Chapter 4
Annalise rubbed her sore shoulder as she sat up from the pallet of blankets she had arranged in a corner of the room, another restless night behind her.
Yet she couldn’t expect otherwise after sleeping on the hard floor for three evenings now, her empty stomach growling loudly.
She had refused to eat more than a few morsels of bread and had sipped only water, though the kindly serving woman whose name she had learned was Orla had tried in vain to coax her with fragrant stews and spice-scented cider.
The mere thought of the nourishment she had turned away made Annalise’s stomach growl painfully now, and she felt faint from hunger and thirst.
She hadn’t bathed or changed out of her gown, either, refusing all of the comforts offered to her by Orla, who last night had clucked her tongue with disapproval before leaving Annalise alone in the candlelit bedchamber.
She didn’t need to speak the Irish language to read the mounting concern on the woman’s face, which had undeniably moved her…but Annalise refused to do anything more until she knew what these ruthless rebels had in store for her.
Conor hadn’t returned to taunt her further, which was a relief, for she didn’t have any more tears to shed.
She’d heard him outside the bedchamber a number of times, though, when he had spoken to Orla, the deep timbre of his voice eliciting shivers in her as she recalled how intensely he had looked at her.
She was convinced now that she had imagined pity in his gaze when she had blurted out she had no choice as to the man she would marry, Annalise heaving a sigh as she lay back down upon the blankets to stare at the timbered ceiling.
Hard-hearted warriors such as Conor O’Byrne and his rebel clansmen possessed no pity or shred of mercy to have cut down her father’s men-at-arms so brutally when they could have taken them as prisoners instead.
Just the thought of all that blood made Annalise feel sicker to her stomach than hungry, and she rolled over with her face to the wall as despair overwhelmed her.
She was an utter fool to hope for any sympathy or just treatment from these wild Irishmen—
“By God, Annalise Burgoyne, get up from the floor, enough of this nonsense!”
She gasped at the feminine voice that held no small amount of exasperation, and rolled over to see a finely dressed woman with coppery-red hair moving closer, with Orla right behind her.
“Did you hear me? You must be sore to the bone to have slept in that corner for three nights—aye, Orla has told me all about it. Here, let me help you…”
Too startled to protest, Annalise was assisted to her feet by the woman who had remarkable strength for one so slender and petite, much like herself—and who spoke her language, too, as easily as if she was born to it.
“Ah, no, you’re so pale, I should have come sooner, but my husband has been gravely ill. I’m Triona, wife to Ronan, the chieftain of the Glenmalure O’Byrnes. Now come over to the hearth where I can look at you better.”
Annalise again obliged her, surprised that a rebel chieftain’s wife would take any interest in her at all—and wholly dumbstruck, too, by Triona’s beauty, though she must be more than twice Annalise’s age.
The woman’s face smooth and fair with nary a wrinkle, her long unbound hair glowing like flame in the firelight, and her rose-hued lips pursed with concern as she scrutinized Annalise from head to foot.
“You’re a stubborn one, but we can’t have you starving yourself to death. Your hair tangled, your gown dirty and rumpled—ah, good, here’s the hot water for your bath.”
Annalise stiffened at the sight of Orla holding the door open to admit a half dozen serving women carrying steaming buckets. Her sudden impulse not to oblige her captors any further until she knew what they intended to do with her.
Yet Triona, as if reading her mind, clasped Annalise’s arm to prevent her from fleeing to the opposite side of the room—though her vivid emerald green eyes shone with understanding.
“Enough, Annalise, you must accept the fate that has brought you here and not persist with your needless suffering. Your face is pale with hunger and you’re in dire need of a bath. It will do you no good to refuse any longer the comforts we’ve offered you. Now come.”
Sighing brokenly, Annalise could see from the determined set of Triona’s chin that any resistance would be fruitless—and the steaming tub set near the hearth fire did look inviting, she couldn’t deny it.
Annalise had only to murmur her assent and within a few moments, she was assisted out of her clothing and seated in soothing warm water that made her smile in spite of herself.
