Chapter 11
Conor had never felt such an overwhelming surge of emotion to hold Annalise in his arms again, though he felt a niggling of doubt for she trembled from head to foot.
Had her feelings changed for him? Had she been escorted here against her will?
Yet within the next instant her arms flew around his waist and she hugged him like she would never let him go—Conor exhaling as much from relief as exultation.
The two of them holding each other for how long, he couldn’t say, he was so lost in the wondrous sensation of her body pressed against him and the scent of wild roses in her hair.
Long, golden hair that felt like the softest silk against his cheek when her hood fell back to reveal her flushed face.
An upturned face so beautiful that his breath caught and he could but stare at Annalise in disbelief that they were together again.
Conor’s silent prayer of thanks as much to heaven as to Deirdre for bringing about their reunion, though his jaw tightened at the oath he had sworn to her.
An oath that meant he must lie to his father and show feigned contrition for opposing him about Annalise’s ransom—ah, God, he didn’t want to think about that now! Not with her arms still wound so tightly around him, though she stared into his eyes as if she had sensed his sudden tension.
“Conor?”
“It’s nothing, love. Come stand with me in front of the fire, you’re trembling so.”
She didn’t resist, instead obliged him so willingly that Conor could hardly believe how a few days’ time had changed everything between them.
Distrust to trust. Hatred to love—ah, but had he ever really hated her and she, him?
Aye, they had been born as enemies, their earlier interactions fraught with hostility and suspicion, but a spark had flared within him from the first moment he saw her that he was certain had flickered within her, too.
A spark igniting into a raging flame that engulfed him now as Conor drew her within his arms again and bent his head to kiss her…Annalise reaching up to cradle his face and kiss him back.
So sweetly at first, so tenderly, that he felt his breath catch again and he was shaken to his core at the fierceness of his love for her.
God help him, he didn’t want to think about tomorrow when she would be taken from him unless he could convince his father to allow him to accompany her to Athy.
He didn’t want to think about her upcoming wedding to Maurice de Saint Michael unless Conor could somehow prevent it—but how?
The pressure of his mouth upon Annalise’s deepening as his frustration at their seemingly hopeless predicament only grew until she moaned suddenly and he drew back, his face flushing hot.
“Forgive me, love—ah, no, if I’ve hurt you…”
“No, Conor, never…but what are we to do? Soon we will be parted—”
“Not if my father allows me to escort you to Athy and I slay the bastard—by God, Annalise, he will not have you!”
Conor’s vehement outburst seemed to ring around them even as her expression had grown stricken, tears springing to her eyes.
“How could that be possible? He surely has seasoned knights and men-at-arms by the score surrounding him…and I cannot bear to think mayhap it will be you who is slain…”
Now a sob broke from Annalise’s throat that sounded so heartrending to Conor, he felt his own eyes stinging when he enveloped her in an embrace as ardent as when she had entered his dwelling-house.
“Shh, love, let us try not to think of being parted from each other by fate or death—ah, God, Annalise, my love, my heart, don’t cry.”
If Conor had hoped his gently uttered words would soothe her, he knew when she began to weep in earnest that pent-up emotions would not be quelled so easily. He didn’t hesitate, but swept her up into his arms and carried her to the bed where he sat down to cradle her against him.
Conor rocking her as one would a wee babe, Annalise clinging to him and sobbing as if her heart was breaking.
His heart ached, too, at a future that didn’t look bright at all at that moment, but dark and threatening, though he refused to give up hope.
How could he when his truest chance for happiness was the woman he held in his arms?
Attempting again to soothe her, Conor kissed the top of her head, her brow, her tear-stained cheek that left the taste of salt upon his lips.
She hiccoughed and wept some more even as he kissed her temple, her eyelids, and the sweetly tilted side of her nose until her arms drifted around his neck and she raised her flushed face to look at him.
Her sea green eyes still welled with tears, though she gazed at him so earnestly that he felt his heart begin to pound.
“Conor O’Byrne, you are my beloved husband and always will be…no matter what happens. If we have only this one night, then let us spend it together as if we were truly wedded, you and I…”
Her soft voice had trailed off and still she stared at him as Conor’s heart thundered harder at what she had proposed…and what he would not deny her.
He felt so overcome for the longest moment that he could but nod, though he tightened his arms around her as she clasped one of his hands to lace her fingers with his own.
“Aye, Annalise Burgoyne, you are my beloved wife and always will be…no matter what happens,” he finally murmured, his throat tight with emotion.
“If we have only this one night, we will spend it together as if we were truly wedded before God…though I will never give up hope that such a day will come—aye, I swear it!”
Now Conor’s eyes stung again as he bent his head to kiss the woman who had blazed into his life when he had least expected it…once his enemy, aye, but now his forever love.
Annalise’s lips so achingly tender against his that Conor knew her heart thudded as fervently for him…his Norman O’Byrne bride.
“Brother, forgive me, but you must wake,” came Deirdre’s whispered voice as if from a great distance, Conor drawing Annalise’s naked form more closely against him beneath the blankets.
Her silken hair spread across his chest and her slim thigh draped across his hips, their bodies still joined after lovemaking that had left them sated and spent in each other’s arms—ah, no, was it near morning already?
A glance at the dying embers in the hearth snapping him into consciousness, Conor swore under his breath when Deirdre appeared at the bedside to shake him by the shoulder.
“If you’re to sway Father, you must go to him soon—before everyone awakens and Niall returns from the hunt. It’s still early, but I must return Annalise to their dwelling-house at once—”
“I hear you, Deirdre.” Conor gave a low groan, for the last thing he wanted was to be parted from Annalise, tension besetting him anew.
