with a thoroughness that had her heart racing. "Only for the next
hundred years or so. After that we'll probably be eager for a few
minutes apart."
With that he strode out of the cabin.
AnnaClaire stared after him, convinced that even a hundred years
wouldn't be enough time with Rory O'Neil. Her heart was so filled
with love it was overflowing. Still, she had to nudge aside the little
twinge of regret. They had made no promises. No commitments. And
they both knew that when they left here, he would once more become
the hardened warrior she had first encountered on the docks.
"You weren't exaggerating." Rory polished off his third helping of
fish, then leaned back to sip strong hot tea. "Your cooking really is as
fine as Bridget's."
Now that AnnaClaire was the one receiving his compliment, she
understood how her old servant had felt. She positively glowed. "It's a
good thing she taught me how to ply needle and thread as well. Look
at this gown." She held it up. "You practically shredded it."
"I was in a hurry to get you out of it."
"We were both in a hurry, as I recall." She bent to her sewing. "Next
time, all you need do is ask."
She was wearing nothing but her chemise and petticoat as she
mended her gown. Her hair spilled forward in a wild tangle of
burnished curls. For now,watching her, Rory could almost forget the
pain of the past. He could pretend that they were just a man and
woman wildly in love, without a care in the world.
She glanced up and caught his little frown of concentration. "What
are you thinking, Rory?"
"That I'd never expected to feel such happiness again."
She set aside the gown. Crossing the room she knelt in front of him
and caught his hands in hers. "It's the same for me, Rory. I'd despaired
of ever meeting a man who touched my soul." She looked up at him,
eyes swimming. "Do you understand?"
"I do." He lifted their joined hands and brushed a kiss over her
knuckles. "Perfectly."
She began to untie the ribbons of her chemise. "Love me, Rory. Right
now."
He closed his hands over hers to still her movements. When she gave
him a quick look, he flashed that dangerous smile she'd come to know
so well.
"Let me." He untied the ribbons and eased away the bit of cloth. In
one quick motion he lifted her onto his lap.
She sighed when his lips made contact with her flesh. And then, while
the sun slowly made its arc across the sky, they told each other,
without a single word, all the loving things that were locked in their
hearts.
* * *
"It's time, AnnaClaire." Rory spoke without turning.
Evening shadows were beginning to gather. Twilight was just settling
over the land. It had always been his favorite time of day. But now, he
dreaded its coming. For it meant an end to their idyll.
"Are you ready?" He tucked a knife at his waist, a second in his boot.
Behind him AnnaClaire pulled on her cloak, and lifted the hood to
hide her pale hair. "Aye. I'm ready."
He checked to make certain that there was no smoke from the
fireplace. Then he made his way to the stand of trees and led the horse
back to the little hut.
AnnaClaire pulled the door shut and latched it, then walked to his
side. "I wish we could just stay here forever and hide from the world."
He pulled himself into the saddle and reached down, lifting her easily
in his arms. As he settled her in front of him he brushed a kiss over
her cheek. "Aye, love. I wish it, too. But we both knew this would
only be a moment's respite."
He urged his horse forward, and they started off through the forest.
Within minutes the leaden sky opened up, and the rain began. A
sprinkle soon turned into a downpour that soaked through their
clothes and left them shivering with cold.
As the horse scrambled up a sodden hillside, Rory suddenly jerked
the reins, bringing the animal to a halt.
"What is it?" AnnaClaire turned slightly to study his face.
"I thought I heard something."
They listened intently, but could hear only the drumming of
raindrops.
Rory lifted her to the ground. "Wait here. I'll go on ahead and check."
Her first instinct was to clutch at his sleeve and beg to go with him.
But she merely nodded, knowing that he had to do this his way.
She stood very still, straining to keep him in her line of vision.
As horse and rider moved ahead, she saw him draw his sword.
Moments later half a dozen English soldiers on horseback formed a
solid wall in front of him. Instinctively he swung his mount, only to
find another line of soldiers who had stepped from concealment
behind him.
"Lay down your weapon, Rory O'Neil," came a shout from the leader
of their regiment.
' 'And if I choose not to?'
The man snarled. "You are badly outnumbered, Irish scum. You'd
best do as you're told."
"Ah. I see." Rory's laughter had them looking at one another in
astonishment. "But you are mistaken. You are the ones who are
outnumbered."
While the soldiers were looking over their shoulders uneasily, hoping
to spot his comrades, Rory took advantage of the situation by riding
into their midst, wielding his sword with a skill that left them
bloodied and begging for mercy.
"You there," the leader shouted to his regiment. "He's only one man.
Take up your arms and defeat this brigand."
