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Surrender to an Irish Warrior
Michelle Willingham
AN IRISH WARRIOR WITH A THIRST FOR REVENGE…Trahern MacEgan – his body is honed for fighting, his soul is black and tortured. Women want to tame him, but he has loved once, and now is lost. A WOMAN WHO HAS SUFFERED IN SILENCE… Morren Ó Reilly – she has known pain and shame, but holds her head high, even though she shrinks from a man’s touch.THEIR PASSIONATE REDEMPTION Can Morren be the light to Trahern’s darkness, and can she be made whole again by her surrender?The MacEgan Brothers Fierce Warriors – Passionate Hearts! FREE bonus story Voyage of an Irish Warrior inside
‘I thought I was going to die that night,’ she confessed.
Trahern took her face in his hands, touching his forehead to hers. ‘But you found the strength to live.’ For a long moment he stood with her face close to his own. Her scent entranced him like summer dew.
And when she lifted her face he needed to kiss her again. His mouth covered hers, soothing away her pain. Offering her the broken pieces of himself.
When she broke free her lips were swollen, her cheeks bright, as though she were too embarrassed to mention what had just happened between them. He didn’t know what to say.
She seemed to sense his reticence, but before she could pull her hands away her hips accidentally bumped against his. She paled, realising what reaction she’d evoked.
‘Morren—’
She stepped back, covering her face with her hands. She had gone pale, but took a deep breath. ‘Don’t say it. I wanted you to kiss me, so you didn’t break your promise. This was my fault.’
About the Author
MICHELLE WILLINGHAM grew up living in places all over the world, including Germany, England and Thailand. When her parents hauled her to antiques shows in manor houses and castles Michelle entertained herself by making up stories and pondering whether she could afford a broadsword with her allowance. She graduated summa cum laude from the University of Notre Dame, with a degree in English, and received her master’s degree in Education from George Mason University. Currently she teaches American History and English. She lives in south-eastern Virginia with her husband and children. She still doesn’t have her broadsword.
Visit her website at: www.michellewillingham.com, or e-mail her at michelle@michellewillingham.com
Previous novels by this author:
HER IRISH WARRIOR*
THE WARRIOR’S TOUCH*
HER WARRIOR KING*
HER WARRIOR SLAVE†
THE ACCIDENTAL COUNTESS**
THE ACCIDENTAL PRINCESS**
TAMING HER IRISH WARRIOR*
Also available in eBook format in Mills & Boon® HistoricalUndone:
THE VIKING’S FORBIDDEN LOVE-SLAVE
THE WARRIOR’S FORBIDDEN VIRGIN
AN ACCIDENTAL SEDUCTION**
INNOCENT IN THE HAREM
PLEASURED BY THE VIKING
*The MacEgan Brothers †prequel to The MacEgan Brothers mini-series **linked by character
SURRENDER TO
AN IRISH WARRIOR
VOYAGE OF AN
IRISH WARRIOR
Michelle Willingham
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dedication:
To Chuck, my wonderful husband, who challenged me
to break the rules.
Acknowledgements:
With many thanks to my editor Joanne Grant and my agent Helen Breitwieser for believing in me and encouraging me. You are both such a wonderful support, and I can’t thank you enough for everything you do.
AUTHOR NOTE
Sometimes there are difficult books which demand to be written. I knew at the end of TAMING HER IRISH WARRIOR that the character of Trahern MacEgan would need his own story. As a bard and storyteller, Trahern has always had the love and support of a strong family, despite his travelling nature. When tragedy strikes his heart, he turns inwards and loses sight of the man he is. Though his compassionate spirit is buried, he finds a woman who awakens him to love.
Morren Ó Reilly is a heroine who has made difficult sacrifices to save her sister. When Trahern rescues her, they find healing in each other. He is the strength she needs, and Morren becomes his steadfast rock when unexpected secrets unfold within Trahern’s past. Their love story is filled with emotional obstacles, but even in the darkest shadow lies hope for the future.
This was one of the most challenging books I’ve ever written, but I believe deeply in this story. I hope that you will enjoy the journey of Morren and Trahern as they find happiness together.
