Chapter 13
“So you wish to marry my son?”
Annalise nodded at Ronan, who thankfully looked so much better than when last she saw him, as Conor squeezed her hand.
They stood together in front of two high-backed chairs where Ronan sat with Triona at his side, the feasting-hall crowded with clansmen and their families.
Everyone summoned to witness what Annalise prayed was her wedding…or so Orla believed as she had helped her to bathe and then to don the yellow silk gown shimmering with gold thread Eva had given her—and that truly made Annalise feel like a bride.
Conor, too, was dressed in a dark blue tunic as fine as any Annalise had seen, and had stood waiting for her at the entranceway. His midnight hair still damp from a bath and neither of them smelling any longer of smoke and soot.
Their entourage had stopped to rest once they reached the safety of the Wicklow mountains, and had arrived back at the stronghold just past midday…only a few hours ago. Annalise felt overcome by hope now as Ronan glanced at his beautiful wife and then back to her.
“Conor has told us all that happened, and we grieve with you at the news of your father’s death. His despair must have been great over forcing you into an unwanted marriage—ah, but that is all behind you now, aye?”
Annalise nodded again, her throat grown tight as she sent up a prayer that her father was at peace. Her overwhelming joy at returning to Glenmalure with Conor marred only by hearing the sad news that he had so gently revealed to her last night.
Her stunned tears kissed away as he had held her close to soothe her…just as he slid his arm around her waist now to draw her against him.
Annalise glanced up to meet his gaze that was so filled with love, she felt a sense of peace, too, and such happiness that her heart felt full to overflowing.
“Husband, is it not time that these two are wed?” came Triona’s soft query, Ronan gesturing for a young priest holding a gold crucifix to come and stand in front of Annalise and Conor.
Suddenly she felt breathless with elation as, at last, she and Conor spoke sacred vows to each other, sealing them in marriage before God and clan.
Her trembling fingers held within Conor’s strong hands while behind them, men, women, and children erupted in boisterous shouts of congratulations that made the most handsome of smiles burst across Conor’s face.
Annalise stared up at him in wonder—her husband now!—and laughed with joy when he picked her up to spin her around in a dizzying whirl of more smiling faces.
Deirdre and Liam, Eva and Tiernan with their two children, Niall and Nora, dear Orla, and Ronan and Triona, who stood now embracing each other as Conor set Annalise’s feet upon the ground.
Yet he didn’t release her and she didn’t want him to…her beloved Irish rebel who had just taken a Norman to wife—ah, God, had there ever been a sweeter miracle?
“No, not Norman any longer,” Conor murmured to her astonishment against her ear, his warm breath giving her shivers. “You’re an O’Byrne now, aye?”
He found her lips before Annalise could utter a word and swept her off her feet again…her own fervent kiss as she flung her arms around his neck the only answer she needed to give.