Three men on horseback came at him from three different sides, but
he managed to evade their blades, driving one of them back while
sending the other two sprawling in the dirt. When the foot soldiers
formed a protective wall and began an attack, Rory urged his horse to
rear up again and again, driving some of them back, crushing others
beneath those powerful hooves.
One of the soldiers hurled a lance, sending it through the neck of
Rory's mount. The horse reared up, nostrils flaring, eyes wide with
pain. Rory leapt free of the saddle just as the animal went down on its
side.
From her position on the hillside, AnnaClaire watched the churning
of mud, the flailing of hooves. Wiping rain from her eyes she gasped
as Rory's sword flashed, parrying thrusts from the half dozen soldiers
who faced him.
He had them almost beaten. Just a few more, he thought. But as he
lifted his sword to fight back another soldier, he felt a sharp pain,
followed by the warmth of blood. Once again he had taken a blow
from a sword to his recently-healed shoulder. Ignoring it, he fought
on, driving the remaining soldiers back. But as he attempted to raise
his sword yet again, a strange thing happened. His arm refused to
obey his command. He stared in mute surprise at the limb which hung
at his side. While he watched, his sword slipped from nerveless
fingers and landed with a thud. He reached with his other hand for the
knife at his waist, but the tip of a sword shot forward, piercing his
hand. The knife, too, fell to the ground.
the ready. But before he could drive his blade through his opponent's
heart, he looked up in surprise at the woman running toward him.
"Praise heaven," AnnaClaire shouted, throwing herself into the
leader's arms.
He was so startled, he dropped his sword.
"Lady Thompson? Is it you? Are you still alive then?"
"Aye. You've saved me from this madman." She kept her gaze
averted, unable to bear the sight of the blood that oozed from Rory's
shoulder. Instead, she tossed back the hood of her cloak as she walked
from soldier to soldier, giving each man the favor of her smile.
The soldiers were so dazzled, they could only stareat this lovely
woman who was alternately laughing and weeping.
"I thought I would surely die out here in this wilderness, at the hands
of this...this animal." She chanced a quick glance at Rory, then away.
"But thanks to all of you, I am safe now." She fluttered her lashes.
"My father will want to personally thank each one of you. And I think
perhaps the queen herself will offer a handsome reward for your
courage when you return the O'Neil to her in chains."
"Return the Blackhearted O'Neil?" The leader blanched at the thought
of keeping this dangerous enemy alive. It would be so much easier to
simply kill him and be done with it.
"But of course. The queen will want to see this man who has caused
such chaos in the land. I'm certain there will be many honors for the
brave soldiers who brought down the Blackhearted O'Neil."
"Bind him at once," the leader called importantly, as visions of being
presented at Court danced through his mind.
While the men hastened to do his bidding, AnnaClaire hugged her
arms around herself and gave a violent shiver. "Would you possibly
have some ale, captain? I'm so very cold."
"Aye. At once, my lady." He sent another man scurrying toward the
horses.
When the soldier returned with a cask of ale, AnnaClaire gave him
her brightest smile. "And if I could have a fire? Just until this chill
leaves me."
In* no time AnnaClaire was seated under a tent of hides, sipping ale
and warming herself beside a roaring fire. Some distance away Rory
sat slumped against a tree, his wrists and ankles bound securely. One
soldier was assigned to guard him, while the leader and his two
remaining soldiers huddled around the fire, staring in fascination as
Lady AnnaClaire Thompson regaled them with the tale of her
kidnapping.
"The barbarian boldly invaded my home, and then even more
brazenly took me hostage when it appeared he would be captured. For
that I shall never forgive him."
The men nodded in agreement.
She held out her goblet. "I believe I could use a bit more ale."
The leader poured, then topped off his own glass and that of his men.
AnnaClaire lifted her skirts. "My new boots are soaked clear through.
Another thing for which I'll hate the O'Neil."
The three men were too busy staring at her shapely ankles. Seeing the
direction of their gazes she wriggled her feet. "Do you know what I'd
like?"
The men shook their heads.
"I'd like the O'Neil's boots. It would serve him right to have to travel
all the way to England in bare feet. Wouldn't you agree it's a fitting
punishment for the lout?" As soon as the leader of the regiment
nodded in agreement she jumped up and raced from the tent to where
the lone soldier stood guard. "Your captain has said I might have the
O'Neil's boots."
"His...boots, my lady?"
"Aye. Mine are soaked. I want his." She nodded toward the tent and
the warm fire. "Go ask your captain, if you wish."
"I..." He glanced from the prisoner, who appeared to be unconscious,
to the woman, who was shivering n the rain, and then to his leader,
who nodded in agreement. "If the captain gave the order, my lady, I
shall see to it at once."
