Her Warrior King. Michelle Willingham

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СКАЧАТЬ She turned and studied her father. In his eyes she saw no mercy.

      She looked closer at Patrick MacEgan. Past the anger she saw exhaustion. And a hint of sadness. If he was right, if innocents would die without her acceptance… She closed her eyes, knowing she could not escape her fate. In that moment the chains of obligation tightened around her.

      When the priest asked for her vow again, she forced herself to nod aye. Within moments, the rite had ended. Her husband brushed a kiss of peace upon her cheek, and Isabel clenched her teeth to keep from screaming.

      Throughout the Mass, Patrick kept her hand imprisoned in his. She barely heard the priest’s words, her head spinning with disbelief. So fast. Wedded to a man she didn’t know, a king who lived a world apart from her homeland.

      Afterwards, they walked into the inner bailey. Isabel’s stomach roiled at the scent of the wedding feast prepared. Peacocks, a roasted pig, and all manner of exotic fare awaited them. She couldn’t imagine touching a bite of it. Celebrating was the furthest thing from her mind.

      Patrick stopped in front of his horse. ‘We leave now. Say farewell to your father, for you will not see him for a long time.’

      His command caught her unawares. ‘But my belongings and dowry,’ she protested. ‘The wagons—’

      ‘We’ll send for them later.’

      Isabel cast a glance towards Edwin de Godred. No longer did she see the face of her father, a man she had tried desperately to please. Now she saw a man willing to sell her into marriage with the devil, should it further his own ambitions.

      Her father moved forward. ‘You cannot depart until the marriage is consummated.’

      ‘I have met our agreement.’ Patrick’s expression hardened, and his palm moved down to the hollow of her spine. Isabel stiffened at the mark of possession. ‘You need not doubt the rest. But it will be on my terms, not yours.’

      Lord Thornwyck deliberated before at last handing over a scroll of sealed parchment. ‘If she is not carrying an heir by the time I return to Laochre, I will require evidence that she is no longer a virgin.’

      Isabel’s face burned with mortification. Now it seemed they viewed her as a brood mare. Terror lanced her at the idea of submitting to the Irish king. Though he’d granted her a reprieve from the ceremonial bedding, she had no doubt he would want to share her bed later this night. Her skin prickled beneath the touch of his hand upon her body. The awareness of him only heightened her fears.

      ‘At Lughnasa, we’ll expect you,’ Patrick replied. He did not await a response, but lifted her on to his horse. He swung up behind her, spurring the stallion into a gallop.

      The horse raced onwards while strong arms confined her in an iron grip. Neither her father, nor his men, made any move to stop him. Isabel’s last thought was, God, this was not what I meant when I begged you to save me from this marriage.

      Patrick kept the woman in a firm grip as they rode through the fields. He needed to put distance between them and Thornwyck’s fortress. Though the Baron had let him leave freely, he didn’t trust the Normans to keep their word.

      Isabel de Godred had startled him. He didn’t know what he had expected, but it certainly wasn’t a wife who’d accused him of trying to murder the guests. He’d hoped for a plain-faced, biddable maiden who would follow his orders. Instead, fate had granted him a beautiful woman who looked as though she’d never obeyed a command in her life. Even now her body tensed against his, as though she were contemplating escape.

      In silent response, he tightened his hold. Without Isabel’s presence, he could not free his people. The orders signed by Thornwyck were not enough. The Norman captain had to see her for himself.

      Patrick stared at the horizon, wondering if he would glimpse his brothers. Though he’d ordered them to remain beyond the Welsh border, he suspected they hadn’t. During the wedding Mass, he’d caught a slight motion to his left. But when he’d turned, there was nothing.

      Then again, his brothers were well trained. Like shadows, if they didn’t want to be seen, no one would find them. The fear of anything happening to his family added yet another rope of tension to this tangled web.

      Brutal memories slashed at his heart, of the children who had died in the fires. His brother’s wife, stolen and killed by the Norman invaders. So much loss. And all because of Thornwyck and the Earl of Pembroke’s forces. He could hardly think about the woman he held in his arms, for she was one of them.

      After several hours, he drew his horse Bel to a stop. He chose a spot near a stream, out in the open where Isabel could not run. He lifted her down. ‘Rest for a moment and slake your thirst. Fill this in the stream, and then we’ll go further.’

      She accepted the water bag. ‘Why did you wed me?’ Eyes the colour of polished walnut gazed at him steadily. ‘You said the lives of your people depended on this marriage.’

      Not a tear fell from her eyes, nor did she scream. Quiet and pensive, she met his attention openly.

      ‘You were part of the surrender terms when your father conquered our fortress. If I didn’t wed you, he swore to kill all of the survivors.’

      She blanched. ‘I don’t believe he would really have done that.’

      He didn’t know what kind of sheltered walls had veiled her eyes, but he refused to equivocate Edwin de Godred’s actions. ‘Believe it.’

      She took a few steps towards the stream, her steps faltering. He doubted if she was accustomed to riding for long distances. If she were any other woman, he’d likely stop for the night.

      But she wasn’t. She was one of them and not to be trusted. As long as he remained upon English soil, he had no way of knowing whether Thornwyck would keep their agreement. Even now, his people might be suffering. Two score of Norman soldiers held them prisoner.

      He wasn’t about to waste time with wedding feasts, or with bedding the woman. The sooner they reached Eíreann, the better.

      Patrick knelt beside the stream and lifted the cold water to his lips. Isabel sat nearby, her hands folded in her lap.

      The wind skimmed against her veil, lifting it to reveal a length of golden hair. With full lips and high cheekbones, her brown eyes illuminated her face. For a moment, he almost pitied her. No woman should have to endure a marriage like this one.

      She handed him the water bag. ‘What am I to call you? Your Majesty? My sovereign lord?’

      ‘Patrick will do.’ Though he had earned the rank of petty king, reigning over his tribe, it had been hardly a year. He had not yet grown accustomed to being their leader. He didn’t know how his father and eldest brother had shouldered the responsibility so easily. Every decision he made, he questioned. Especially the agreement with the Baron of Thornwyck.

      ‘You promised me my freedom. Do you intend to give it to me now?’

      He shook his head. ‘When we reach Eíreann. I give you my word.’

      ‘And is your vow worth anything?’

      He folded his arms. It was becoming apparent why Thornwyck had offered his daughter as part of the arrangement. ‘Are you always this difficult?’

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