This is the last book in the MacEgan Brothers series. Other titles include: HER WARRIOR SLAVE (prequel to the series), HER WARRIOR KING (Patrick); HER IRISH WARRIOR (Bevan); THE WARRIOR’S TOUCH (Connor) and TAMING HER IRISH WARRIOR (Ewan). As a special bonus in this book you will find a short story—Voyage of an Irish Warrior. I first wrote this story for eHarlequin.com’s website.
Visit my website at www.michellewillingham.com for excerpts and behind-the-scenes details. I love to hear from readers, and you may e-mail me at michelle@michellewillingham.com or write to PO Box 2242 Poquoson, VA 23662, USA.
SURRENDER TO
AN IRISH WARRIOR
Michelle Willingham
Chapter One
Ireland—1180
The autumn wind was frigid, cutting through his cloak in a dark warning that he needed to seek shelter. Yet Trahern MacEgan hardly felt the cold. For the past season, he’d felt nothing at all, his emotions as frigid as the surrounding air.
Vengeance consumed him now, along with the fierce need to find the men who had killed Ciara. He’d left his home and family, returning to the southwest of Éireann, where the Ó Reilly tribe dwelled at Glen Omrigh.
His brothers didn’t know of his intent to find the raiders. They believed he was travelling again, to visit with friends and tell his stories. As a bard, he rarely stayed in one place for very long, so they weren’t at all suspicious.
But for this journey, he’d wanted to be alone. His brothers had their wives and children to guard. He’d never risk their safety, not when they had so much to lose. He had no one, and he preferred it that way.
The land was more mountainous here, with green hills rising from the mist. A narrow road snaked through the valley, and misty warm clouds released from his horse’s nostrils. The emptiness suited him, for he’d never expected to lose the woman he’d loved.
Earlier in the summer, Ciara’s brother, Áron, had sent word that the cashel had been attacked by Viking raiders. Ciara had been caught in the middle of the battle, struck down and killed when she’d tried to flee.
The devastating news had kept him from Glen Omrigh for months. He didn’t want to see Ciara’s grave or hear the sympathy from friends. More than anything, he needed to forget.
But time hadn’t dulled his pain, it had only heightened it. He shouldn’t have left her. The guilt consumed him, eating away at the man he was.
Hatred flowed within his veins now, suffocating the pain of loss. The anguish had been replaced with rage, a sense of purpose. He was going to find the raiders, and when he did, they would suffer the same fate Ciara had endured.
When the sun had grown lower in the sky, he set up a fire and unpacked the tent. Though he could have finished his journey to Glen Omrigh, had he continued to ride for another few hours, he preferred to spend the night alone.
The flames licked at the wood, flaring bright orange against the night sky. Tomorrow, he would reach the cashel and begin tracking his enemy.
Trahern stretched out upon his cloak, watching the fire and listening to the sounds of the evening while he ate. In the distance, he heard the faint rustling of leaves against the forest floor. Likely animals. Even so, he reached for his blade.
The movement was heavier than a squirrel or a fox. No, this was human, not an animal. Trahern clenched his sword, waiting for the person to draw closer.
Abruptly, a figure emerged from the trees. It was a young maiden, perhaps thirteen, wearing a ragged white léine and a green overdress. Dirt matted her face, and she held out her hands near the fire. She was so thin, it looked as though she hadn’t eaten a full meal in weeks. Long brown hair hung to her waist, and she wore no shoes.
Jesu, her feet must be frozen.
‘Who are you?’ he asked softly. She kept her gaze averted, not answering his question. Instead, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment before she beckoned to him.
‘Come and warm yourself,’ he offered. ‘I have food to share, if you are hungry.’
She took a step towards the fire but shook her head, pointing to the trees behind her. Trahern studied the place, but saw no one. Although the girl raised her hands to warm them in front of the fire, her expression grew more fearful. Again, she gestured toward the trees.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
Coughing, she moved her mouth, as though she hadn’t spoken in a long time. ‘My sister.’
Trahern rose to his feet. ‘Bring her here. She can warm herself and eat. I’ve enough for both.’ It wasn’t true, but he didn’t care if they depleted his supplies or not. Better to let the women sate their hunger, for he could always hunt.
The girl shook her head again. ‘She’s hurt.’
‘How badly?’
She didn’t answer, but beckoned to him as she walked back into the forest. Trahern eyed his horse, then the wooded hillside. Though it was faster to ride, the trees grew too close for a horse.
