Chapter 5
Saint Michael Castle, Athy, County Kildare
“Where the devil is my bride-to-be? Her ship should have arrived in Dublin by now—God’s teeth, she should have been here with me by now!”
Maurice de Saint Michael’s enraged roar rang from the rafters of his great hall. He pounded his fists upon the carved arms of his throne-like chair and glared at his portly steward, whose widened eyes looked as if they might pop from his head in fear.
“I-I don’t know, Lord, it’s a puzzlement, indeed—”
“A puzzlement, Virgil? That’s all you have to say to me?
Send a messenger to Dublin at once to inquire of other ship captains if they saw anything amiss over the past week.
Any raiders plying the waters between England and the Irish coast?
Any thick fog or storms to cause the ship to veer off course? ”
“Well, we had rain nearly a week ago that might have been the remnants of a storm,” Virgil offered meekly, only for Maurice’s vehement curse to cause him to back up several steps and nearly stumble.
“Do not speculate, man—just get me some answers, and fast, damn you!”
“Y-yes, at once, Lord!” Virgil stammered before scurrying from the great hall with such haste that he broke wind every fourth step…Maurice’s coarse laughter echoed by several of his knights flanking his chair.
“Timid fool. He’s left a stink after him and probably fouled his trousers—ah, that feels better.”
Maurice had passed wind, too, that sounded like a burst from a trumpet and made him laugh again that his had been so much louder than his steward’s—and why wouldn’t it be?
He was a more muscularly built man than Virgil, and he stretched out his legs to admire the new pair of leather boots he had acquired on his trip to England.
New boots, new clothes, and a new wife soon to warm his bed—God’s blood, he couldn’t wait to plow her on their wedding night and to hear her scream with pleasure or mayhap even pain at the thick length of his sex, but it made no difference to him.
His first wife had given him no children and he needed strong sons to carry on his name and inherit all that he had acquired in Kildare from King Henry and by the fierceness of his sword.
The razor-sharp steel stained with the blood of many an Irishman who had challenged him… a cold grave their reward.
He would think by now that all of the native inhabitants would have bent a knee to the superiority of their Norman overlords, but two-thirds of Ireland had thus far fended off conquest—as well as those hated rebel clans that had taken refuge in the mountains to the east.
Yet in time, England would rule the entire island, Maurice was certain of it. Either by sword or by breeding so many Norman sons and daughters that the Irish would be overwhelmed and defeated by sheer numbers—but what in hell’s fire had become of Annalise’s ship?
She had been bought and paid for many times over by Maurice paying off her father’s debts, but he had lusted after her from the moment he’d seen her as a girl with her fair hair and budding breasts.
The Burgoynes and Saint Michaels had long been neighbors with vast estates in England granted to their forebears by William the Conqueror a century and a half ago—though Edward Burgoyne had nearly lost his lands out of grief for a dead wife.
Grief, of all things! Why mourn the loss of a wife when one could just acquire a new one?
A prettier one…no, not likely. Annalise so blond and beautiful that it made Maurice’s mouth water at the thought of tasting her nipples and driving himself into her virgin flesh.
His sex grown so swollen and hard that Maurice shifted uncomfortably in his chair and waved his men from the great hall so he could attend to the matter—and swiftly.
He waited only a few moments until he was alone, and then yanked down the middle of his trousers to work at himself until he climaxed with a fierce groan of satisfaction that seemed to echo as well from the rafters.
Titters of laughter emanating from the side kitchen where he knew the maidservants had heard him—thank God he had them to ease his need until his bride-to-be arrived at his castle.
A sumptuous wedding feast planned to welcome her.
Their bedchamber freshened with new linen sheets, goose down pillows, and a vivid tapestry depicting a knight and his lady rutting beneath a tree…all brought back from England in honor of his upcoming nuptials.
Just thinking about Annalise lying upon his massive four-poster bed with her golden hair fanned across the pillows and her pale thighs spread wide for him made Maurice work vigorously at his sex again.
His face flushed and sweating.
His mounting grunts making feminine laughter carry again from the kitchen—but Maurice didn’t care.
He didn’t care, either, that Annalise had recoiled from his kiss, her unhappiness about their arranged marriage plain to see. He didn’t want her love and affection, only the heirs he would sire with her.
