Chapter 9
“Conor? Is that you?”
Still startled by the hard slam of the door a moment ago, Annalise doubted she had ever felt her heart racing so furiously as she heard him murmur, “Aye.”
A husky sound. A deep masculine sound that gave her shivers and made her feel flushed, she couldn’t deny it.
She felt suddenly as if she had no voice to bid him to enter, she was so nervous and yet yearning to see him again, though she could do no more than stare stupidly at the door.
“May I come in?”
She nodded, then laughed sheepishly to herself that he couldn’t see her, and somehow uttered a soft assent.
Almost a whisper, really, but he must have heard her for the door opened and Conor entered the bedchamber…not striding in at all as he’d done before, but with a quietness to him that she didn’t know he possessed.
He stood there staring at her and she, at him. Neither of them saying a word while Annalise’s heartbeat thudded harder and her face grew warmer—until a smoldering log dropping through the metal grate in the hearth made her jump.
Conor, too, seemed a bit startled, and he glanced from the fire back to her, clearing his throat.
“Orla said you wished to speak to me.”
“Y-yes, I asked her to find you.” Annalise blushed deeply, her voice sounding to her like the squeak of a mouse. Swallowing hard as she tried to compose herself, she nearly jumped again when Conor took a step toward her.
A tentative step that showed he was uncertain as to why she had summoned him. She could well imagine what he must be thinking…that she despised him still and intended to mock his unexpected offer of marriage. Yet she didn’t despise him, nothing could be further from the truth!
Conor has fallen in love with you or would never have objected to his father’s will.
So Orla had told her, and Annalise knew now with Conor standing only feet away from her, his eyes searching hers, that she was falling in love with him, too.
Her enemy. How could she have ever dreamed of such an astounding turn of events when her future had been all but decided for her by her father and Maurice?
Annalise winced at the thought and shoved her husband-to-be’s face from her mind, her hands trembling from a desire so strong to reach out to Conor even as he began to turn away.
“I see my presence is distressing you, so I will go—”
“No, no, I’m not upset at all!” Annalise blurted, rushing forward to catch him by the arm. “I wanted to thank you for offering to marry me. It was so kind and honorable…and more than I deserve for what I’ve said to you—”
“That you despise me?”
Conor had turned back toward her and stood so close now that she felt the warmth of his body emanating from his tunic. Annalise bobbed her head and stared up at him as his darkened gaze seemed to bore into hers.
“In truth I did at that moment, but not now, Conor. Not now…” Annelise faltered as his expression almost looked amazed, and then he lifted her hand that had clasped his arm and brought her fingers to his lips to kiss them.
His breath even warmer against her flesh as her knees suddenly felt weak and she uttered a soft sigh of surprise at the gentleness of so formidable a man.
An Irish rebel no less, Conor’s voice low and husky as he drew her closer, her body now flush against him.
“If my father had asked you in the feasting-hall if you accepted my offer of marriage, what would you have told him?”
Annalise didn’t blink as warmth rushed to her face, Conor’s embrace tightening around her even before she murmured, “Yes, I will marry your son, Lord, and gratefully remain here with your clan.”
“Because it’s the lesser of two evils?”
Conor’s arms had stiffened around her as if her response had somehow distressed him, his expression inscrutable in the flickering candlelight—though she shook her head, understanding flooding her.
For so fearsome a warrior, Annalise realized at that moment she held his heart in her hand, and she reached up to touch his face.
“Because you are the better man, Conor O’Byrne, and I care deeply about you. More than I could have thought possible—”
Annalise gasped as Conor’s mouth found hers to silence her with a kiss so impassioned that now her knees did give way…though she didn’t fall.
Conor had lifted her against him even as her arms flew around his neck to hold him close, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.
She swore she could feel Conor’s pounding heartbeat, too, against her breast, everything around her disappearing as all sensation centered around the pressure of his lips upon hers.
Warm…so warm and fervent until he groaned against her mouth and then lifted his head as if with great reluctance to stare down at her.
His handsome face grown stricken now and his gaze anguished, which made Annalise stiffen in his arms as sudden tears blurred her eyes.
Any future with Conor was nothing more than an unattainable dream for the bitter reality that would soon separate them…the ransom and Maurice de Saint Michael.
“No…there has to be another way,” Conor said almost to himself as if he had read her mind. “There must be—by God, he will not have you!”
Conor released her then but held fast to her hand and pulled her with him to the chair where Annalise had left her cloak.
“We must leave now—aye, Glendalough is only a few leagues away. A priest at the monastery there can marry us this very night and then no one can separate us. Not my father or anyone else! Saint Michael will believe you dead just as I said earlier, and no one will be the wiser.”
“But what of Joffrey? He knows the truth—ah, God, surely you don’t intend to slay him?”
Annalise had stopped dead to stare at Conor even as he didn’t answer her, a terrible sinking feeling overwhelming her.
“He has a wife and five children awaiting his return in Sussex. Mayhap he could be sworn to silence—”
“That whimpering scarecrow? All it would take is a blade near his throat and an oath made to me or anyone else would be forfeit. Annalise, we can speak of your steward later. We must go now while everyone is asleep but for the guards, who I’m certain will not defy me when I demand they open the gates—now come! ”
Conor whisked her cloak around her shoulders and then he grasped her hand tightly again as he opened the door and led her through the rest of the dwelling-house.
Her breath caught. Her heart thundering, though the warm strength of his fingers flooded her with reassurance and made her rush alongside him.
Conor was the chieftain’s son, yes? Surely just as he said, no one would dare question him or stop him. Within a few hours she would become a bride—not of the brute whose fetid breath had made her stomach roil, but of the man she longed to once again feel his embrace, his kiss!