He had no desire to venture into the woods, particularly when it would be dark within another hour. But neither could he allow this girl to leave with no escort. Grimacing, he fashioned a torch out of a fallen branch. He slung his food supplies over one shoulder, not wanting to leave them behind.
The girl led him uphill for nearly half a mile. The ground was covered with fallen leaves, and he was careful to hold the torch aloft.
They crossed a small stream, and not far away, he spied a crude shelter, built from the remains of an old roundhouse. When they reached it he followed the girl inside.
‘What is this place?’ he murmured. Isolated from anywhere else, he couldn’t imagine why it was here.
‘A hunting shelter,’ she answered. ‘Morren found it years ago.’
Inside, the hearth was cold, the interior dark. Then, he heard the unmistakable moans of a woman. ‘Build a fire,’ he ordered the girl, handing her the torch.
Then he leaned down to examine the woman lying upon the bed. She was racked with shivers, clutching the bedcovers to her chest. Her legs jerked with pain, and when he touched her forehead, she was burning with fever.
Trahern let out a curse, for he wasn’t a healer. He could tend sword wounds or bruises, but he knew nothing about illnesses that ravaged from inside the body. The woman was in a great deal of pain, and he didn’t have any idea what to do for her.
He eyed the young girl who was busy with the fire. ‘Your sister needs a healer.’
‘We don’t have one.’ She shook her head.
Trahern sat down and removed his shoes. Though they would never fit her, it was better than nothing. ‘Put these on. Tie them if you have to.’
She hesitated, and he gentled his tone. ‘Go back to my camp and take my horse. If you ride hard for the next few hours, you can reach Glen Omrigh. Take the torch with you.’
Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t even consider sending a young girl out by herself in the dark. But between the two of them, he had a greater chance of sustaining the wounded woman’s life until help arrived. Trahern had no doubt that the Ó Reilly men would accompany the girl back with the healer, once she made it there safely.
‘If you can’t make it that far, seek help at St Michael’s Abbey.’
The girl started to refuse, but Trahern levelled a dark stare at her. ‘I can’t save her alone.’
He wondered what had become of their kin. Had they been killed during the raid? Since the girl had not mentioned anyone, Trahern suspected they were alone.
Reluctance coloured her face, but at last the girl nodded. ‘I’ll find someone.’ She tied his shoes on, using strips of linen. Without another word, she seized the branch he’d used as a torch and left them alone.
It would be hours before the girl returned, and he hoped to God she wouldn’t abandon them. Trahern struggled to remember what his brother’s wife, Aileen, would have done, when healing a wounded person. He recalled how she examined the wounded person from head to toe.
‘Sometimes, you’ll find an injury where you least expect it,‘ she’d said.
Trahern moved beside the woman. Her eyes were closed, and she shuddered when he touched her hand, as though his fingers were freezing cold.
‘It’s all right,’ he said softly. ‘You’ll be safe now.’ He studied her closely. Though her face was thin from hunger, her lips were full. Long fair hair lay matted against her cheek. He sensed a strength beneath the delicate features, and though the fever was attacking her body, she fought it back.
She wore a ragged léine that covered her torso, and the thin fabric was hardly enough to keep anyone warm. Trahern brought his hands gently down her face, to her throat. Down her arms, he touched, searching for whatever had caused the fever.
‘Don’t,’ she whimpered, her hands trying to push him away, then falling to her sides. Her eyes remained closed, and he couldn’t tell if his touch was causing her pain or whether she was dreaming. He stopped, waiting to see if she would regain consciousness.
When she didn’t awaken, he pulled back the coverlet. It was then that he saw the reason for her agony. Blood darkened her gown below the waist. Her stomach was barely rounded from early pregnancy, and she tightened her knees together, as if struggling to stop the miscarriage.
Jesu. He murmured a silent prayer, for it was clear that he’d arrived too late. Not only was she going to lose this child, but she might also lose her life.
You have to help her, his conscience chided. He couldn’t be a coward now, simply because of his own ignorance. Nothing he did would be any worse than the pain she was already suffering.
Reluctantly, he eased up her léine, wishing he could protect her modesty somehow. ‘It’s going to be all right, a chara. I’ll do what I can to help you.’