His sister at once stepped back from the bed as if sensing his sudden darkened mood, though she stared at him sternly.
“You swore to me, Conor. You will go to Father with your head bent in remorse—”
“Aye, I haven’t forgotten. Give me a few moments with her, will you?”
To his relief, Deirdre’s appearance hadn’t awakened Annalise, who still slept peacefully in the crook of Conor’s arm—but soon she would look stricken again, how could she not? As Deirdre nodded and exited his bedchamber, he indulged himself by simply staring at Annalise.
Her warm breath gently fanning him, her cheek resting so sweetly upon his chest.
Her lips parted and swollen from a hundred kisses—aye, mayhap even more as Conor felt himself grow hard within her, though it was not to be.
Not now at least…and mayhap never again—by God, no! He had sworn to himself as well that he wasn’t going to think of losing Annalise forever, he would not!
“My love, it’s time you must wake,” he said huskily, even as such fierce emotion swept him that he doubted he could release her from his side.
It had been their wedding night after all, at least to the two of them, sudden fury melded with frustration that they could not be duly married that very day.
How could he go to his father with feigned remorse when every fiber of his being wanted to object again to Ronan’s demand for a ransom? Yet a stab of conscience reared its head as well that he bore an inviolable allegiance to his clan—Conor feeling wretchedly now as if he were being torn in two.
“Annalise…Deirdre has come to take you back to my uncle’s dwelling-house—”
“Oh, no…no…” came her halting whisper, the peaceful expression on her face now one of dismay as she stared up at him, any drowsiness fled.
A stark disbelief in her eyes that cut him to the quick. He drew her closer against him as if he could comfort her—but he knew he could not.
The warmth of her body and her arm hugging his chest not comforting him, either, or his lingering kiss upon her soft lips that was more agony than tenderness. With a ragged groan, he finally disengaged himself from her and rose from the bed to sweep up his tunic from the floor.
Within a moment he was dressed as Annalise stared at him with the covers drawn over her breasts, but Deirdre had already reentered the bedchamber and gathered up Annalise’s gown and cloak.
“We must go at once,” his sister said softly, her voice tinged with sympathy as Conor helped Annalise from the bed and then stepped aside so Deirdre could assist her.
Yet as soon as the cloak was wrapped around Annalise and the hood once more covering her head, Conor drew her into his arms to hold her tightly against him.
“I love you, Annalise…no matter what occurs, you must always remember that you have my heart.”
“And you have mine, Conor…always,” she murmured as she clung to him, Conor bending his head to give her one last kiss before reluctantly releasing her. Her eyes shining with unshed tears, Annalise lifted her chin bravely and nodded at Deirdre, who took her by the hand and hustled her from the room.
Conor didn’t follow them, but fastened his sword belt around his waist and then grabbed his own cloak from a chair near the hearth.
His chest tight with emotion as he prepared himself to demand that the clansmen standing guard just outside escort him to speak to his father, the O’Byrne.
Deirdre and Annalise already gone from the dwelling-house when Conor strode toward the entrance as the faint fragrance of wild roses made his heart pound all the harder.
“You must be brave, sweeting. Do not forget your Orla. God go with you.”
Annalise nodded from atop a roan mare as she waited with her mounted escort just inside the stronghold gates—though her heart raced with apprehension.
Where was Conor? Had his father forbidden him to accompany her? She turned her head against the brisk wind whipping at the hood of her cloak, her fingers feeling ice-cold despite her fur-lined gloves as she gripped the reins.
Not from the chill dawn air, but from a creeping sense of desolation that she would be facing the journey to Athy without him.
Yet wouldn’t it be better this way for the man she loved more than life? At least then he wouldn’t be in danger from Maurice and his forces, for what could Conor hope to do against so many heavily armed Normans?
It would be as if David faced the giant Goliath—ah, God, she couldn’t bear to think Conor might be slain because of her. No, she would bear her upcoming marriage to know that he was safe and well in the Wicklow mountains—
“Look, it’s Conor,” Orla said with no small amount of astonishment, the serving woman indicating with a wave the stable behind them.
Her heart in her throat, Annalise did look, her face flushing with heat at the sight of Conor astride his massive stallion and appearing every inch the fearsome Irish rebel who had yanked her from her tent just over a week ago.
The wind whipping his black woolen cloak behind him and rustling his midnight hair as if he was oblivious to the wind and cold—Annalise swallowing hard at his piercing gaze upon her that told her she was the full focus of his attention.
Flashes from only short hours ago overwhelming her of impassioned kisses and the warmth of his powerful body covering hers—dear God, so much had changed in so short a time!
Sheer elation masked much of her fear for him as he rode up beside her, and he reached out to clasp her hand briefly before he steered his stallion to the head of their entourage.
Three dozen mail-clad clansmen were mounted on horses along with Joffrey, who stared with wide-eyed trepidation at Conor as once again, his gaze found Annalise’s.
“I accompany all of you at the behest of my father to oversee the exchange of Lady Burgoyne for our demanded ransom. When we reach Athy, her steward will warn Maurice de Saint Michael against any deviation from our agreed-upon plan if he does not wish to engage in a battle that might risk the life of his bride-to-be. Now onward!”
Conor veered his horse around toward the opening gates even as Annalise swore she had seen anguish in his eyes.
God help her, might she come to harm if Maurice failed to honor the dictates of the ransom exchange?
Now Orla could only look upon Annalise with pity as she was flanked by O’Byrne clansmen, one of the men leaning over to take the reins from her to lead the mare from the stronghold.
Annalise once again feeling a wretched prisoner in the same velvet gown she was wearing when she first saw Conor.
Her passionate memories of only hours ago faded into sheer dread of what lay ahead…while she was certain her heart was breaking.