At once Orla and another maidservant—the sleeves of their plain woolen tunics rolled up above their elbows—began to gently scrub her with rosemary-scented soap from her hair to her toes, which made her blush with some embarrassment at their thoroughness.
Orla appearing quite pleased with herself as if relieved that Annalise had finally relented, while Triona stood off to one side directing another maidservant to lay out several gowns upon the bed.
Squinting against the sting of soap in her eyes, Annalise could see a rose-colored gown, a lovely blue one, and a pale yellow one shot through with threads of gold…her amazement profound that her captors would be so generous with her.
“We will wash your gown so you still have something familiar of your own,” Triona said as she approached the tub, clearly having discerned Annalise’s thoughts.
“My daughter Eva is near your size and was more than happy to give them to you. She’s a kind and gentle soul…
much like my sister-in-law Maire, who married a Norman lord. ”
“She did?” Annalise blurted, stunned to hear about this union between such fierce enemies. Triona nodded and then sighed, her expression grown somber.
“Maire and her husband, Duncan FitzWilliam, and their three daughters were banished to the Scottish Highlands because of his kinship with our family…five years ago now. We miss them terribly, but at least King Henry spared Duncan from execution for what your people deemed treason. Where was your home?”
“Sussex,” Annalise murmured, astonished even more that Triona would share something so personal and painful with her, which prompted her to open up about her own sadness as well.
“My mother died three years ago, which nearly felled my father. His grief so deep that he lost all interest in the affairs of his estate…and he might have lost everything to the Crown if Maurice de Saint Michael hadn’t paid his debts in exchange for my hand in marriage—ah, God. ”
A terrible lump in Annalise’s throat prevented her from saying more, Triona studying her face that suddenly felt flushed and over-warm just at the mention of her husband-to-be’s name.
Annalise must have grimaced, too, her skin puckering with goosebumps at the awful memory of Maurice’s kiss—but Triona seemed to take it that the bathwater was growing cool and gestured to Orla to help Annalise out of the tub.
She rose shakily, unsure if the unpleasant topic that had been broached or her empty stomach had made her feel lightheaded even as she began to shiver uncontrollably in spite of the warming hearth fire.
“Get her out of the water, quickly!” Triona demanded as she grabbed a towel from the other maidservant to drape it across Annalise’s shoulders.
She nearly slipped on the wet floor in spite of Orla’s assistance, Triona reaching out to steady her, too, as the door flew open and Conor rushed into the bedchamber—only to stop short at Annalise’s shriek.
Frantically, she covered her barely concealed breasts with her hands as Triona cried out, too, in anger.
“By God, Conor, leave us at once and close the door!”
His gaze lingering upon Annalise, he nonetheless obliged Triona while she muttered something in Irish and wrapped another towel around Annalise.
“Forgive my son. He did not know I’ve taken matters into my own hands to ensure your comfort.
If Orla hadn’t gone against his wishes and come to me this morning, you might still be lying in that corner and fading away for lack of food.
I will speak to him, you can be sure—now let’s get you dressed and fed. ”
Annalise could only nod, she was so shocked by Conor’s sudden appearance and how his eyes had swept over her…dear God, she felt embarrassed and even more lightheaded by turns.
If she didn’t eat something soon, she knew she would faint. By some miracle, she was swiftly dried off and dressed in a soft linen shift, followed by the blue gown, and seated in front of the hearth fire.
A savory-smelling bowl of warm venison stew placed in one of her hands and a spoon in the other. Annalise felt like a child to be tended to with such care as both Triona and Orla nodded with approval when she began to eat.
Only then did Annalise realize how ravenous she had become as the stew disappeared along with a thick slice of fresh-baked bread slathered in golden butter…all of it swallowed down with the sweetest, most delicious apple cider she had ever tasted.
Her satisfied belch moments later made her gasp in surprise at herself, and for Orla and Triona to glance at each other and share a look that appeared just as pleased.
“M-my thanks,” was all that Annalise could summon for a tightness in her throat that threatened tears of gratitude for their kindness—though she would not allow herself to weep again. Somehow she blinked away the moisture in her eyes as Triona laid her hand gently upon Annalise’s shoulder.
