“Oh, it was Eva who so kindly gave me some of her gowns to wear…and this cloak,” Annalise murmured as she glanced at Tiernan. “You must thank your wife for me.”
“I will, my lady…but you will meet her tonight at supper. Annalise will be joining us, aye, Conor?”
He didn’t readily reply, dumbfounded by Tiernan calling Annalise “my lady” in so gracious a manner, as well as all three men staring at her as if she wasn’t a Norman at all…no hint of enmity on their faces.
Clearly, Triona had spoken to them as well, and mayhap spread the word throughout the stronghold that Annalise was to be treated as a guest, and not a bitter enemy.
“Aye, she will attend supper with us,” Niall answered for him, the slight censure in his voice making Conor’s jaw grow tight. “We look forward to seeing you again, Lady Burgoyne. Enjoy your walk with my nephew.”
With a nod, Niall signaled for Liam and Tiernan to accompany him. All three giving Annalise a kindly look before hastening away, Conor bristling again to see his brothers-in-law nudging each other like boys rather than grown men.
Annalise had stiffened, too, and he realized just how tightly his arm was wrapped around her slender waist from the nervous way she glanced up at him.
“Forgive me,” he mumbled, which astonished him as well that he had offered her several apologies already that day—by God, what was happening to him? He eased his hold upon her at once, though he laced his fingers again with hers to keep her from possibly fleeing from him.
Her hand feeling so small within his and slightly trembling as if his closeness frightened her, which strangely cut him, he couldn’t deny it.
Now he was feeling strange and unsettled unlike he had ever felt around any young woman before…and why did this one have to be so incredibly beautiful?
He had seen her only in the dawning light of day and then the firelight of his bedchamber, but in the afternoon sunshine, tendrils of blond hair that had escaped the confines of her hood gleamed like gold, her skin creamy and her features angelic.
Yet it was the unusual blue-green color of her eyes that made his heartbeat quicken, her lovely brow knit in an unspoken query that made him guess she wondered why they were simply standing there.
Conor feeling suddenly like a slack-mouthed dolt as he clenched her hand tightly and drew her along with him, his strides so long that she had to half run to keep up with him.
Tersely, he pointed out dwelling-houses and the stable and other buildings where ale was made and provisions were stored—then wondered angrily why he bothered to explain anything about how his clan lived and worked.
Annalise would remain with them only so long as to achieve whatever plan Ronan had in mind for her, so what was the point of it all?
She must have wondered the same thing for she had remained silent as she scurried alongside him, which only made Conor continue his brisk pace in order to be done with this charade as quickly as possible.
Yet when he indicated the prison house with a brusque few words, she suddenly came to such an abrupt halt that her hand broke free of his—but she didn’t try to escape from him.
Instead, her face seemed to grow pale as she stared at the shuttered building, the only words from her mouth a plaintive, “How is Joffrey faring?”
“My mother has seen to it that he enjoys some comforts, too—plenty of food, a pallet to sleep upon and warm blankets. We are not barbarians here, no matter what you must think of us.”
“Yet you slew my father’s men with no mercy at all.”
“Aye, because they ventured into our mountains. Would your people not do the same to protect what was theirs if Irishmen landed upon English soil lusting for conquest?”
“They were only escorting me to Kildare, that wasn’t their intent?—”
“Enough, woman! Were we to ask questions of them as they drew weapons against us? Their deaths were swift, if that eases your naïve view of such matters. Enemies are enemies?—”
“Ah, then I was right earlier, I am no guest! I would rather you lock me in the prison house than continue this absurd ruse. Take me there now, I demand it!”
Annalise stared at him so defiantly, her chin lifted and her eyes flashing, that Conor found himself staring again at her beauty heightened by the flushed color of her cheeks.
So transfixed in truth, he didn’t dodge the swift and painful kick to his shin that dropped him to one knee as she took off toward the prison house with her hood fallen from her head and her long hair flying.
A roar of alarm rising up around him as guards came running from all directions to chase after her while several stopped to help him to his feet.
He shook off his clansmen with a roar of his own and set out with a limping run after her, only to see her stop at the door to the prison house and begin to pound upon it with her balled fists.
“Joffrey, say something to me! Are you well? Tell me they haven’t beaten you, tortured you?—”
“Lady Burgoyne, is that you?” came the steward’s high-pitched voice that became an earsplitting wail of distress as Annalise pounded all the harder.
