to hide the exhaustion and hunger.
He started to walk up the stairs when he glimpsed a woman on the other side of the inner bailey. She stood out from the others like a beam of sunlight. There was no doubt she was of noble birth from the snowy-white gown she wore in the Norman style. She was veiled, and a lock of dark hair rested upon one shoulder. Though she had a subdued beauty, her smile caught his attention and held it.
Who was she? Possibly a relative to Queen Isabel, but he could not be certain.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ronan saw a young girl, possibly three years of age, running towards the woman in white. That was the reason for her smile. The girl hurled herself into the woman’s arms, and the woman laughed as she picked her up, kissing her cheek. He guessed it was her mother.
But then the young girl pointed directly at him and whispered to the woman. The woman studied him, her smile fading. Then she shushed the girl and took her hand, leading the child away.
A grim ache tightened within him. Though he knew it was only a child’s curiosity, it felt like an accusation—as if he were a monster come to life. A cold chill slid over his spine as he thought of the children who had fought at Clonagh, trying to save their fathers.
And the one whose death was his fault.
You were not meant to be their prince, the dark voice of his conscience whispered. Ardan was destined to be the king, not you.
His gut tightened, and he forced away the shadowed guilt. There was nothing he could do now except try to mend the mistakes he’d made. He was here for only one purpose—to seek help for Clonagh. The last thing he needed was the distraction of a woman.
When he reached the top of the stairs, Sir Anselm approached to greet him. The Norman knight had been a loyal vassal for several years now, and he had visited Clonagh on several occasions on behalf of the MacEgans.
‘My lord, this is a surprise.’ The knight raised his knee as a gesture of respect.
But although Ronan was a flaith and a king’s son, the traditional greeting only reminded him that he was Lord of Nothing right now. He had been unable to stop the attack on Clonagh, and many would blame him for it.
Ronan followed the knight inside the donjon, his mood darkening. It was difficult to remain patient, for he recognised their urgent situation. He needed soldiers to help him retake the fortress, well-trained men who could seize power from his stepbrother without harming his people.
Sir Anselm led him inside, and Ronan strode through the Great Chamber. Dozens of men and women were gathered at one end of the donjon where the king’s brother, Trahern MacEgan, was telling stories. King Patrick and Queen Isabel were seated at the dais along with their young son and two other men—Normans from the look of their armour.
Sir Anselm led him towards the steps, and the king’s attention centred upon him. Ronan realised that he should not have entered their keep in such a state, covered in enemy blood. The queen’s expression faltered with sympathy, and she summoned a servant to her side, leaning in to whisper a command.
‘I was not expecting your visit, Ronan,’ King Patrick said solemnly. ‘Come and dine with us.’ He motioned for him to sit at the end of their table. A servant brought food, and it took Ronan a great effort not to devour the bread and stew. He’d eaten next to nothing over the past few days, and he finished the food within minutes. The servant brought him more, and he managed to eat more slowly during the second helping.
King Patrick introduced the two men as Rhys and Warrick de Laurent, and he switched into the Norman tongue so the men would understand. Ronan was glad that his father had forced him to learn many languages, though he’d resented the education at the time of his fostering. Even now, he wasn’t certain why the king was drawing these men into the conversation, but they appeared to be warriors. Ronan welcomed help from any source, whether Norman or Irish.
The king began by saying, ‘I did hear that Clonagh was attacked a few nights ago, and that your father, King Brodur, is a hostage. Our neighbouring tribe at Gall Tír informed us of this.’
Ronan nodded and continued speaking in the Norman language. ‘A few nights ago, my stepbrother Odhran gathered his forces and took my father prisoner.’ He began relating the story, keeping all emotion from his voice when he spoke of those who had died. A part of him still felt that he should have stayed, despite the danger. But he knew that the MacEgan allies were their best hope.
Once again, his attention shifted when he saw the woman in white entering the Great Chamber. She balanced the little girl on her hip, lowering her to sit among the other children who were listening to the bard. The child squirmed and then got up to wander around the gathering space. The woman trailed the young girl, keeping a close watch over her.
For some reason, the two Normans tensed when they saw his distraction, and Ronan forced his gaze back to them. ‘I have come to ask for soldiers,’ he finished. ‘I cannot let my people suffer beneath Odhran’s rule. But they were too afraid to fight back against their own kinsmen. And I need to restore my father to his throne.’
The king exchanged a glance with the other two Normans. It seemed as if he was asking their opinion, and Warrick de Laurent spoke at last. ‘How many men do you need?’
‘Two dozen,’ Ronan answered. ‘Three would be better, but if they are strong fighters, it will be enough.’
‘And once you take back Clonagh, what means do you have to keep it?’
He paused. ‘Once I restore my father to his throne and drive out Odhran, we should be able to maintain order with the remaining men.’
A flicker of doubt crossed King Patrick’s face. ‘What happened to Queen Eilis during the attack?’
The mention of his father’s wife renewed his anger. For Eilis had betrayed him as surely as her son. ‘She supported her son’s rebellion and did nothing to aid my father.’
At that, King Patrick sobered. ‘I know what it is to face treachery from within your own castle walls. But you cannot exile your father’s wife. That is Brodur’s decision to make.’
He had not considered those implications. His father might not set his queen aside, and if so, Ronan would be unable to displace the woman, even if he did take back Clonagh. ‘What do you suggest?’
The king exchanged a look with the de Laurent warriors. ‘You should claim the throne for yourself and take a wife. One with an army of her own who can defend Clonagh from any further threats. Keep the men there for at least a year, and then you will know who is truly loyal.’
Ronan tensed at that, for he had no desire to wed anyone, especially after all the mistakes he’d made. ‘I will not hide behind a woman’s skirts. Or in this case, her soldiers.’ His negligence had cost others their lives, and it was better if he remained unmarried.
‘Rhys and Warrick came to Ireland for their sister’s betrothal,’ the king began, ‘but her intended husband died. You may want to consider a Norman alliance with them. They hold lands at Killalough, and they are looking for a new marriage for their sister.’ Patrick reached towards his wife’s hand, and the queen smiled warmly at him. Then he ruffled the hair of his son. ‘Meet her and decide for yourself.’
No. He would never bind a woman to him for the sake of her soldiers. Better to hire mercenaries who would leave once he had
