asked, amusement flavoring his voice, lips curled in a faint
smile. “Deliver your message and be done with it.”
O’Neill moved away from the table and leaned back against the
wall near the shuttered window—out of reach, Connor noted, the amusement he
felt now genuine. “Hugh MacCarthy lays claim to Moira and the child she bears,
through her liaison with his brother, Dermot.” He straightened, his stare a
challenge. “I’m to bring her back with me on the morrow.”
Mind reeling, forcing himself to ignore Moira’s outraged cry,
Connor concentrated upon keeping his expression neutral. “Did MacCarthy truly
believe—do you believe—I’d simply
hand her over to him as if she were a cow that had strayed from its byre?” He
didn’t dare look at Moira to see how she took those words. “And how can you think of giving her over into the
hands of the family who abused her?”
Amazingly, what appeared to be righteousness lit O’Neill’s eyes.
“We wed her to FitzGerald, and now that he’s gone, ′tis our right—my
brothers’ and mine—to give her where we will. Might as well send her where
she’ll do us the most good.”
His attention caught by O’Neill’s words, Connor didn’t notice
that Moira had risen from her seat until she passed him. He stood and reached
out to catch her about the waist before she could get to her brother.
“Release me at once,” she cried breathlessly, fighting Connor’s
hold. “I’ll not allow him—” She kicked out, her soft shoe connecting with
Connor’s shin. Though she cried out in pain, she didn’t cease her struggles.
O’Neill backed away from them, likely his wisest act since he’d
arrived at Gerald’s Keep.
Connor slipped his arms about Moira’s middle and held her clasped
to him, her back to his front. Her body fairly vibrated with rage. Though he’d
love to release her and let her give her brother what he deserved, he feared
she’d harm herself. “Easy,” he whispered in her ear. “Hush. He’ll not take you
anywhere unless you wish to go. I swore to you, remember?” He felt the fight
slip from her until she slumped against him, his arms holding her upright. “All
right?”
She rested her arms atop his and clasped her hands tightly around
his wrists. “Aye, milord,” she murmured. Once her fingers eased their grip and
she stood on her own, he released her, though he stayed close behind her. “ How could you join forces
with them, Aidan? After all they ’ ve
done, how could you agree to give me to them? ”
“′Tis for the best, Moira,” O’Neill said.
“Best for you ,” she
said, her voice cold. She turned to Connor, her eyes dry, but filled with pain.
“I should have expected this. My brothers have ever seen me as coin to baiter
for their betterment.”
Connor glanced past her to her brother. “She’s yours to bargain
with no longer, O’Neill,” he said. “Tell MacCarthy that Lady Moira’s fate rests
with the FitzCliffords now, and they refuse to hand her over to anyone against
her will.”
Chapter Nine
Moira knew she’d never forget the expression on Aidan’s face when
Lord Connor refused to hand her over, for after the way her brother—nay, all
her brothers—had treated her over the years, ′twas a pleasure worth
savoring to witness one of them thwarted in his desire to use her again.
Nor could she forget the warmth that flooded her at the feeling
of support Lord Connor’s arms about her waist, coupled with his words, had
supplied. Though that was a memory she’d do well to erase from her mind and
heart at once.
She’d wanted to follow as Lord Connor and Henry escorted Aidan
from the keep, but Lord Connor had refused to allow her to come along. Her
temper simmering, she’d obeyed.
But she didn’t plan on remaining silent when Lord Connor
returned, as he’d said he would.
Connor led the way to a small storeroom on the ground floor of
the gatehouse and held the stout, iron-bound door open while Henry led
smile. “Deliver your message and be done with it.”
O’Neill moved away from the table and leaned back against the
wall near the shuttered window—out of reach, Connor noted, the amusement he
felt now genuine. “Hugh MacCarthy lays claim to Moira and the child she bears,
through her liaison with his brother, Dermot.” He straightened, his stare a
challenge. “I’m to bring her back with me on the morrow.”
Mind reeling, forcing himself to ignore Moira’s outraged cry,
Connor concentrated upon keeping his expression neutral. “Did MacCarthy truly
believe—do you believe—I’d simply
hand her over to him as if she were a cow that had strayed from its byre?” He
didn’t dare look at Moira to see how she took those words. “And how can you think of giving her over into the
hands of the family who abused her?”
Amazingly, what appeared to be righteousness lit O’Neill’s eyes.
“We wed her to FitzGerald, and now that he’s gone, ′tis our right—my
brothers’ and mine—to give her where we will. Might as well send her where
she’ll do us the most good.”
His attention caught by O’Neill’s words, Connor didn’t notice
that Moira had risen from her seat until she passed him. He stood and reached
out to catch her about the waist before she could get to her brother.
“Release me at once,” she cried breathlessly, fighting Connor’s
hold. “I’ll not allow him—” She kicked out, her soft shoe connecting with
Connor’s shin. Though she cried out in pain, she didn’t cease her struggles.
O’Neill backed away from them, likely his wisest act since he’d
arrived at Gerald’s Keep.
Connor slipped his arms about Moira’s middle and held her clasped
to him, her back to his front. Her body fairly vibrated with rage. Though he’d
love to release her and let her give her brother what he deserved, he feared
she’d harm herself. “Easy,” he whispered in her ear. “Hush. He’ll not take you
anywhere unless you wish to go. I swore to you, remember?” He felt the fight
slip from her until she slumped against him, his arms holding her upright. “All
right?”
She rested her arms atop his and clasped her hands tightly around
his wrists. “Aye, milord,” she murmured. Once her fingers eased their grip and
she stood on her own, he released her, though he stayed close behind her. “ How could you join forces
with them, Aidan? After all they ’ ve
done, how could you agree to give me to them? ”
“′Tis for the best, Moira,” O’Neill said.
“Best for you ,” she
said, her voice cold. She turned to Connor, her eyes dry, but filled with pain.
“I should have expected this. My brothers have ever seen me as coin to baiter
for their betterment.”
Connor glanced past her to her brother. “She’s yours to bargain
with no longer, O’Neill,” he said. “Tell MacCarthy that Lady Moira’s fate rests
with the FitzCliffords now, and they refuse to hand her over to anyone against
her will.”
Chapter Nine
Moira knew she’d never forget the expression on Aidan’s face when
Lord Connor refused to hand her over, for after the way her brother—nay, all
her brothers—had treated her over the years, ′twas a pleasure worth
savoring to witness one of them thwarted in his desire to use her again.
Nor could she forget the warmth that flooded her at the feeling
of support Lord Connor’s arms about her waist, coupled with his words, had
supplied. Though that was a memory she’d do well to erase from her mind and
heart at once.
She’d wanted to follow as Lord Connor and Henry escorted Aidan
from the keep, but Lord Connor had refused to allow her to come along. Her
temper simmering, she’d obeyed.
But she didn’t plan on remaining silent when Lord Connor
returned, as he’d said he would.
Connor led the way to a small storeroom on the ground floor of
the gatehouse and held the stout, iron-bound door open while Henry led
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