The following dawn found them at Inver, a small fishing village just west of Donegal. The six of them had dismounted on a promontory overlooking the Eany River, resting their horses and themselves before they rode down into the village where a curragh was waiting to take them across Inver Bay. At the farthermost sliver of land, a ship bound for the Colonies would stop that morn to pick them up and carry them across the sea to a new life. The Colonies had recently won their independence from bloody England. It seemed a fitting destination. Father Patrick had made the arrangements, knowing that there would never again be safety for any of them in strife-torn Ireland. Across the land, rioting still raged. Talk had it that troops were being called up from Connaught to quell the fighting. Caitlyn did not doubt they would succeed. Of the Dark Horseman, much was said. His legend had already grown bigger by far than the man who had given birth to it. Or maybe not.
The gentleman in question was, at that moment, wrapping his one good arm around his wife and resting his lips against her hair. His other arm was too sore to move and was secured by a sling. Her back was turned to him, but at his caress she smiled and reached up to lay her hands on the forearm that encircled her shoulders.
" 'Twill be a long journey. Are you sure you're up to it? We could mayhap go to France instead."
Caitlyn shook her head. "Don't worry so, Connor. I'm with child, not afflicted with a fatal illness. America is the place for us. Why, I'll hardly be showing by the time we get there. I'll take no harm from the crossing, nor will the babe."
"I hope not." Connor still sounded worried, so Caitlyn turned in his hold to plant a kiss on his lips. Casting a quick eye over to his brothers and Mickeen, who had taken advantage of the stop to stretch out on the ground and catch a little sleep, he bent his head and kissed her so thoroughly that her knees went weak. When at last he lifted his head, she stared, dazzled, into his eyes. They gleamed down at her as brightly as the morning sun.
"I love you," she said.
"And I love you, my own. Forever." His words were as solemn as a vow. She smiled at him, then looked down at the topaz ring that was back on her finger, where it would stay forever.
"You'll miss this," she said. "Ireland, and your land. Your family's land, for generations back."
Connor shook his head. "Believe me, my own, I can survive nicely without Donoughmore, or even Ireland. What I cannot survive without is you."
Her eyes moved over him, touched on the black waves of his hair, the lean, hard features, the firm mouth, the aqua eyes. This was her Connor, her wonderful, handsome Connor. Her husband, the father of the child she carried. Her heart swelled, and she knew exactly what he meant. As long as she had Connor, the rest of the world faded into shadow.
She smiled up at him and lifted her head for his kiss.