His second outcry of release even louder than the last, his hot seed spurting against his callused palm as he thought of the strapping sons his lovely new bride would bear him, one after another…
Annalise awoke with a start to a low throbbing in her head, and she blinked in confusion at surroundings she didn’t immediately recognize.
A good-sized bedchamber and a hearth fire lending a bright orange glow, and a woman seated nearby with her graying head bent over her needlework.
Yet Annalise’s groan made the woman look up and then rush toward the bed, and it was then she recognized Orla, who pressed a cool hand to her cheek.
“Ease yourself, child, you’ve been sleeping for hours—and it’s no surprise.
A nice hot bath and then a good meal to fill your belly, aye, and so little rest for three nights.
I was glad when you agreed to lie down on the bed for a while and then you fell fast asleep.
It’s midafternoon and Conor O’Byrne has come by several times to see if you were awake—”
“Conor?”
Stunned by this news as Orla bobbed her head, Annalise struggled to rise, only to fall back upon the pillow, her deep sleep still dulling her senses.
A comfortable mattress…and a plump pillow—God help her, she had slept for hours in Conor’s bed! At once she sat up, startling Orla, who gave a small cry as she backed up a few steps.
“What plagues you, Annalise? A nightmare you cannot shake?”
She didn’t reply, but jumped out of the bed as if scalded and stood there shakily as her head continued to throb.
Mayhap after not eating much for so long and then stuffing herself?
She remembered now asking Orla for another bowl of venison stew and a second slice of buttered bread, and more of that delicious cider…
“Oh!” Lifting the skirt of her gown, Annalise hastened to the bucket in the corner so she could relieve herself while Orla adjusted a wooden screen to grant her some privacy.
Annalise was nearly finished when a loud knock came at the door, her startled outcry echoing Orla’s gasp—the serving woman going so far as to utter a low curse for them to be interrupted at such a moment.
“Surely she is not still sleeping,” came an impatient masculine voice as Annalise adjusted her gown, her face flushing with warmth to hear Conor just outside the bedchamber.
She stepped around the screen, her hand to her throat as Orla glanced at her before cracking open the door, Conor peering inside the room.
“Ah, she is awake—finally.”
Annalise scurried to the opposite side of the bed to seek some refuge as Orla pulled the door wider to admit Conor.
Annalise’s cheeks red-hot now as she recalled the last time she had seen him.
His gaze fixed upon her nakedness while she had tried to cover herself…not so successfully.
He stared at her now, too, though his eyes remained fixed upon her face. His expression lacking the sternness she had come to expect, though she really couldn’t read at all what he might be thinking.
Had his mother spoken to him about his harsh treatment of her? Conor did seem more relaxed, though his broad shoulders still bore some stiffness.
His jaw looked somewhat tight, too, so mayhap he blamed her for Triona’s censure? Annalise stared back at him warily until Orla cleared her throat as if to encourage one of them to speak, Conor moving a step closer to the bed.
“I was relieved to hear you’ve eaten some food and drank…and I see you’re wearing one of my sister’s gowns. The blue color suits you.”
Annalise blinked in surprise, Conor’s solicitous tone not at all what she had expected, which made her feel even more wary.
“Y-yes, but only because your mother was very determined that I oblige her, though I was hungry…”
Annalise didn’t say anything more as Conor actually smiled at her assessment of Triona, a low laugh erupting from him as he nodded.
“Aye, she can be very persuasive. It’s best not to try and cross her…which is why I’m here to offer an apology. It was wrong of me to allow you to go for so long without the comforts owing to a guest—”
“I’m not a guest,” Annalise interrupted him, lifting her chin in spite of how his unexpected smile had warmed her much more than any utterance of regret.
“I’m a prisoner here no matter the kindness of your mother, who told me the same thing.
If I were truly a guest, you would allow me to leave this place at once. ”
“What? Are you so eager to submit to a marriage where you’re no more than chattel? My mother shared with me that your husband-to-be paid off your father’s debts in exchange for your hand in marriage…and you told me yourself that you had no choice. Yet you’re ready to rush into that bastard’s arms—”
“Is that any worse than being among those who hate my kind? You may treat me well—yes, feed and clothe me, but such civility doesn’t make me any less your enemy that you could slay upon a whim!”
