Ronan and her brothers left at dawn with more men, but Joan could not relinquish the premonition that her husband would not return. She was restless all day, trying to take her mind off the invasion. Worse, every time she thought of his reaction to the possible baby, her eyes teared up. He had grown so distant last night. She had hoped that Ronan could put aside his past and share in her hopes, but instead, he had closed off his emotions. It hurt more deeply than she could have imagined, for he had every right to blame her. She could only hope that she wouldn’t lose him.
Did he truly believe he wasn’t coming back? Was he planning to sacrifice himself during this invasion, for the sake of his people? Horror filled her at the thought. But she knew how deeply the guilt ground against his conscience. He blamed himself for all of it. And the thought of waiting here for soldiers to bring back his broken body was too much to bear.
She had married Ronan because he had become her friend and because she had wanted to protect him. But now, there was so much more at stake. She had fallen in love with this man. She wanted to awaken beside Ronan and see affection in his gaze. She wanted him to share a life with her and to love her in return.
Joan refused to stand by and let him be martyred—not when she could gather forces from another tribe to help him. She caught sight of Rosamund’s maid and ordered the woman to pack her belongings. She had no intention of interfering with the men’s battle plans—she would stay far away from the fighting. But she intended to seek help from the MacEgans. They had sent men earlier, and now she would ask them for more forces. Yet, it would take time for a messenger to send word and for them to arrive at Clonagh.
She found Rosamund inside the keep. The woman was consulting with their new chieftain, Bertach. ‘They should arrive by nightfall, but you will need to make room among your quarters.’
Joan came closer and asked quietly, ‘Who will arrive by nightfall?’
‘The MacEgan soldiers.’
At her surprised look, Rosamund added, ‘I sent for them a sennight ago. You are not the only one whose husband is in danger.’
Joan was so relieved to hear that they had both come to the same conclusion about needing more soldiers. ‘Do our men know about this?’
Rosamund shook her head. ‘They are too proud to admit they could use more help. Queen Isabel promised me that if we ever needed more men, she would send them.’ She studied the keep and added, ‘The MacEgans can provide a distraction that will keep our husbands alive.’
The thought reassured her, but Joan still had no wish to remain behind. She needed to see Ronan with her own eyes when the battle was finished.
And when he had succeeded in saving his people, only then could she look towards building a life with him.
* * *
They approached Clonagh in the middle of the night. Ronan sent two men inside the fortress to unseal the underground souterrain passageway where his father was being held prisoner. Once the passageway was open, they could silently free the captives.
Rhys and Warrick had joined him, and each man took command of twenty-five other soldiers. Torches flared against the night sky, set in even intervals around the fortress. Ronan steeled himself for the battle ahead, gripping his shield in one hand. Time seemed to slow, and they waited for long moments by the souterrain passage before there was any movement at all.
Finally, Ronan pushed back the shrubbery, and he saw the stone moving away from the passage. It could only be unsealed from the inside, and he held his hand upon his sword until he recognised the faces of his men.
But his father was not among them.
‘There was no one inside,’ a soldier said. ‘No sign of anyone at all.’
They had moved the prisoners, then. Ronan stepped inside the souterrain passage and motioned for six other men to join him. In a low voice, he commanded, ‘The rest of you should encircle the fortress. I will give a signal and then you will attack.’
Rhys hesitated. ‘If you only have six men inside, they could kill you before you can raise a signal.’
He knew the risk, but more men would draw greater attention. ‘What do you suggest?’
‘We could cause a distraction with twenty men near the front gates. Then you would have time to contact Darragh and find out where the prisoners were moved.’
It wasn’t a bad suggestion, except that it would draw the greatest retaliation to those men. ‘It’s a grave risk,’ he said. ‘All of Odhran’s forces would be directed there.’
‘For a short time,’ Rhys said. ‘When your men are in place, we can attack from both within and without. But you must make haste.’
‘Do not kill any of my kinsmen unless they directly attack,’ Ronan ordered. ‘I am trying to save them and their children.’
Rhys nodded and chose twenty men to accompany him. They moved towards the front gates while Ronan took his men inside the fortress. The tunnel was cold, the walls lined with stone. They did not light a torch for fear of being discovered. Instead, each man rested a hand on the shoulder of the one in front of him, with Ronan leading the way. When he reached the ladder, he climbed up, followed by each of his men. Inside the roundhouse, he saw a woman approaching the doorway. Her eyes widened at the sight of him.
‘Where are the children?’ Ronan demanded. ‘We’ve come to get them back.’
‘Odhran keeps them captive within his home,’ she whispered.
He started to move towards the door, but she caught his shoulder, ‘He knows you’ve come, Ronan. Be careful.’
‘Where is my father?’ he demanded.
‘They moved King Brodur, but we don’t know where they took him.’
And then he understood what Odhran had planned—a choice between saving his father or saving the children. If he chose the king, the people would turn against him for not protecting their offspring. If he chose the children, he would be responsible for his father’s death.
It was an impossible decision, one he never wanted to make. But he knew what his father would want—for him to choose the future of their clan over a single man’s life. A shadowed sorrow flooded through him with regret.
When the last of the men had climbed up the ladder, Ronan directed them to prepare for the fight. All they had was the element of surprise. It was the best they could hope for.
