Michelle Willingham - Her Warrior King

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 put her in command. He was counting on her to bring the men together, to become Lady of both sides.

Lady of two sworn enemies. Dear God, she didn’t know if she could manage it. Or if she even wanted to venture into this battle.

It was tempting to hide from all of it, here upon Ennisleigh. Her husband wanted her to stay away. She took a breath, steeling herself. Though it frightened her to even think of visiting a fortress under such conditions, she had to know the full truth of what had happened. Only then could she decide whether or not to stay. Was Patrick telling the truth? Or was he simply holding her prisoner?

‘Let me help you,’ she coaxed the boy. ‘I may know some of the men. I can ask them not to attack.’

Ewan shook his head. ‘You must stay here.’

While the boy rattled off reasons why his brother had forbidden her to leave, Isabel ignored him. She could not remain here any longer.

She followed Ewan down the rocky incline to the sandy beach where he’d hauled the boat. His skinny arms struggled to push the vessel into the water, and she stepped inside before he could get any further.

‘You must go back,’ Ewan argued, his hands poised upon the wood.

‘I am going with you, and you will take me to your brother’s fortress. I’m not staying here.’

Ewan’s hands lowered to his sides. He was staring at something out in the water. Isabel turned to follow his gaze and saw the flare of several torches. The flames cast reflections upon the black sea water.

Amid the harsh glow of the torches, she saw a man with black hair. He wore a dark blue cloak, pinned with an iron brooch. His clothing fairly blended into the night and his boat moved forward with a swift grace. The familiar visage made Isabel grip the sides of Ewan’s boat even tighter.

‘Going somewhere, my wife?’

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