“You are a guest here, not a prisoner. I cannot say now for how long or what might happen, it’s for my husband to decide as Conor mayhap told you.
My son may have seemed harsh, but he is a warrior and your people and ours are sworn enemies.
Yet I share Norman blood, too, though I was raised from a wee babe as Irish—ah, that’s for another time. ”
Stunned by the surprising revelation, Annalise felt a reassuring squeeze on her shoulder and then Triona left the room, followed by the other maidservants, except for Orla. After quietly shutting the door, she seated herself upon a cushioned stool drawn up next to Annalise.
“A beautiful and gracious lady, aye?”
“Y-you speak my language,” Annalise said in utter astonishment, only for Orla to nod and smile, though she sobered just as quickly.
“We all speak the language of our enemy as another weapon with which to fight them. Now drink some more cider.”
Annalise accepted the mug and obliged her, though she barely tasted the brew now for all that had happened so unexpectedly that morning.
Triona’s kindness.
The bath, the lovely gown she now wore, the well-prepared food she’d eaten.
Yet it all seemed to pale when she thought of how Conor had looked at her near nakedness—not with lust…but a stirring warmth of masculine appreciation she had never experienced before.
Annalise’s face suddenly feeling flushed and her heart strangely fluttering, which made her lift the mug again as Orla eyed her with a curious expression that made her cheeks flare all the hotter.
“Forgive me, Mother. I saw that all the guards were gone and I thought—”
“What? That Annalise had escaped somehow when she had so little strength to do so after you did nothing for three days to encourage her to eat or drink?”
Conor stared at the anger flashing in Triona’s eyes and fell silent, unaccustomed to such censure from her…but she wasn’t yet done with him as they stood just outside his dwelling-house.
“Orla came to me earlier to tell me she feared for Annalise and that she had expressed as much to you, and still you did nothing. Begorra, Conor O’Byrne, I’m ashamed of you!
You know her value to us and yet you would see her fall ill for showing some spirit and defying you?
What else did you expect her to do? She was in shock, her people slain—”
“I thought she would relent and accept the comforts I offered her, but clearly I was wrong,” he broke in, and then sighed heavily. “Thank you for intervening, Mother. I was growing worried about her myself.”
“Ah, so you do have some sense about these things after all. Just so you know, she has eaten and drank and mayhap will finally agree to sleep in the bed instead of on the hard floor—and I want you to be kindly to her from now on. Do you hear me, son?”
“Aye…but she is a prisoner—”
“A guest, Conor, that’s how you will think of her from now on.
Your father is thankfully over the worst of his illness and will decide soon what is to be done—but we want her as healthy and whole as her plight will allow.
Ronan kept me confined in his bedchamber years ago when he tried to bend me to his will and it only made me more determined to defy him.
See that she enjoys some fresh air today to improve her pallor and her spirits.
Now, I must go. I’ve been away from your father’s side for too long. ”
Triona didn’t say anything more but hastened away while Conor stared after her…not liking at all that he had been so thoroughly chastened out where everyone could hear.
Especially in earshot of Liam, whose reddish-blond hair glinted in the morning sun as he sauntered toward Conor, grinning.
“Trouble with your comely prisoner, brother?”
Conor didn’t answer, but scowled and headed for the stable as he needed some fresh air himself.
Aye, fresh mountain air and a hard ride to the lough and back would help him to shake off the sting of his mother’s rebuke…and mayhap clear his mind as well of the vision that would not leave him of Annalise standing naked in the tub.
Her creamy skin flushed from her bath and her nipples as rosy as her lips that were parted in shock as she had stared wide-eyed at him…trying to cover her beautiful breasts—
“Enough, man! She may be a guest now, but she’s nothing to you,” Conor muttered even as the stirring memory seemed to grow more vivid with his every step, prompting him to set off at a run for the stable.
Something sparked within him that had grown to more than a twinge of emotion…making him wish at that moment he had never set eyes upon Annalise Burgoyne.