But no amount of physical punishment could eradicate the fires of rebellion brewing inside.
They bound him to a post at the center of the camp, baring his back before Normans and Irish alike. In the firelight, Carice saw the reddened flesh that had healed from the night he’d been trapped in the fire.
“What is happening to Raine?” She turned to her father, but Brodie gave no answer. It seemed that he was glad of the punishment. She approached a soldier nearby and asked, “Why is he being whipped?”
“He disobeyed our commander,” the man answered. And when Carice searched for a glimpse of Sir Darren, she saw that the man’s face was bruised and bleeding. Why had they fought?
Her questions died away when the first lash struck Raine’s back. A line of red marred his flesh, and she bit her lip hard, to prevent herself from crying out. A few of her father’s men roared with approval, but the Normans remained silent.
The look on her father’s face revealed his own satisfaction. Brodie was reveling in the whipping, as if he blamed the man for her abduction. And she knew that she could show no emotion at all. No one could know that it felt as if she were the one enduring each lash. It took every last bit of inner strength to watch the leather bite into his skin, knowing the pain he was suffering.
Not a sound did he make throughout the whipping. Were it not for the blood dripping down to the snow, no one would think the lashing had any effect.
“Disobedience will not be tolerated from any soldier,” the commander said, when it was finished. “We will uphold our laws from every man.” With a silent gesture, he ordered Raine to be cut down.
His hands fell to his sides, but he did not lower his head with subservience. Instead, he turned in a slow circle, his gaze searching until he found her. And when he met her stricken gaze, she saw the apology in his eyes.
I am sorry for what I did to you.
He had accepted this punishment as his due, not because he had disobeyed orders, but as penance for delivering her to them. She pressed her fingertips to her lips, hating the thought of his suffering. But she forced herself to look at him, even though it tore her apart to see his wounds.
He cared. She knew that now, and he regretted all that he had done. She only wished that he could change it somehow.
“I am glad to know that the Normans mete out justice where it is due,” Brodie continued. “Though I still believe de Garenne should be held accountable for the men he killed.” He led Carice away from the crowd toward his own tent. She allowed it, because she knew she could not reveal any sympathy toward Raine. It would only cause greater retribution against him.
“He was escorting me to Laochre,” she told her father. “We were attacked, and he defended me from the High King’s men.”
“They were withmymen,” Brodie corrected. “You had no right to leave King Rory’s men or our traveling party. I know you were trying to escape the marriage by taking sanctuary with the MacEgans.”
“I was, yes. But none of that matters anymore, does it?” She saw no point in trying to hide it. He had captured her now, and Raine had aided them. The thought wounded her, and she wondered if he regretted what he had done. Or if he would find a way to help her escape.
“I don’t understand why you ever wanted to avoid the marriage,” her father insisted. “How could you not wish to be High Queen of Éireann?”
Carice met his gaze and admitted, “Because I am dying, Father. What kind of a High Queen could I ever be?”
“You’ve been ill, yes. But you look better.” Her father guided her inside his tent. There were furs set up to serve for bedding, and he brought her a thick crust of bread. “Try to eat more. You must be hungry.”
She thought of Raine’s suggestion, that it might be bread causing her illness. And though it was unusual, she didn’t want to spend the night in pain if that were true. “I will take meat if you have it. No bread.”
Her father shook his head. “No. The healer said you should eat only bread until you’ve regained your strength.”
“I only felt worse when he was treating me. Let me eat what I want, Father.”
But Brodie would not yield. He set the bread down upon a cloth and said, “When you grow hungry enough, you’ll eat.”
That wasn’t true. Whether or not bread had anything to do with her illness, she needed her strength now. “I am tired,” she told him. “I would rest now.”
Her father’s stern expression softened. “I must speak with the commander, but I agree. You should sleep.” He paused amoment and added, “And you should welcome the idea of this marriage, Carice. You will have every comfort, everything you’ve ever desired. More wealth than you could dream of.”
“That was never what I wanted,” she whispered. But he hadn’t heard her. Already he was leaving the tent, and she overheard his promise to return after he’d spoken to Sir Darren.
She sat up, holding her knees against her chest. In the solitude of the tent, she released her tears, wishing she had not let her heart lead her astray. She had given everything to Raine, but it wasn’t enough to change his mind. And although she knew he regretted lying with her, his punishment had brought the memory of that night to the forefront.
He had never wanted to take her innocence, but she had driven him to it. Any guilt from that night was hers to bear, not his. She didn’t know what had prompted the fight between his commander and him, but she didn’t doubt it involved her.
Her eyes burned with grief as she wondered what to do now. They would force her to travel to Tara, where she would have to wed the High King. She would endure a wedding night and an existence that would surely kill her.
When she opened her eyes, she saw the bread lying before her. Although she was hungry, the thought of food sickened her. Or perhaps it was grief at the thought of facing a torturous future without Raine. When she was with him, he had made her want so much more. He’d made her want to live.
