Her eyes pleading for help that he had been unable to give her with four clansmen holding him fast.
Niall clutching her elbow as he had led her away—to his aunt and uncle’s dwelling-house, Conor had discovered from Deirdre, who had been the only one finally allowed to visit him.
His spirited, midnight-haired sister had always held sway over their father as his eldest child, but she had admitted to Conor that she did not disagree with Ronan’s decision to seek a ransom for Annalise. No, she supported him wholeheartedly, which had made Conor rail at her, though she had withstood his ire with her chin lifted and her gray eyes darkened until he had uttered an oath of angry exasperation and resumed his pacing.
Deirdre watched him now with evident exasperation of her own, her hands fisted at her hips as she glared at him.
“Do you not see, brother? Your fury will not help you if there is any chance at all to alter this course of events. You must show our father that you have reconsidered and agree with his decree to ransom Annalise to protect our clan—aye, as Niall’s Tanist one day, you cannot do otherwise! Do you want to have any hope of accompanying her to Athy, where mayhap you’ll have a chance to slay Saint Michael before he can wed her? Surely such a plan has occurred to you?—”
“Aye, if I could stomach the charade! I have never lied to our father and he is astute enough to know what is true or a falsehood.”
“If he was fully well, I would agree with you.”
“Ah, so I’m to take advantage of him while ill?” Conor demanded as he came to an abrupt halt to face Deirdre. “There is no honor in such guile and I will not do it?—”
“No less guile than defying him by attempting to leave the stronghold to marry her. By God, Conor, do you want to win her or not? Mayhap you do not care for her as much as you claim?—”
“Enough!” Fresh pain wracking his voice, Conor sank into a chair and dropped his head into his hands. He heard Deirdre sigh heavily and then she knelt beside him to gently squeeze his shoulder.
“Forgive me, Conor, I know only the truest love for Annalise would make you challenge our father’s will. Mayhap if you see her tonight, it will spur you to act just as I advised. I hear she doesn’t eat much, either, and barely sleeps?—”
“What do you mean, tonight?” Conor had raised his head to stare at his sister, whose eyes shone now with poignant understanding and sympathy. “I am imprisoned here with the windows nailed shut and guards at the entrance. You’re the only one who’s been allowed inside other than servants with trays of food.”
“Aye, and your supper will be brought soon. Trust me, brother. I will aid you, but only if you swear to me that you will consider going to Father with your head bent in remorse—if not in your heart. You played a part in my happiness with Liam, and I will play a part in yours…so at least you can say you did everything you could to save Annalise from that loathsome marriage, whether you succeed or not?—”
“I swear.”
Conor’s fierce vow was met only with a brusque nod from Deirdre, and then she was gone from his bedchamber and the door closed behind her.
Conor sighing heavily now himself as for the first time since he and Annalise had been separated, he felt the tiniest flare of hope.
“Eat something, child, I beg you,” came Orla’s soft plea as she lifted a spoonful of venison stew to Annalise’s lips, though she turned her head away.
She felt nothing, no hunger, no thirst, only a piercing ache at her breast where her heart had given up all hope of seeing Conor ever again.
She had scarcely strayed from the small room in Niall and Nora O’Byrne’s dwelling-house where cots covered in soft blankets had been prepared for her and Orla, who had continued to attend to her.
The serving woman’s kindness never wavering, though Orla had shaken her head several times and murmured that one could not elude one’s fate, no matter how much one might wish otherwise…that had only heightened Annalise’s despair.
Was her fate truly to marry Maurice de Saint Michael when the only man she wished to wed was Conor O’Byrne? Their separation had only made her love for him deepen when she had once claimed to despise him—ah, God, how could she have ever uttered such wretched words?
Each night when she tried in vain to sleep, she trembled from longing to see Conor again—if only once before she was escorted to Athy. Only once!
Was that too much to ask from heaven as with each passing hour, her prayers seemed to go unheeded?
“Very well, child, I had hoped you might eat a few bites of supper before your journey tomorrow morning?—”
“Journey?”
“Aye, your steward has returned from Athy, and Niall O’Byrne bade me give you the news. Your husband-to-be has agreed to our chieftain’s demand for ransom?—”
“Oh, no, no!” Annalise lunged from the chair and spun in place with her rose-colored gown tangling around her legs, so distraught that she didn’t know which way to run as tears burned her eyes. Only Orla’s hand grabbing hers made her sink down again to sit slumped as the weight of the news made her feel as if she were drowning.
She was to leave tomorrow to face a fate that seemed now as certain as death, for Annalise knew in her heart that she would never survive a marriage to Maurice.
A loveless marriage. The castle in Athy a prison that she would never escape, she sensed it so clearly as she began to shiver from head to foot.
“Child, child, I fear for you! Are you feeling ill?”