He bent to Rory's boots and began to pry first one, then the other. As
they slid off, AnnaClaire scooped them up. When her hand closed
around Rory's knife, she held it hidden in the folds of her skirt. Then,
turning, she allowed the knife to drop into his lap before she strode
back to the tent.
The soldiers, warmed by the fire and made drowsy by the ale, sat
slumped around the fire. They watched in silence as she began
removing her dainty kid boots. Seeing that she had their attention, she
slowed her movements, deliberately lifting her skirt higher to rub her
hand over her ankle.
"Ooh." She closed her eyes a moment. "It will be so good to get into
dry clothes and sleep in a warm bed."
One of the soldiers sighed. She gave him a most engaging smile. Her
smile froze when a sword was thrust through the hide directly at his
back. The soldier went rigid, then slumped forward. Before the other
two could react, Rory tore aside the hide tent and stood facing the
remaining two soldiers.
"How could you...?" The leader reached for his sword, but he was too
late.
Rory's blade pierced his heart. He was dead before hf fell. The other
soldier backed away, then turned and started to run. Rory tossed his
knife, and it found its mark. The soldier let out a cry, then dropped to
the ground.
"AnnaClaire stared around at the scene of carnage like one
awakening from sleep. She had once thought of Rory O'Neil as a
barbarian because of this very thing. But this time, she had no one to
blame but herself. She had been a party to the deaths of these men.
Loyal English soldiers. The thought was staggering.
Before she could stumble, Rory's arms were around her, holding her
firmly against him. "Are you all right, love?"
"I...Yes." She took a deep breath. "I'm fine."
He gave her a long look. "Indeed you are. You'd make a fine outlaw,
AnnaClaire."
"I think not. Oh, Rory. I was so frightened."
"That's a natural reaction. But what's important is how you dealt with
your fear." He touched a hand to her cheek. "You could have
remained hidden in the forest, and no one would have blamed you.
You are, after all, a gentle noblewoman." He pulled her close and
soundly kissed her. "This is the second time I'm indebted to you for
my life."
She touched a hand to his cheek. "And I'll be sure to collect that debt,
Rory O'Neil."
"Count on it." He led her to a seat beside the fire, then checked each
of the bodies before rounding up their horses and gathering up their
weapons. It seemed a fine irony that the very men these English
soldiers hated would now ride their mounts and use their swords
against their countrymen.
He chose the sturdiest of the animals as his own, then tied the others
behind and led them to where AnnaClaire was waiting.
"Pull on your boots and cloak, love. We must be far from here before
the rest of their regiment comes searching for them."
"Aye." She finished dressing, then walked to where he was
extingui
shing the fire. "Just think," she mused aloud. "Bridget and
Tavis thought I was too innocent to carry out a lie to Lord Dunstan. I
guess I showed them. And you, as well."
Her laughter suddenly died in her throat as she caught sight of the
dead soldiers. The realization of all that she had done sank in. Her
face lost all its color. Her knees wobbled, and she began to stumble.
Rory scooped her into his arms and hugged her to him in a fierce
embrace. Against her cheek he murmured tenderly, "Aye, my brave,
magnificent little firebrand. You showed them. You showed us all."
She was beyond hearing as she slid into unconsciousness.
Chapter Twelve
The rain continued throughout the day. Though it made their journey
uncomfortable, Rory was glad for the protection it offered. The sound
of the raindrops masked their horses' hoofbeats. The puddles
obliterated their trail.' He hoped, too, that the intensity of the storm
would force their pursuers to seek cover.
It was a calculated risk to travel during the day, but he felt they had no
choice. He was desperate to get AnnaClaire to a place of safety.
AnnaClaire. He glanced down at her as she slept in his arms. What an
amazing woman she was. Who would have believed that this gentle,
well-bred lady could prove to be so resourceful?
"There's that frown again." Her lashes fluttered open. With a fingertip
she smoothed the line between his brows.
"I seem to do that whenever I look at you." He struggled to keep the
grin from his lips. "It's probably because you're so hard to look at."
"Am I?" She angled her chin.
"Aye. I've never much cared for hair that gleams like the color of ale
when it's held to the firelight."He allowed a strand to sift through his
fingers before tucking it behind her ear. "Or eyes the color of the sea.
Especially when you're angry." His voice lowered. "Or lips so
perfectly formed, that each time I look at them, all I can think of is—"
he brushed his mouth over hers "—kissing them, just so."
"Oh, Rory." She snuggled closer, warmed by his words. "I don't
believe I've ever heard a lovelier compliment."
"'Tis a gift of the Irish. We've a way with words. Now it's your turn."
"My turn for what?"
"To pay me a compliment."
"Ah." She pretended to concentrate for several moments. "I suppose I
could say I like your eyes. They can cut to the quick when you're
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