“Brother, forgive me, but you must wake,” came Deirdre’s whispered voice as if from a great distance, Conor drawing Annalise’s naked form more closely against him beneath the blankets.
Her silken hair spread across his chest and her slim thigh draped across his hips, their bodies still joined after lovemaking that had left them sated and spent in each other’s arms—ah, no, was it near morning already?
A glance at the dying embers in the hearth snapping him into consciousness, Conor swore under his breath when Deirdre appeared at the bedside to shake him by the shoulder.
“If you’re to sway Father, you must go to him soon—before everyone awakens and Niall returns from the hunt. It’s still early, but I must return Annalise to their dwelling-house at once?—”
“I hear you, Deirdre.” Conor gave a low groan, for the last thing he wanted was to be parted from Annalise, tension besetting him anew.
His sister at once stepped back from the bed as if sensing his sudden darkened mood, though she stared at him sternly.
“You swore to me, Conor. You will go to Father with your head bent in remorse?—”
“Aye, I haven’t forgotten. Give me a few moments with her, will you?”
To his relief, Deirdre’s appearance hadn’t awakened Annalise, who still slept peacefully in the crook of Conor’s arm—but soon she would look stricken again, how could she not? As Deirdre nodded and exited his bedchamber, he indulged himself by simply staring at Annalise.
Her warm breath gently fanning him, her cheek resting so sweetly upon his chest.
Her lips parted and swollen from a hundred kisses—aye, mayhap even more as Conor felt himself grow hard within her, though it was not to be.
Not now at least…and mayhap never again—by God, no! He had sworn to himself as well that he wasn’t going to think of losing Annalise forever, he would not!
“My love, it’s time you must wake,” he said huskily, even as such fierce emotion swept him that he doubted he could release her from his side.
It had been their wedding night after all, at least to the two of them, sudden fury melded with frustration that they could not be duly married that very day.
How could he go to his father with feigned remorse when every fiber of his being wanted to object again to Ronan’s demand for a ransom? Yet a stab of conscience reared its head as well that he bore an inviolable allegiance to his clan—Conor feeling wretchedly now as if he were being torn in two.
“Annalise…Deirdre has come to take you back to my uncle’s dwelling-house?—”
“Oh, no…no…” came her halting whisper, the peaceful expression on her face now one of dismay as she stared up at him, any drowsiness fled.
A stark disbelief in her eyes that cut him to the quick. He drew her closer against him as if he could comfort her—but he knew he could not.
The warmth of her body and her arm hugging his chest not comforting him, either, or his lingering kiss upon her soft lips that was more agony than tenderness. With a ragged groan, he finally disengaged himself from her and rose from the bed to sweep up his tunic from the floor.
Within a moment he was dressed as Annalise stared at him with the covers drawn over her breasts, but Deirdre had already reentered the bedchamber and gathered up Annalise’s gown and cloak.
“We must go at once,” his sister said softly, her voice tinged with sympathy as Conor helped Annalise from the bed and then stepped aside so Deirdre could assist her.
Yet as soon as the cloak was wrapped around Annalise and the hood once more covering her head, Conor drew her into his arms to hold her tightly against him.
“I love you, Annalise…no matter what occurs, you must always remember that you have my heart.”
“And you have mine, Conor…always,” she murmured as she clung to him, Conor bending his head to give her one last kiss before reluctantly releasing her. Her eyes shining with unshed tears, Annalise lifted her chin bravely and nodded at Deirdre, who took her by the hand and hustled her from the room.
Conor didn’t follow them, but fastened his sword belt around his waist and then grabbed his own cloak from a chair near the hearth.
His chest tight with emotion as he prepared himself to demand that the clansmen standing guard just outside escort him to speak to his father, the O’Byrne.
Deirdre and Annalise already gone from the dwelling-house when Conor strode toward the entrance as the faint fragrance of wild roses made his heart pound all the harder.
“You must be brave, sweeting. Do not forget your Orla. God go with you.”
Annalise nodded from atop a roan mare as she waited with her mounted escort just inside the stronghold gates—though her heart raced with apprehension.
Where was Conor? Had his father forbidden him to accompany her? She turned her head against the brisk wind whipping at the hood of her cloak, her fingers feeling ice-cold despite her fur-lined gloves as she gripped the reins.
