and alone, her skin prickled with uneasiness. Sometimes the echo of voices carried upon the wind. They spoke in Irish, a language unlike any other she’d heard. She’d tried to learn a few words, but to little avail. The foreign sound had a musical quality to it, and in no way did it resemble the Norman tongue.
She had to learn it. If the king expected her to weep and gnash her teeth at being exiled, he was wrong. She would find a way to survive here.
Night cast its shadowed cloak upon the land, and she shivered in the evening chill. Perhaps she should have stormed one of the stone huts, demanding a torch. Of course, given their cool reception, she supposed they’d sooner set her on fire than give her aid.
A harsh wind cut through her woollen shawl, and Isabel moved towards a more sheltered part of the fortress. She should have accepted her husband’s offer for a hut of her own.
The sound of footsteps made her heart quicken. Isabel reached down and grabbed a small stone.
Of course, if the man had a sword or arrows, the rock would do naught more than give him a headache. Still, it made her feel better. Was it her husband? Or someone coming to harm her? Isabel clutched the rock tighter.
A man’s shadow fell across the darkened ruins of the castle. No, not a man’s. A boy’s.
A young lad with scraggly fair hair stepped across the threshold. He looked as though he’d never made use of a comb. In his hand he held out a sack.
‘What is it?’ she asked, but he made no reply. Instead, he moved forward and handed her the bundle.
Bread. The warm yeasty smell made her mouth water. She hesitated, wondering if Patrick had sent him. ‘Is this for me?’
He gestured towards the supplies, his eyes watching the food. Isabel took the hint and tore off a piece of bread, handing it to him.
‘I suppose you do not speak my language.’
The boy devoured the bread, behaving as though he hadn’t heard her. She found a jug of mead inside the sack and took a long steady drink. The food and drink improved her temperament, and she began making conversation with the boy.
‘I am sorry I do not have a fire to share. On a night like this, it would make my donjon more comfortable.’
She finished the bread and handed the boy the mead to take a sip. He drank deeply and gave it back. ‘Of course, your islanders would not help me. I would build one myself, if I had flint and steel.’
Though he said nothing, his sharp eyes studied her. Despite his rumpled appearance, his face reminded her of Patrick’s.
‘You’re his brother, aren’t you?’ She stood and circled him. The boy appeared uneasy. ‘Well, if he sent you to spy upon me, you can tell him that he isn’t much of a king. His hospitality is greatly lacking.’ With a glance above her, she pointed towards the burned stairs. ‘I should like to retire to my chamber, but it seems I must use a rock for my pallet and dirt to keep warm.’
He rubbed his hands and pointed to the empty hearth. Isabel brightened when he gathered up a small stack of peat and tinder. He reached inside a fold of his cloak and withdrew flint and a steel knife. In moments, he sparked a flame to life.
‘I could kiss you, you know,’ Isabel remarked. ‘Clever lad.’
His ears turned crimson, and he didn’t look at her. Isabel’s expression tightened. ‘You understood what I said, didn’t you?’
He made no reply, but his colour brightened.
‘I might have known.’ She tossed another brick of peat into the fire. ‘Well, then, what’s your name?’
‘Ewan MacEgan,’ he admitted. He took a long sip of mead, still not daring to look at her.
‘Ewan. And why did King Patrick send you in his stead? Did he have other things to do this eventide besides consummating his marriage?’
Mead spewed from his mouth, and the boy choked. ‘He—he was trying to stop a war. Busy, he was. He sent me to give you food and to see what you needed.’
‘A war?’ She shook her head. ‘Do not be foolish. The only war is the one that will happen when your brother comes back here.’
Ewan glanced towards the sack of food. ‘Is all the bread gone?’
‘No.’ She handed him another loaf, which he ate with enthusiasm. Isabel neared the fire and put her hands out to warm herself. ‘You’re young to be here alone,’ she remarked. ‘Who looks after you?’
‘My brothers.’ Ewan’s face turned distant. ‘Last summer my foster parents were killed in the battle. Patrick allowed me to stay here, but he hasn’t made arrangements to send me elsewhere. He’s been busy with the Normans.’
‘Shall I speak to him for you?’
‘No!’ Ewan tore off another piece of bread. Colouring, he added, ‘I like staying here.’
Isabel supposed the men let the boy do as he pleased. Of course he would be happy. But then, she knew what it was like being separated from her family. If it did the boy no harm, he might as well finish his fostering here.
‘Why don’t you take me back to your brother’s fortress?’ she asked, changing the subject. ‘I assume there is more food there.’
‘Can’t.’ Ewan took a step backward. ‘If that’s all you’re needing, I’ll come back tomorrow morn.’
‘Why won’t your brother let me live upon the mainland?’ she asked. ‘What harm could I possibly do?’ Unless it meant seeing things she was not supposed to know about.
‘It isn’t you. It’s the others.’
‘Others?’
‘Your father’s soldiers. Patrick has to keep them apart from our men. Otherwise, they’ll kill each other.’ He stood and walked to the entrance, eyeing the grey sea. Isabel followed him and squinted at the opposite shore. In the distance, she saw several torches lining an embankment.
‘I should be going now,’ he said.
She was not about to let the boy leave without answers. Patrick had admitted that the marriage was arranged to save the lives of his people. But why were her father’s soldiers still in Erin?
‘Tell me why the men are here.’ She did not trust Edwin de Godred to bring soldiers without a purpose.
‘Thornwyck’s orders.’ Ewan rubbed his arms, stepping closer to the fire. ‘But they may be fighting even now, if Patrick cannot stop them. It’s the first night he brought them together.’
Isabel took another bite of bread, struggling to think. ‘Does he want to unite the people?’
Ewan shook his head. ‘Patrick doesn’t, no. It can’t be done. The Normans killed our folk in battle.’
‘But my father wants them to live together.’ Isabel understood the deeper implications of her marriage. Edwin intended to conquer the fortress and