Her face burning, her heart pounding, Annalise spun around so she wouldn’t have to look at Conor any longer, even as she heard him sigh heavily.
She heard Orla’s footsteps rush forward, too, but the serving woman didn’t come around the bed to her.
Instead, Annalise glanced over her shoulder to see Orla pull upon the sleeve of Conor’s tunic as if to encourage him to say something, though his jaw once again had grown tight and his eyes darkened.
“I came here not to spar with you, but to offer you a walk outside with me. The fresh air will do you good…and mayhap ease your fears that we intend to hurt you. The O’Byrnes do not slaughter women or children, though I cannot say the same for your accursed people—ah, God, enough!
Either come with me now or remain in this bedchamber, I care not. ”
Annalise heard the scraping of his boots as Conor turned and headed for the door…along with Orla’s half whisper that he give Annalise a chance to accept his invitation as his mother had encouraged him—which made him stop abruptly and mutter a curse.
Truly, she had never heard more swearing than among these wild O’Byrnes! She didn’t want to accompany Conor at all, her first impulse to remain with her back turned to him until he left her in peace.
Yet the prospect of some fresh air and a chance to stretch her legs was tempting indeed…and would give her a chance to survey her surroundings for any avenue of escape.
Most likely a fruitless hope, Annalise recognized as she slowly turned around to find Conor standing near the door with Orla at his side.
The kindly serving woman nodded at her with encouragement, though the familiar sternness on Conor’s face and tension evident in his shoulders made Annalise wonder if she was mad to accompany him anywhere at all.
“I will walk with you.”
There, she had said it as imperiously as a queen, which made another unexpected smile flit across Conor’s handsome face before he grew somber again and bowed his head as if to mock her.
“By all means, Lady Burgoyne, I welcome your company.”
“Here, you will need a cloak, Annalise,” Orla interjected as if to quash any more feigned formality between them and see them on their way.
Within a moment, Annalise was wrapped in the fur-trimmed garment Eva had also given her, and then she followed Conor through the rest of the dwelling-house that she had scarcely noticed the first day of her captivity.
The masculine furnishings of oaken chairs and tables, and little decoration other than weapons hanging from the walls—spears, swords, shields, and knives—not surprising her for so formidable-looking a warrior as Conor O’Byrne.
His stride impatient and his shoulders still stiff as if he already hated every moment of time spent with her before they had even stepped outside.
A brisk wind buffeted her when he opened the outer door that made her gasp with gratitude for the warm cloak she wore, though Annalise didn’t lift the hood to cover her hair.
She wanted to see everything without any obstruction on even the slightest chance there was hope for an escape no matter t—
“My mother will never forgive me if you catch cold, woman.”
Conor had stopped to face her and lifted the hood over her head, his knuckles grazing her cheeks as she gasped, looking up at him.
He stood so close that she swore she could feel the heat of his body emanating from his woolen tunic, his dark gray eyes staring into hers for what seemed the longest moment until he abruptly took her by the hand.
“Come.”
Annalise did…shivering, but not from the chill autumn air.
His fingers so strong and warm when they entwined with hers as no man had ever done to her before that she nearly stumbled, though he caught her and drew her closer to his side.
Annalise certain she had never felt her heart thudding so hard against her breast at his unexpected protectiveness, though she somehow regained her composure enough to chide herself to beware.
He was an Irish rebel and she was a hated Norman, let her never forget—
“Conor, wait up for us!”
Annalise gasped at how he suddenly stiffened, but he didn’t slow his pace or turn around even as she looked over her shoulder at the three clansmen catching up with them.
God help her, were all rebels as strapping and broad-shouldered as these O’Byrnes?
The tallest man with bright reddish-blond hair and the other one dark-haired, while the third man appeared older than Conor by twenty years or more from his silvery hair and slight limp in his right leg.
“Did you hear us, brother?” came another shout that held some annoyance, though still Conor refused to turn around and gripped Annalise’s hand more tightly.
His greater annoyance making her jump as he shouted, “Leave us be, I’m taking our guest for a walk!”