Chapter 8
“Annalise, wait!”
Her legs wooden and her thoughts spinning, Annalise stopped to glance behind her at Eva, who rushed toward her and Orla with Tomas wriggling in his mother’s arms.
The little boy’s grin the only thing that seemed to jar Annalise from the emotional turmoil gripping her, though the anxious concern on Eva’s face touched her, too.
Conor’s twin sister so lovely with her fair features and coppery hair that matched her mother’s, though Tomas’s was as dark-hued as Tiernan’s. The boy giggled and reached out for Annalise, who couldn’t help but gather him into her arms to hold him close.
A slobbery kiss pressed to her cheek that made tears jump again to her eyes, which caused Eva to sigh brokenly and envelop Annalise in an unexpected hug.
“I’m so sorry for what you’re suffering among us…ah, God, I don’t know what else to say to make you feel better.”
As Eva held her, Annalise did feel comforted by her kindness, but Tomas’s protest at being squashed between them brought the moment abruptly to an end.
When Eva drew away holding Tomas again, her eyes glistened, too, in the torchlight that illuminated the stronghold for darkness had fallen and the night air grown colder.
“Eva, you and Tomas will catch a chill,” Orla said with concern as she lifted the hood of Eva’s cloak over her head. “Go now to your dwelling-house, there isn’t anything more to be said. Your father gave his decree—”
“Aye, but Annalise must know that Conor has never offered to marry any woman before—never shown more than the slightest interest even though many have tried to capture his heart. You mean much to him, Annalise, or he would never have spoken against our father. Conor is good and honorable and did not make his offer to you lightly. He meant every word—God help me, I grieve for both of you at what can never be…”
Now Eva fell silent as her expression was so desolate that Annalise was the one this time to reach out and hug her.
Tomas squawked again, too, and used his balled fists to push them apart. Annalise couldn’t help uttering a small laugh at his protests, though inside, her turmoil had only heightened at what Eva had said to her.
Now Orla fairly pushed Eva in the direction of her dwelling-house with a firm, “Go home to your wee Brian and give his nursemaid a rest, sweeting.” Then she looped her arm through Annalise’s to urge her to move along as she added briskly, “Aye, winter will be harsh this year to grow cold so early—ah, here we are.”
Orla didn’t waste any time to usher Annalise into Conor’s dwelling-house and then to the bedchamber where she whisked off Annalise’s cloak.
“Go and sit by the fire.”
Her legs still wooden, Annalise obliged her and sank down with a low sigh into the chair while Orla used a poker to prod the glowing logs into a warming blaze.
Yet Annalise shivered no matter the hearth fire as her thoughts flew to the look on Conor’s face when his father had denounced his startling offer to make Annalise his bride.
His bride! Never in a hundred years would she have imagined Conor to want her for his wife after all the contention between them…interrupted only by that one unforgettable moment when he had kissed her.
Her knees growing weak and her heart racing as she had pressed her body against his and kissed him back—ah, God, after she had shrieked that she despised him.
The Irish rebel who had stood up and announced to his family and clansmen that he wanted to marry her to protect her from a marriage to a man she didn’t love.
We cannot send her to that brute, Father—aye, there’s no reason at all to let Saint Michael know Annalise is among us. Let him believe her dead and she can remain in Glenmalure as my wife…if she will have me.
So Conor had said to her utter astonishment, though in truth, when Ronan had pronounced his plan to demand a ransom for her, Annalise had looked with desperation at Conor as if he could somehow help her.
As if he could save her from marriage to a man Annalise knew with icy certainty would make her life a misery.
Maurice de Saint Michael, who had grabbed her and kissed her so brutally, his mouth crushing down upon hers—God help her!
She could well imagine what else he would force her to do, the mere thought so turning Annalise’s stomach that she leaned forward in the chair and gripped her middle tightly with folded arms.
“Child, are you ill?”
