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‘Are we expected to believe that you’re overly generous?’ Trahern asked. He didn’t bother to keep the sardonic tone from his voice.
Katla rested her palms on the table, meeting his accusatory look with her own indignant glare. ‘Who are you to doubt us, Irishman?’
To distract Trahern, Morren placed a goblet of mead into his hand. In the midst of the argument, Jilleen had shrunk back, leaving her own food unfinished. She stared down at the table, as though she wanted to disappear.
‘I’ve no reason to trust you,’ Trahern responded. ‘Your people killed the woman I intended to marry.’
Katla’s face turned scarlet. ‘You’re wrong.’ She reached out and snatched his food away. ‘And if you won’t believe that, then you can leave.’
‘Katla,’ another man said softly. He came up behind her and replaced the food. ‘Leave him be.’
From the protective way the man rested his hands upon the woman’s shoulders, Morren suspected he was her husband. Katla didn’t apologise, however, and Trahern stood. He ignored both of them and strode out of the longhouse.
Morren cast a glance at Jilleen, who still hadn’t looked up from her food. ‘Wait here,’ she advised her sister. ‘I’ll be back.’
Trahern’s restless energy, his caged anger, made him a threat to anyone who came too close. Soon enough, someone would provoke him, and she didn’t know if she could calm his temper. Perhaps it would be best if he left.
The thought was strangely disappointing. In the past few days, Trahern had taken care of her, protecting her from harm. His steady presence had silenced her fears. If he went away, she would have to face all the questions that she didn’t want to answer.
Outside, the wind whipped at the thatched roofs. The night sky was dotted with stars and all around them were the mingled voices of Irish and Viking.
Trahern stood with his back to her, his tall form silhouetted in the darkness. The outdoor fires cast a slight glow, barely enough to see. An invisible weight bore down on his shoulders, and, like her sister, he appeared to stand apart from the others.
Moreen stepped nearer to him, keeping her tread loud enough to be heard. There was a restlessness brewing within him, of a man who didn’t want to be here. He needed his freedom, and she had no right to ask him to remain.
‘You don’t have to stay on my behalf,’ she offered gently. ‘There’s nothing to keep you here.’
He turned, his massive height overshadowing her. His grey eyes locked onto hers, and the fury seemed to drift away. With each breath, he grew calmer. ‘That isn’t true.’
Colour rose to her cheeks. Though she knew she meant nothing to him, his tone suggested otherwise. ‘We’ll be all right.’
‘I left Ciara behind, thinking she would be safe.’ He took a step forward. ‘I said goodbye to her, believing that the others would protect her.’
The night air prickled the back of her neck, and she took a step backwards. ‘You couldn’t have known what would happen. They set our homes on fire in the middle of the night. No one was expecting the attack.’
‘You’re asking me to do the same thing again. To leave you and your sister behind, at the mercy of these Lochlannach.’
She drew the edges of her brat tighter. His face was determined and fierce, his entire body rigid with pain. ‘It’s not the same. Some of my cousins and friends are here.’
‘I promised your sister I wouldn’t let any harm come to you.’ Trahern reached out and drew her brat over her head for warmth.
Morren wanted to step back, but she found herself unable to move. Something about his protective air held her locked in place.
‘Do you want me to escort both of you to the abbey instead?’ he asked.
She knew Trahern meant to bring her to safety, but she couldn’t hide among the monks forever. She had to return to her clan, for the sake of Jilleen. And that meant staying here.
‘Thank you,’ she told Trahern, ‘but no. It’s best for my sister if we remain among our people here. When the rest of the Ó Reillys return to Glen Omrigh, we’ll go with them.’
‘I don’t like it, Morren.’
‘My kinsmen trust the Dalrata people well enough, and they’ve been here for months.’ Beyond that, she saw no other choice.
‘What happened to your chieftain?’ he asked.
She lifted her shoulders in a shrug. ‘Lúcás died, I suppose. I don’t know which of the men is leader now.’
‘And neither do they.’ Trahern pointed back to the dwelling. ‘Haven’t you seen the way they look to each other, waiting for someone else to lead? Were Lúcás’s sons also killed?’
‘I don’t know. They aren’t among the survivors. But even so, there are a few men who might fill Lúcás’s place.’
Their chieftain had not been the strongest leader, often preferring to let the others make decisions. Morren had never particularly cared for him, though she couldn’t say why. For now, perhaps it was best if her clan remained blended with the Lochlannach.
Trahern led her across the longphort, towards the gates. ‘Until someone becomes the chieftain, your tribe has essentially fallen into the hands of the Lochlannach.’
