“Forgive me, I beg you. I should have been the one to save you?—”
“Yet it was Liam who cared more to look out for her than win a race,” Ronan interjected, the firmness in his voice brooking no argument as he nodded at the door. “Out, O’Sullivan,now.”
This time Darragh obliged him, yet not without a last squeeze of Deirdre’s hand. His fingers felt ice-cold to her and made her shiver, which elicited a concerned gasp from the healer.
“Cover her with another blanket, aye, at once! We cannot risk her catching a chill even though she seems much better.”
Now Nora gasped, too, she and Eva quickly spreading two more blankets over the bed for good measure while Ronan gestured with impatience for everyone to leave.
“Have I no authority even among my own family?” he groused, though he threw so caring a look at Deirdre that she felt a hard lump in her throat.
Her father’s face had a faint ashen pallor as if he hadn’t gotten over the shock of what had happened to her. He drew achair close to the bed and sank down heavily to wait for everyone to clear the room.
“Aye, you as well, Odhran,” he murmured to the old man, who nodded and shuffled out to close the door behind him.
Only then did Ronan heave a ragged sigh, his shoulders slumping, Deirdre feeling the sting of tears in her eyes at her father’s evident distress.
He didn’t reach out for her hand, but sat there silently and shook his head as a tear slid down his cheek to drip onto his tunic…and then another.
“Oh, Father.” Stunned by emotion she had never seen from him, Deirdre sat up to grab his arm and then immediately fell back again upon the pillow, dizziness gripping her.
Her low moan seemed to snap Ronan out of his stricken reverie and he jumped up from the chair to gather her into his arms to embrace her.
Tightly. Deirdre’s head still swimming, but it didn’t matter, her father hugging her like he had never done before.
“Forgive me, daughter. You might have drowned and then how could I have ever faced your mother? It was wrong of me to insist you choose a husband this day—wrong!”
She hugged him back as tightly, for the first time in her life Deirdre soothing the man who had always seemed so formidable, so stalwart and courageous.
“It wasn’t your fault, Father. I was so determined to win, I pushed myself too hard. I don’t know why I always have to prove I can best any man?—”
“Because you are your mother’s daughter—so like her, and I was heavy-handed with her as well, though she defied me at every turn.”
To her relief, Ronan chuckled, the horror of what had happened fading as they both clearly thought of Triona.
Deirdre’s fierce, strong-willed mother—and the love of her father’s life.
What would Triona say about this day’s events? About Liam? Darragh? The only two suitors remaining from which she must choose a husband—but had her father’s words meant he had changed his mind?
“It is done, the contest is over. What else was left than a horse race that you would have won handily, aye, Deirdre?”
She nodded while he chuckled again, shaking his head, though she wasn’t fully sure what he had meant.
“Must…must I still choose?—”
“Ah, God, no, I will send Darragh and Liam home with plenty of gold to please their clans. You don’t have to see either of them ever again, my beloved daughter. Does that please you?”
Deirdre stared at her father, stunned—a tug at her heart as she thought of Liam’s face to hear this news when he had been so certain she would become his bride.
Would he feel as unsettled as she did now?
A fluttering in her stomach as she thought of how he had clasped her fingers with unspoken emotion in his eyes that had made her breath catch.
His hand warm and strong.
His stride slow and reluctant moments later as if he didn’t want to leave her, his last glance at her filled with great concern.
She knew then as surely as she breathed that he truly cared about her just as she cared about him—no, it was something more than that…something deeper.