Annalise shook her head, but Orla had already set a bucket in front of her and laid a cool hand upon Annalise’s brow.
“Aye, why wouldn’t you want to retch at what fate has brought to you? I pity you and Conor for being so drawn to each other, but there is nothing to be done, just as I told Eva. Love won’t cure that you’re a Norman pledged to another man and Conor shackled by his father’s decree—”
“Love?” Annalise had sat up to stare at Orla even as the serving woman shook her head and planted her fists upon her hips.
“Aye, have you not seen what’s been staring at you in the face?
Conor has fallen in love with you or would never have objected to his father’s will, just as Eva said, too.
He could have any Irishwoman for his bride, but he wants you…
which is more the heartbreak for him and mayhap for you as well, Annalise Burgoyne.
Unless you tell me now you have no feelings for him at all? ”
Orla’s gaze was so piercing that Annalise could do nothing but lower her head and murmur, “If I said as much, it would be a lie,” which made Orla heave a sigh.
“So I thought. It was the kiss, aye?”
Annalise nodded, her fingers straying to her lips as she murmured, “Yes, his kiss. I believed until that moment I detested him—”
“And why wouldn’t you after all that has happened? Your people slain and Conor’s harsh dealings with you, but now you see that his remorse goes far deeper than any apology he might utter. He loves you, child, God help you both.”
Orla sighed so heavily again that Annalise glanced up to find the serving woman looking down at her with such sympathy, her throat grew tight and fresh tears blurred her eyes.
Yet she blinked them away for weeping wouldn’t change that Joffrey would leave the stronghold in the morning to bring Ronan’s demand to Maurice, who she imagined would respond at once.
She was bought and paid for after all—and now he would have to part with more gold to claim her, which would only add more wretched misery to her life.
She could only imagine what Maurice would do to her to make her atone for all that she had cost him—no, no, she didn’t want to think of it!
Instead, she rose from the chair and rushed to catch Orla at the door, the serving woman clearly deciding to leave her for the night.
“Orla, find Conor for me, will you? Ask him to come here so I might speak to him.”
“Child, nothing you say or do will change Ronan’s plan for you—”
“Yes, yes, I understand, but I must see Conor…if at least to thank him. Will you do this for me?”
Orla didn’t readily answer, her dark eyes once again filled with pity that made Annalise fear she would refuse her.
Yet an instant later, her hand reaching out to squeeze Annalise’s told her that she had moved Orla’s heart.
The serving woman releasing her and leaving the room without another word while Annalise spun around, her heart pounding.
What had she just done? What good would come of anything she might have to say to Conor? Nothing would change, her fate sealed…but he deserved to know how much his offer of marriage had meant to her, didn’t he?
Conor stared into the hearth fire with a near-empty third cup of ale in his hand that he had nursed for long moments since Tiernan and Liam had both left him.
His brothers-in-law headed home to their beloved wives while he had nowhere to go other than the dwelling-house where he had bunked with unmarried clansmen while Annalise occupied his own home.
Yet not for long…mayhap only for another week!
Only a day’s journey separated Glenmalure from Athy in Kildare, where Maurice de Saint Michael resided in a forbidding castle that would soon become Annalise’s new home—God help him, he couldn’t bear to think of it!
Conor threw back the last of the ale in utter frustration and slammed the cup on the table, startling a stout serving maid who stood nearby with a pitcher.
Cursing under his breath, he waved her away and stared again at the freshly stoked fire as he thought of the last time he’d been to Athy to secretly survey the strength of Norman forces there.
Ronan regularly sent out clansmen to Dublin and other towns to keep an eye on their enemies, so he knew full well their numbers were forever increasing, which had clearly fueled his decision to demand a ransom for Annalise.
The castle in Athy was imposing, true, but not large enough to house the hundred or so men-at-arms that rotated in their duties of guarding the stone ramparts and square tower.
Instead, they resided outside the fortress walls in low outbuildings with thatched roofs—and Conor had been close enough one time in his disguise as a merchant to hear several of them grumbling about the leaks whenever it rained.