And if there was any means of saving both the children and the king, he would do everything in his power to make it happen.
* * *
It was still dark when Joan rode alongside the MacEgan soldiers, her nerves fraught with anxiety. They had arrived near Clonagh at eventide, just as Rosamund had predicted. She was so grateful that her brother’s wife had sent for the men.
‘You shouldn’t be here, my lady,’ Ewan MacEgan told her. ‘It’s too dangerous.’
‘I don’t intend to go near the ringfort,’ she said, ‘but I need to know if my husband is safe.’
‘She can wait with Aileen until the battle is over,’ a male voice interrupted. Joan saw Connor MacEgan approaching on horseback with his wife and more soldiers. ‘We will need help with any wounded men.’
Aileen drew her horse closer and dismounted. She had several baskets of supplies tied to the mare, and she greeted Joan with a smile. Joan inclined her head and returned a smile she didn’t feel. Her heart was tangled up with worry.
‘I didn’t need you to take command,’ Ewan said to his older brother.
‘I’ve been fighting longer than you.’ Connor flicked the reins of his horse and walked alongside him. Though Joan knew he was only being an overprotective brother, he was also undermining Ewan’s authority. The adolescent was not tall, but he had clear strength and a stubborn quality about him.
Connor left four guards with them, and the men began setting up two tents for any wounded men who might be brought back. Aileen began untying her baskets from the mare. Joan helped her bring them inside the first tent. It felt awkward because she could not speak with the young woman, and more than once, she wished she knew the Irish language.
The healer built a small fire outside the tent and set out a pot to boil water. She brought out two wooden cups and added chamomile and mint to both. When the water was hot, she ladled it over the herbs to steep.
‘Thank you,’ Joan said when she took the cup of tea from Aileen. In truth, it felt good to sit down for a time. She had been feeling dizzy this morn, and her body ached as if her courses were about to start. Without thinking, she rested her hand upon her womb, to alleviate the pain.
Aileen studied her a moment, a slight smile on her face. Then with a questioning look, she rested her hand upon her own womb and asked a question in Irish.
Joan did not hide her smile and nodded. Aileen brightened and returned the smile, offering more words that sounded congratulatory. Then the healer busied herself, preparing for the wounded. She lit an oil lamp and placed it inside the tent while she set up her supplies.
Joan stood and helped Aileen sort through bandages. It felt good to be useful, and it helped keep her mind off the aching pain in her middle. As they worked together, Joan took a mortar and pestle to grind other herbs into medicines. Aileen pointed to different objects and began teaching her the names in Irish. In return, she gave Aileen the Norman words.
The darkness began to fade, bringing the faint crease of dawn on the horizon. But instead of bringing a rise of hope for Ronan’s return, Joan’s nerves only tightened. She prayed that her husband would be safe, especially with so many men to fight alongside him. But she hated the feeling of helplessness, for there was nothing she could do now.
A sudden pain struck her abdomen, and she inhaled sharply, resting her hand across her womb. It hurt so badly, dizziness washed over her, and she let out a slow breath.
Though she tried to hide it, a ringing sound filled her ears and the dizzy feeling grew stronger. She closed her eyes to steady herself, and when she opened them at last, she saw Aileen’s concern.
‘I’m all right,’ she said, even knowing the woman would not understand her.
But then a sudden twisting pain struck hard, and she gasped, pressing her hand to the area. Aileen was at her side immediately, and her expression blanched.
Joan was so afraid, she could hardly bear it. It was indeed possible that she was in danger of miscarrying this child. Aileen helped her inside the tent and helped her lie back on the ground. The healer lightly pressed a hand to Joan’s stomach in silent question.
Tears welled up and spilled on to her cheeks. ‘I’m afraid,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t want to lose my child.’
Aileen held her hand and brought over a small pillow which she placed under Joan’s hips, elevating them. Then she drew Joan’s feet atop a stone, as if to hold the unborn child in place. If only it were as simple as that.
God help her, what would happen when she had to stand again? The aching had not receded at all, and she could not remain like this all day. Panic snared her senses, and she rested her hands upon her swollen womb, as if she could calm the babe and keep it within her.
Aileen gathered other herbs, blending them into another type of tea. She gave Joan the new cup and bade her drink the hot liquid. She obeyed without question, though a part of her was desperately afraid. Her hands moved to grip the wooden cross Ronan had carved, as if she could draw courage from it. She prayed for the child and for his safety. Somehow, Ronan had to come home to her.
Aileen beckoned to one of the Irishmen and spoke with him, giving an order. Joan wasn’t certain what it was, but the man hurried away, retracing the steps the other soldiers had taken. Perhaps he had gone to tell Connor, but Joan didn’t want any distractions to interfere with Ronan’s battle plans.
She wished Aileen had said nothing at all. But she could not dwell upon it, for at the moment, it felt as if someone were trying to split her skin apart.
Please let the baby be all right, she prayed. She was fully aware that this could be the last and only child she ever bore. Though she likely should not have come this far from Killalough, Ronan had needed the MacEgan men. She had to do everything in her power to help him.
She steadied her breathing, feeling such fear, it nearly consumed her. Over and over, Joan told herself that it would be all right. She only had to have faith.
But when she looked down, she saw the blood.