‘The Dalrata weren’t our enemy,’ she pointed out. ‘Several of our women married them. It isn’t as though we have no ties.’
Trahern stopped and surveyed the entire structure, which dominated the landscape. Easily as large as his brother’s kingdom, the Viking holdings stretched out to the western sea.
‘I wouldn’t trust them. And neither should you.’
She crossed her arms and regarded him. ‘You don’t trust anyone any more.’ She exhaled, not understanding what had happened to him. Had one woman’s death affected him this profoundly?
She remembered his laughing demeanour, the way he’d always had a story to tell. The way he would swing a child up onto his shoulders, teasing and joking with others. That man was now gone.
‘I’ve reason to be angry,’ he responded. ‘Until I’ve had my vengeance, I don’t care how I appear to others.’
‘You’re letting it destroy the man you were.’
‘And are you the same woman you were?’ His words cut her down, and she looked away in shame.
‘Neither of us will ever be the same. But I’ve chosen to bury my feelings about what happened. I can’t indulge myself in anger or weeping. I have a sister to take care of.’
‘Do you really believe that you can simply forget about what happened?’
‘I don’t have a choice.’
His tone altered, turning gentle. ‘It’s a poison, Morren. It festers inside you, until you think you’re going to go mad.’
She shivered, for there was a truth to his words. Every time she pushed away the nightmares, they only returned stronger than before.
‘I tried to forget and go on with my life,’ he continued. ‘I have a family. Four brothers, all married with children of their own. And every time I looked at them and saw their happiness, I thought of Ciara. She was taken from me, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let the raiders find happiness of their own.’
She pulled away, feeling even colder. ‘Your need for revenge has changed you. Ciara wouldn’t have wanted that.’
Turning her back on him, Morren strode back to the house where she’d left her sister. The autumn air shifted against her hair, sending the cold onto the back of her neck. Behind her, she heard Trahern’s footsteps trailing her. He wouldn’t let her alone, not even for a moment.
Before she reached the house, he said, ‘Morren, wait.’
She stopped walking, but didn’t move to face him. He could say what he wanted, but it wouldn’t change anything.
‘If you intend to stay among the Lochlannach, then I won’t leave. Not until I know you’ll be safe.’
His sense of honour was so strong that she suspected it would be some time before he’d leave her. The thought made her feel even more like a burden. ‘I’m not your obligation. If you stay, it’s for your own reasons. Not because you feel some need to guard me.’
She kept moving forward, but Trahern intercepted her, standing in her path. He looked into her eyes, folding his arms across his chest. ‘You don’t believe you need protection from them?’
‘Not if it’s given by a man who will brood and sulk the entire time. Or tell me that I’d be better off taking my sister some place isolated from everyone.’
The corner of his mouth twitched. ‘I’m not brooding.’
‘You are. And I’ve no doubt that you’d complain at every moment.’
He seemed taken aback, but she didn’t apologise for the truth.
‘You think I’m behaving like a child.’ Without warning, his mouth curved upwards. It was the first time she’d seen him smile, and it transformed him from an angry warrior into a man.
A handsome man, if she were honest. She’d never really thought about it, but Trahern MacEgan was a man who had captured the attentions of many women in her clan, not just Ciara. Months ago, he’d worn his hair and beard long, but now, his shaved head and face were a stark contrast to his grey eyes. The smooth skin sharpened his features, like a honed blade.
And right now, he was staring straight at her with amusement. She didn’t know whether he was silently laughing at her or whether he’d recognised his own faults.
‘I promise not to sulk or complain,’ he said, gesturing for her to walk in front of him. ‘But I still won’t trust the Lochlannach.’
She didn’t doubt that. ‘You have the same purpose, the desire to find those who were responsible for the attack. Despite your suspicions, I know there are men who want to find the raiders, the same as you.’
‘They’ll have to prove themselves first.’ When they returned to the longhouse, he pushed open the door, waiting for her to enter. Morren glanced back at him. Although Trahern was no longer smiling, at least he seemed more relaxed and less likely to kill the next man he saw.
‘Where will you sleep tonight?’ she asked, before they rejoined the others. She saw her sister seated near the Lochlannach chief, but Jilleen appeared uncomfortable. As she walked to them, Gunnar rose to his feet. The Norseman offered an open smile of interest.
Trahern’s hand came down on her shoulder in an unmistakable message. She forced herself not to pull away, though she wanted to. ‘I won’t be leaving your side, Morren. Tonight, I’ll sleep wherever you are.’