Yet Maurice was surrounded by knights as well of what number, Conor had never been able to glean, though he had seen some of them atop their heavy horses riding toward the castle.
Arrogant-looking bastards with their gleaming chain mail and weapons who laughed with coarse amusement when townsfolk scattered before them like frightened sheep to avoid their horses’ pounding hooves.
Conor had even seen several Norman knights grab comely young Irishwomen right off the street and hoist them struggling and screaming onto their saddles, only to disappear through the massive iron-clad gate.
His heart going out to them as distraught parents stood helplessly wringing their hands and weeping, though there had been nothing Conor could do but inwardly curse them to hellfire.
Even now he felt a similar swamping sense of powerlessness that made him clench his fists to think again that Annalise would soon be among that despicable lot.
He had no doubt that Maurice had given his brazen knights the freedom to do whatever they wished to those they considered inferior to themselves, which attested to his loathsome nature.
God, how Conor hated them—hated them all!
“Except for one…” he said under his breath as he glanced over his shoulder for the serving maid he had sent scurrying away with her pitcher.
Why not shout out for more ale? Anything to dull the helpless feeling that reared up inside him again as he considered how many more cupsful it would take until he collapsed in a stupor right there in the feasting-hall—
“Conor, did you not hear me?”
Startled, he twisted around in his chair to find Orla had come up alongside him, her expression not kindly at all, but stern as she heaved a sigh.
“You’ve been drinking—ah, God, how much?”
“Three cups,” he admitted with some chagrin for Orla had known him since he was a wee boy, after all. “I’ve never been one for drunkenness, but tonight—well, tonight is different. Now where is that serving maid…?”
He had twisted back around only for Orla to lay a firm hand upon his shoulder that he remembered well from childhood, too.
No harsh words ever coming from her at his misbehavior, only a good sound squeeze that made him meet her eyes.
“Mayhap I shouldn’t tell you, Conor, given you’re full of ale and in no right mind—”
“Tell me what? By God, has something happened to Annalise?” Conor felt sharp relief when Orla shook her head, his senses cleared as suddenly as if she had slapped him.
“If you must know—and if you promise me that you’re clearheaded enough to go to her—”
“Go?” he echoed, rising abruptly from his chair even as Orla still appeared hesitant. “Aye, I swear to you I’m fine. Now will you tell me—”
“She wants to speak to you, but you better promise me as well that you will treat her kindly—Conor? Conor!”
He didn’t answer but charged across the feasting-hall, his heart thundering.
Annalise wanted to speak to him! Yet he slowed near the door as it struck him what Orla had said about treating her kindly.
Did that bode well or ill? Was Annalise intending to rail at him for offering to wed her? Was she happy that soon she would be ransomed and returned to her own kind—and she was eager to let him know as much?
His gut clenched, Conor sucked in a deep breath when a cold blast of air struck him in the face as soon as he stepped outside—and he would swear he saw flecks of snow in the torchlight.
Was an early snowstorm brewing? He prayed it was so as he strode toward his dwelling-house, for then his father would have to delay sending Joffrey under guard to Athy.
Even if she wouldn’t consider marrying him now, a harsh change of weather would mayhap buy him more time to both sway Ronan and win over Annalise, aye?
Such hope fueled him now that he shoved so hard when opening the door that it slammed into the wall, and he heard her cry out from his bedchamber.
Ah, no, he had frightened her, which made Conor rebuke himself for his impatience to see her again. Somehow he forced himself to walk more slowly toward the bedchamber, though his heart still pounded and his mouth had suddenly gone dry.
Was he some green youth to feel so unlike himself? No woman had ever affected him this way—and he knew then he would be lost if Annalise Burgoyne didn’t become his bride.
Drawing a deep breath, he knocked on the door and waited for her permission to enter, Conor determined to do anything to please her.
Aye, anything…