The Lord of Ireland (The Fifth Knight Series Book 3) by E.M. Powell Page B

hand brushed his for the briefest moment. ‘I know you are watching over me, my love,’ she whispered. ‘You will keep me safe.’
    She walked away before he could say another word.
    A nearby crash had him turn quickly. A pile of logs had dislodged and rolled across a cooking fire, sending sparks and shouts of blame into the air.
    Keep her safe. Here. A difficult enough task, and to which he’d devote all his waking hours. But to keep her safe while she spied on the King’s son?
    Palmer pulled his hands through his hair. He could only pray that John was too wrapped up in his fool’s behaviour to notice. But that behaviour couldn’t last. What he needed to do was to get Theodosia away from her half-brother. He just needed his chance. Then to take it. And her.

Chapter Nine
    Tibberaghny, Co. Kilkenny, Ireland
2 6 May 1185
    The hours before dawn bring a cold to the bones like no other. Palmer long knew that, but it didn’t make it any easier, even on a short, early summer night such as this. Sat cross-legged on the damp ground next to the fire at the centre of the camp at Tibberaghny , he poked the embers back to new life with a stick.
    Plenty of life echoed from the high wooden keep on the motte behind him. John had ordered that the building be the first built. Safe within its walls and the high palisade that surrounded it, the Lord of Ireland and his circle of young bucks drank the night away yet again. The rest of the camp remained in damp tents on the churned mud ground.
    Palmer rubbed his face hard to push away his tiredness. Unlike the King’s son, he’d not fall into bed at cockcrow and sleep off the late night until well after noon. He’d see out the night watch, yet again, then oversee the building work along with keeping a check on the men who watched over the camp by day. He had to. The men who worked for John had to be driven, not led. At least those that remained did. The ranks of the deserters had continued to grow. All who were still here were of the same kind as the sleeping Simonson, who lay with others on the ground near the fire, swaddled in a blanket and snoring fit to wake the dead.
    ‘Is someone wrestling a pig?’
    Palmer’s hand went to his knife at the unseen voice.
    Before he could react further, de Lacy stepped from the shadows to take a seat next to him.
    ‘Easy. It’s only me, Palmer.’
    ‘My lord.’ Palmer’s jaw set in his anger at his own failure. He’d not heard the man arrive.
    Fluid as a cat, de Lacy settled and drew out a hunk of bread from his own satchel. ‘Food in your belly helps keep you sharp.’ He held it out to Palmer, the gesture showing he knew he’d bested Palmer.
    ‘Not for me, thanks.’ Palmer pulled a pail containing cuts of meat closer to him. ‘So many cattle around here, there’s beef for the taking.’ He jabbed at a large lean piece with his knife. ‘Can I cook you some too?’
    De Lacy shook his head. ‘Can’t abide the stuff,’ came his odd reply as he tore off a chunk of bread with his awkward, lopsided bite. ‘I must say, I’m impressed with the progress you’re mak ing here.’
    ‘There are many men working hard, my lord.’
    ‘I would see it more as a few men being organised to work hard. I’ve been riding out to see the Lord John’s other two sites at Ardfinnan and Lismore, and they are nowhere near as far on as this fortification.’
    Palmer shrugged. ‘I wish we could work faster still, my lord.’ The other sites didn’t have a Theodosia to keep protected. He might not be able to take her out of John’s orbit, but he could build the most secure encampment he could and guard it with his life to protect her from those outside. Yet the blasted thing still wasn’t finished .
    As if hearing his thoughts, a chorus of whistles broke from the darkness of the woods.
    ‘And it starts again.’ Palmer threw his meat down with a tired oath and stood up to have a look.
    The whistles loudened, the men on the ground stirring and