Within a blink it seemed Conor had thrust open the door and they stood together outside in the cold as he paused to ensure her cloak was wrapped tightly around her.
His face so handsome in the torchlight that she felt overwhelmed by the masculine beauty of the Irishman she would soon call her husband.
Her husband! Conor’s hair black as midnight and now flecked with snow that whirled around them when again, he drew her with him toward what she knew from their walk earlier that day was the stable.
Never in a thousand years could she have imagined then the swift turn of events that would soon find them married and sharing a bed together before the night was done—ah, God!
Annalise had never felt her cheeks burn so hotly as she wondered if that would even occur within a monastery or if Conor intended for them to return to Glenmalure after they were wed, when nothing could be done to part them—
“Conor, stop at once!”
Annalise blanched at the vehement curse that exploded from Conor as he kept right on steering her toward the stable—a vast timber building with stalls for a hundred or more horses—while more shouts to stop rang out behind them.
A half dozen guards came running toward them, too, with several blazing torches held high that illuminated the swirling snowflakes as Conor swore again and came to an abrupt halt.
Annalise pulled tightly against him when he turned with her to face their pursuers, while the others stopped in a half-circle at their backs.
She recognized Niall O’Byrne at once, but not the two clansmen with him—more guards, she guessed, all of them as grim-faced as Conor appeared in the sputtering torchlight.
“You’re out late, Uncle.”
“Aye, and it’s glad I am to stop you from defying your father, Conor O’Byrne. I sensed you might be harboring some rash plan when I saw you enter your dwelling-house instead of making your way to your other lodging—”
“Only because Orla brought me word in the feasting-hall that Annalise wished to see me. She’s feeling unsettled after the events of this night, so I thought some cooler air might soothe her—”
“Enough, nephew, will you lie to me through your teeth? You’re nearly to the stable, where were you bound?”
Conor didn’t answer, only stiffened with tension and braced his hand more tightly around Annalise’s waist.
So tightly that her lower ribs hurt and she winced, Niall shooting her a look of concern.
“Are you accompanying him against your will, Annalise?”
“No, no…I—”
“We are bound for Glendalough to wed,” Conor interjected as he took a step toward his uncle, as if to challenge him. “We both wish to marry—aye, and we will marry, so let us pass.”
Niall glanced again at Annalise and she bobbed her head, leaning against Conor with her hand pressed to his chest. “It’s true, I wish to become his wife. I believe he loves me…and I know now that I love him—oh, please let us pass!”
A look of pure astonishment lit Niall’s face and he seemed nonplussed for a brief moment until the same grimness settled over his features that looked so much like Conor’s.
“It’s impossible, our chieftain has decreed that a ransom will be sought for your release to your husband-to-be, Maurice de Saint Michael—”
“No, by God!” Conor sidestepped his uncle so abruptly, hauling Annalise with him, that she nearly stumbled and cried out even as Conor drew his sword with a terrible ring.
Within an instant she was pulled tightly against him again, her heart pounding in her throat as Niall waved at the guards to lower their own weapons, drawn in swift response.
“Do you see this madness, Conor?” he demanded. “Clansman against clansman? You and I have always been as close as brothers no matter the twenty years’ difference between us. You know you cannot defy your father’s command—”
“I will if it’s the only way Annalise and I can be together. You yourself wed another man’s bride-to-be years ago—Nora, my aunt!”
“Aye, and it brought Sigurd Skullcrusher down upon us with four hundred of his Norsemen, and Ostmen from Dublin as well. We were prepared for a siege and were stunned when Nora gave herself up to the bastard to spare us from attack—but thank God Duncan FitzWilliam heeded Ronan’s call and joined our forces to overcome our common enemies and save my wife.
Yet your circumstances are different, Conor!
This young woman is to be married to one of the most powerful barons in éire, and if he gathered his allies to march against us to retrieve his bride, mayhap we would not be able to withstand them.
Duncan was banished to Scotland because of his kinship with us and even so he would never have fought against his own kind—”
“Then Annalise and I will leave éire and make our home elsewhere.”
“That will not spare us from the Normans’ wrath if Saint Michael discovers what became of her, think! A ransom prevents needless bloodshed, but she must be turned over to him. Will you consign us all to warfare so you can wed a woman destined for another man?”
“Oh, Conor,” Annalise murmured with horror to cause such strife between him and his clansmen, but he seemed not to have heard her as he took another step, still wielding his weapon.
So sudden a step that her foot entangled with his and they both stumbled backwards onto the hard ground, Conor’s weapon knocked from his hand.
At once the guards set upon him, though he struggled mightily while Annalise felt herself pulled up by Niall, his grip tight upon her arm but not cruel.
His expression filled with regret as Conor was hauled to his feet with two guards on either side holding him fast, his face reddened with fury.
His darkened gaze fixed upon Annalise as Niall began to lead her away after ordering the guards to escort Conor to his own dwelling-house and bar him from exiting.
“Where are you taking her?” he demanded, though Niall didn’t respond, his expression grown somber again and his grip as firm.
Annalise could do nothing but hurry alongside him, Conor’s roars of outrage making her shiver but not from cold.
Her own horror growing at the fate she clearly would not escape and the stark realization that any future she had envisioned so briefly with Conor as her husband had turned to ash.
“You will stay with my wife and me until the ransom is agreed to and you are accompanied under guard to Athy. There is no other way, Annalise, I’m sorry.”
Niall had glanced at her with such pity that tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them away as Conor cried out her name, over and over.
“Annalise!”