Chapter Six
Jilleen Ó Reilly was a coward. A weak-minded, self-centred coward, and she hated herself for it.
Though she’d been with the Dalrata people for several days now, she’d allowed them to treat her like a small child. Katla had given her clothes and although she’d brought her among the other girls her age, Jilleen knew she didn’t fit in with them. She was an outsider. Different.
Already they’d branded her as a stranger, and though they’d said nothing impolite, she sensed their distance. And why would they want to befriend an Irish girl? She wasn’t one of them and never would be. Although there were some ties among the married women, it didn’t matter so much now. After the raid, few of her people lived. Hardly more than a dozen, it seemed.
The horror of that night washed over her, and her stomach wrenched into twisted knots. She wished she could just close her eyes and shut out every memory. She’d seen what the men had done to her sister, and hatred burned through her veins while she’d watched.
Not just for what they’d done to Morren, but also hatred at herself. She’d hidden in the trees, instead of going for help. She’d done nothing to stop the men, and that made her the worst coward of all.
Tonight, seeing Morren among the others, she knew that her sister had changed. Still shy, of course, but Morren no longer smiled. Jilleen couldn’t help but blame herself. If she hadn’t allowed herself to be caught, none of this would have happened.
She would make up for it somehow. The fervent need to atone for Morren’s suffering overshadowed everything else.
Jilleen’s gaze settled upon Trahern MacEgan. The giant had frightened her at first, the night she’d found him. But she’d remembered his storytelling, and the kind way about him. From the moment she’d seen him, she’d known he could help Morren with the fever.
And so he had. He’d protected her, and she saw the way he watched over Morren, even now.
Though Jilleen had never been much of a matchmaker, if she helped put them together, there was a strong chance that Trahern would take care of Morren.
Maybe that would make up for her cowardice.
Maybe.
‘We’re going to meet tonight to discuss the attack,’ Gunnar said, when the crowd had begun to dissipate. ‘Áron thought you would want to attend.’
At the mention of Ciara’s brother, Trahern tensed. He hadn’t seen Áron, hadn’t known that he’d returned. Áron wasn’t among the other Ó Reillys, and it struck him as strange that the man hadn’t greeted them.
He glanced back at Morren, who answered his unspoken question. ‘Go with Gunnar. I’ll be fine with Jilleen.’
‘I don’t want you unguarded.’
‘She can stay with Katla,’ Gunnar offered. ‘My brother’s wife will keep her safe.’
Trahern had no doubt of that. He imagined the Norsewoman would wield a spear against any man who threatened someone under her protection.
‘It’s all right, Trahern. You may as well go with them and find the answers you’re seeking.’
He would have preferred it if Morren came with him, but she was looking pale. It was best if she got some rest. He also wanted the healer to look over her in the morning, to be sure she hadn’t suffered unduly from the miscarriage.
‘I’ll be back later tonight,’ he promised.
‘I know you will.’ She lifted her eyes to his, and they were a steady, deep blue. Although she didn’t appear confident, she put on the appearance of bravery.
Without thinking, his hand reached out to her cheek. He touched it with his palm, and she flinched. The reaction was so fast, he dropped his hand away.
‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. ‘I know you didn’t mean any harm.’
He mumbled that it didn’t matter, but inwardly it bothered him to think that any unexpected touch would have such an effect upon her. He left without another word, following Gunnar outside the house to another rectangular structure. The air had turned even colder, hinting at a freezing rain or snow.
The Norseman stopped before the entrance, eyeing him thoughtfully. ‘Have you claimed Morren as your woman?’
‘Not in the way you’re suggesting. But I won’t allow you or any other man to bother her. I’ve sworn my protection.’
‘Selfish bastard.’ Gunnar pushed open the door. ‘You don’t want her, but you don’t want anyone else to have her.’
‘You’re right.’ He offered no excuses, for Morren had endured enough.
When they reached the interior of the dwelling, Trahern saw five men seated. Ciara’s brother, Áron, was there with a resigned expression. The man looked as though he’d given up hope.
He’s avoiding me, Trahern realised. But why? Was it sorrow at losing Ciara…or guilt?
‘This is our chief, Dagmar,’ Gunnar said. A taller, older man, the chief wore costly gold rings and a band around his upper arm to denote his rank. Shrewd brown eyes stared into his own, as if assessing his measure. Trahern didn’t falter, but stared back, daring the man to voice a protest.
‘I know you believe we were behind the attack that night,’ the chief began, ‘but it isn’t true. We’re trying to learn who was.’
