Her Warrior King. Michelle Willingham

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      She did not bother to converse during the remainder of the journey. A flare of annoyance sparked. He did not want her to play any part in their lives. What did he expect her to do? Sit in a corner and spin until she rotted?

      Her feelings flamed with silent rage. Aye, she was a Norman, but she had done nothing wrong. She had no choice in this marriage, but she refused to be treated like the enemy.

      Last night she’d stayed awake for hours, trying to decide what to do. Though she could behave like a child and try to flee, it would do no good. Either Patrick or her father would bring her back again.

      No longer could she return to her home or her people. Whether she willed it or not, as a married woman she had no choice but to remain with Patrick MacEgan.

      Her husband claimed Edwin would execute his people if she did not come to Ireland. He’d said there were children threatened.

      The very thought numbed her heart. Cruel deeds happened in battle. She’d seen it for herself once, and, even now, she shuddered at the memory of a burning village.

      Though her escorts had kept her far away from the carnage, she’d never forgotten the screams of the victims. A young boy, hardly more than three years of age, had stood beside a dead woman, sobbing for his mother. No one had come for him.

      She wished she had ordered her escorts to stop. She should have taken the boy with her, even though she had only been fifteen herself. Likely he had died with no one to care for him.

      It was possible that Patrick’s people had suffered the same fate as the villagers. She didn’t want to believe it. But what if it were true? How could she live with herself if she let others die because of her own selfish fears?

      No, until she fully understood what had happened to his people, she could not leave. She’d accompany her husband to Erin, and learn the truth.

      Isabel expelled a breath, gathering her wits. Surely once Patrick saw her skills at running a household, he would allow her to be useful. Somehow, some way, she would find a way to heal the breach between them and make a place for herself.

      Her future depended on it.

      The coastline loomed before them, shadowed by the sunset. The last vestiges of daylight disappeared beneath the clouded horizon, and Patrick saw his brothers’ horses grazing a short distance away. Relief filled him to know they were safe.

      He slowed the stallion’s gait. The waves surged against the sand, spraying foam into the salty air. Their ship waited on the strand for the morning tide, a vessel large enough for their horses and the four of them. Without the help of his brothers, he could not sail it.

      Patrick reined his horse near the caves and dismounted. Isabel’s eyelids drooped, her body struggling to remain upright. He lifted her down, and her knees buckled before she regained her footing.

      ‘I don’t think I ever want to ride a horse again,’ she murmured. He let her lean against him as they moved towards the caves. After several minutes of walking, he spied the golden cast of firelight against the cavern.

      Lug, but he looked forward to a good night’s rest. Only amongst his brothers could he relax. Each would give his life for the other.

      ‘Come.’ He led her to the mouth of the cave. Isabel stumbled across some of the rocks, and he caught her. Though her body had a delicate softness, her strength of will rivalled his own.

      His brother Trahern stooped near the entrance, his head nearly touching the stone ceiling. ‘So this fine cailín is your new wife?’

      Isabel steadied herself. ‘I am.’

      ‘I am Trahern MacEgan,’ he introduced himself. ‘And it’s curious I am—why you didn’t run away from my brother? If I had to wed him, I would have done anything to escape.’

      She tucked a lock of escaping hair behind her veil and offered a sheepish smile. ‘How do you know I did not try?’

      ‘More’s the pity you didn’t succeed.’ Trahern released a laugh. ‘Come and eat with us, sister. Bevan here is scowling because he lost our wager. He thought you’d run.’

      The scar across Bevan’s cheek whitened. He offered no kiss of welcome, and Patrick did not press for the courtesy. He’d rather his brother hold his silence.

      He led her towards the fire. Isabel huddled close to the flames, shivering to get warm. Her hand moved to her backside, and she closed her eyes as if to suppress the pain.

      ‘There will be no more riding,’ Patrick reassured her. In truth, he was glad of it himself, though he did not relish the voyage at dawn. He hated being powerless and at the mercy of the wind.

      ‘I am glad of it.’ Isabel let the brat slide from her shoulders. A damp tendril of hair curled across her shoulders, down to a slender waist. She met his gaze with a forthright stare of her own.

      He tore his gaze away. She might be a beautiful woman, but he had no right to look. The vow he’d made, to leave her untouched, strangled anything his traitorous body wanted.

      Trahern coughed. Patrick recognised the silent message and moved away from Isabel. His brother opened a pouch, offering a loaf of bread, then passed a horn of ale. Isabel accepted a portion of bread and quenched her thirst. He noticed the exhaustion haunting her face. Her brown eyes were strained, her skin appearing far too pale.

      While he satisfied his own hunger, he watched her surreptitiously. She had removed her veil, turning aside from them. Tangled locks of golden hair rested against her neck, and she began rebraiding it. He had never seen a woman perform the task before, since he had no sisters. It seemed almost intimate, watching her weave the strands with slender fingers. She sat beside the cavern wall with her knees drawn up. Almost like a child.

      But the silhouette of her woman’s body could not be denied. The rain had moulded the dress to her skin, and puckered nipples stood out, making him wonder what it would be like to touch her.

      She was forbidden. It was the only explanation of why she kindled any form of desire. He moved to the entrance of the cave, breathing deeply. The night air smelled of salt, and the last of the sun disappeared beneath the waves.

      ‘What will become of me when we reach Erin?’ Isabel asked finally.

      ‘I will grant you your freedom, as I vowed.’ If he kept her exiled upon Ennisleigh, she could move about as she pleased upon the island, doing harm to none. And he would not have to see her each day, nor be tempted by her.

      ‘I wish to know my responsibilities.’

      ‘You need not trouble yourself.’

      ‘Because I will never be a queen, isn’t that right?’ Bleak weariness settled in her eyes, and Isabel turned away from him.

      Never had she felt more alone. She had not been allowed to bring a maid with her, nor any of her belongings. Desolation rose within her, an icy cloak of loneliness.

      A piece of wood cracked in the fire, sending sparks into the air. Flickering shadows cast darkness across Patrick’s face. His brothers sat against the opposite wall, their heads lowered in muted conversation.

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