At last, he released her. ‘Go, then. But he’ll never have you. You’re not noble enough for a man of his breeding.’
His words struck a barb in her confidence. Rubbing her throat, she stared at him. His sudden violence made her only the more certain that she needed to leave Banslieve. Riordan saw her as a possession to be had, not a woman with feelings.
When at last he had gone, she lifted her face to the skies, praying to heaven that she had the courage to confront Connor. And this time, she would bring Rhiannon with her.
Chapter 17
Rain spattered against the muddy roads, but Connor paid it no heed. The stone walls of his brother Patrick’s fortress loomed ahead. Over the past few days, his mind had centred upon his purpose: preparing to defeat Flynn Ó Banníon. He would gain the strength he needed, no matter the cost.
Connor slowed the gait of his horse to study Laochre. The imposing stone fortress had nearly become a castle. He hadn’t realised they’d accomplished so much of the building. He had done his share of lifting stones, same as the others. Yet he hadn’t appreciated the full impact until he saw Laochre from a distance. By using stone instead of wood, it would keep out the invaders. Envy struck at him, but he quelled the thought. His brother had earned the right to be king.
He kept the horse at a steady pace, watching the landscape unfold in colours of rich green. Tufts of grain lifted their heads to the sky, bowing beneath the rain. Though he should have rejoiced at coming home again, he felt empty.
The last few nights, he’d thought of Aileen. What would become of her? Not that he should care, not after what she’d done. But he couldn’t forget her beautiful face, nor the eyes brimming with unshed tears.
She’d made him feel like a callous brute. He hadn’t spoken a word of farewell, for he’d truly been at a loss for words. She’d stolen a part of him, his child. Damn it all, he needed to strike her from his mind.
When he reached the gates, he greeted the guards and dismounted. A groom led his horse away, and he accepted welcoming embraces from kinsmen and friends. Patrick’s wife Isabel was the first to see him in the courtyard. She flew to his side, heedless of the mud, and hugged him tightly. ‘We’ve missed you, Connor.’
Isabel was beautiful, dressed like a queen in a crimson silkléineand white overdress, and Connor didn’t miss her swelling middle. ‘My congratulations to you and my brother. When will the new babe be born?’
Isabel’s cheeks brightened with the inner glow of a mother. ‘In mid-winter, I believe. Liam will have another brother or sister to torment, instead of his uncle Ewan.’ While she chatted, leading him into the Great Chamber, his mind drifted back to Aileen. Had she looked like that when she’d carried Rhiannon in her womb? Had her fingers caressed the small bump as if to soothe the unborn child?
He’d caught a glimpse of his daughter before leaving Banslieve. She had done nothing more than tend the animals outside Lianna and Tómas’s dwelling, but his heart had stopped cold.
He hadn’t spoken a word, only watched her from a distance, drinking in the sight. Though he longed to know her, to have a bond with his daughter, he knew it was impossible.
Fate had a cruel way of taunting him. His dreams of a wife and children were beyond his reach. Though his hands had healed, he didn’t know if he held the strength to defeat and kill Flynn Ó Banníon. And if he did, would he ever achieve his hopes to reign over a tribe of his own?
‘Connor?’ Isabel asked, drawing his attention back to the present. ‘Did you hear what I said?’
He coloured. ‘No. My mind wandered, I fear.’
Isabel surmised him with a sharp look. ‘Let us go inside.’ He could see the spinning thoughts passing over her face. Then she glanced towards the far end of the Great Chamber. ‘The maidservants are happy at your return, I see.’
Connor turned and four women giggled. They stood near the perimeter of the room, women he’d admired once. Fair and dark-haired, short and tall, slim and plump, all stood poised to offer him their attentions. Once, he might have enjoyed them, but now, he viewed them as a source of irritation. He didn’t even remember their names.
‘I see them,’ he said. ‘But I’ve no time for this just now. I would speak with Patrick.’
‘By the Blessed Mother,’ Isabel murmured. ‘You’ve gone and done it now.’
‘Done what?’
‘Trahern said there was a woman. You care for her, don’t you?’ He didn’t answer, but Isabel could read through him. ‘Tell me about her.’
‘You are wrong,’ he said. ‘It’s best left in the past.’
Isabel took his hand, and then she saw the misaligned bones, the crooked fingers. Though no revulsion lined her face, there was concern. ‘Does she care for you?’
‘Let it go, Isabel.’ Though she veiled her expression, he saw the pity in her eyes. Connor tamped down the anger rising. He didn’t need or require Isabel’s interference.
At that moment, his brother Patrick appeared. He wore leather training armour, and his dark hair was wet from the rain. ‘I heard you had returned. Seamus Ó Duinne sent us a message that you’d given him your land.’
Connor took his leave from Isabel and followed his brother above stairs into the solarium. Patrick dismissed the ladies and waited until they were alone.
‘Why did you give away your only property in exchange for a horse?’
‘I had a debt to repay.’
