces.

  A part of him curled up in wariness. He’d won the kingship as he’d hoped, but the MacEgan folk did not share in the celebrating. Although the Normans had gone, he knew they had not seen the last of them.

  A few of his tribesmen quietly entered their huts while the Ó Phelans inspected the ringfort. His instincts warned him to be on guard. Though he had agreed to wed Meara, he had not given over Laochre in exchange. The Ó Phelans were behaving as though they had taken control of the land.

  ‘Your men may stay in the soldiers’ quarters this eve,’ Ruarc offered. ‘The wedding can take place in the morning.’

  Meara Ó Phelan seemed to be a comely, soft-spoken maiden. He’d barely paid her any notice, but he supposed she would make a fair wife.

  He looked to see where his sister was, but Sosanna was not among the MacEgans. He spoke with several members of the tribe, but only one had seen her.

  ‘She went with King Patrick and the others to Ennisleigh,’ the woman said.

  Ruarc wanted to protest that Patrick was no longer the king, but he knew it would make him sound childish. ‘Was she forced to go?’

  The woman shook her head. ‘She went willingly.’

  He didn’t want to believe it. Sosanna was terrified of the Normans. Why would she leave the safety of Laochre only to be surrounded by them on the island? He couldn’t understand it. His instincts warned him that Sosanna was in danger, especially with the way Sir Anselm watched her.

  And as for her child…It was hard for him to look at the infant. His sister should have been happily married by now, not a terrified woman who had lost her will to speak.

  He’d wanted so badly to help her, believing that with the Normans gone, she would heal. And now with the Ó Phelan tribe bound to the MacEgans, they had the strength they had lacked before.

  Donal Ó Phelan spoke quietly with his men, and Ruarc approached him at last. ‘We should talk about the invasion Patrick spoke of. If Strongbow’s army is coming—’

  ‘We will discuss it inside,’ Donal interrupted. ‘Let us drink together and make our plans.’

  When he went inside the Great Chamber, at the far end stood the king and queen’s chairs. The polished carved wood appeared foreign, and he suddenly stared at the Chamber with new eyes. In his gut, reluctance caught at him.

  He’d wanted the kingship so badly, believing that if he held the position, he could rid them of the Normans. He wanted the power to make the decisions. But now that he possessed it, he felt more unworthy than ever. What was he doing, usurping Patrick’s place? His instincts warned him that this was wrong. Reluctantly, he led Donal to sit near him while he chose the king’s seat.

  Donal Ó Phelan signalled to one of his men at the furthest side, and the man lowered a he
avy wooden bar across the door.

  ‘There is no need to bar the door,’ Ruarc argued. ‘We are not under any danger from the Normans.’

  Donal smiled. ‘No. Not from the Normans.’

  His skin turned cold as he regarded the chieftain. ‘Are you threatening us?’

  Donal laughed. ‘There is no threat. You’ve opened the gates to us. And there are so few of you, it’s an easy matter to conquer this fortress.’ He raised a goblet of mead, as if in a mock toast. ‘To the new king.’

  Ruarc reached for his sword, but found a dagger resting against his throat. He grabbed for Donal’s wrists, but three other men held him down.

  He was dimly aware of blades slicing into him, as he fought to free himself. They dragged him from the chair, pressing his face against the dirt while they bound his hands behind his back.

  Gods, what had he done? He had betrayed his king and his people, bringing an enemy tribe among them. Why had he trusted Donal Ó Phelan? He’d been blinded by rage, unable to see past anything but his own vengeance.

  ‘Bind him in the Great Chamber so all can see him,’ Donal commanded. ‘He’ll die at dawn.’

  Ruarc closed his eyes, blood dripping down over his face. He deserved this.

  In the shadows, a slight figure disappeared. When he turned his head, it had gone.

  At night, Patrick gathered a council of both the islanders and Normans, with Trahern to translate. They had spent most of the evening arguing over what to do. Sir Anselm suggested laying siege to the fortress, while Annle’s husband Brendan believed they should wait.

  ‘Ruarc will bring about his own demise,’ Brendan asserted. ‘He lacks the leadership to rule the tribe. And he was never officially given the kingship.’

  ‘They brought the stone chair,’ Patrick mused, ‘but they did not use it. Why?’

  ‘Because they never intended to crown him king,’ Bevan interrupted. ‘The Ó Phelans want Laochre and its holdings. I don’t like it. They’re up to something.’