Surrender to an Irish Warrior (10 page)

Her own tears dampened her cheeks as the self-blame descended. She'd been such a coward, failing her sister. If only she could go back and change things, she'd have done something. Maybe stolen a weapon and attacked while they weren't looking. Something.

Reaching out to her sister, Jilleen held Morren's hand. Morren's eyes flickered open, worry filling them up when she saw Jilleen's tears. ‘What is it?'

‘You were crying.' Jilleen squeezed her fingers, then wiped her own tears away. ‘Another nightmare?'

Morren nodded. ‘Did something happen?'

‘No. I'm all right. Just…worried about you.'

Morren pulled her into a fierce hug. ‘You don't worry about me, Jilleen. Everything will be well now. We're safe.'

But Jilleen knew that wasn't true. Until her sister's nightmares stopped, nothing would be well. And if there was anything she could do to make the past go away, she'd do it. Without question.

A strange sense of power filled her up inside, replacing the fears. Maybe being brave wasn't the lack of fear, but the determination to act, instead of running away.

Jilleen laid down beside Morren, feeling better. She couldn't change what had happened in the past. But perhaps she could change her sister's future.

 

That night, Trahern couldn't sleep. Inside the men's hut, he'd stared at the walls for hours, his thoughts in pieces. He was haunted by Morren. He wanted her to find peace, after what she'd been through.

Needing fresh air and a chance to clear his head, he donned his shoes and stepped outside. He walked through the quiet ruins, the moon sliding out from behind a cloud. The crisp, cool air still held traces of charred smoke, but the odour was beginning to lift.

When he reached the furthest edge, a sound caught his attention—a horse whinnying from outside the
cashel
.

No one should be outside at this time of night. It sounded like a single rider, which could mean one of the brethren from the abbey. Yet his instincts suspected it was an intruder.

Trahern returned to the men's hut, where he retrieved his sword. If the visitor meant no harm, he'd learn that soon enough.

The motion made Gunnar stir. ‘What is it?' the Norseman asked, rising to his feet.

‘A rider is outside.' Trahern kept his voice low, so as not to disturb the others. ‘I'm going to find out who it is.'

Gunnar reached for his own weapon, a lighter version of a battle-axe. ‘I'm coming with you.'

Trahern led him back to where he'd first heard the sound. They stared out into the darkness, listening for the sound of an intrusion.

Time inched forward, and it wasn't until Trahern heard a light scraping noise that he realised where it was coming from.

The
souterrain
.

A ruthless anticipation flowed through him, overshadowing the danger. Likely the intruder had come for the coins that had once been hidden there. He lit a torch at one of the fires and moved toward the interior entrance of the
souterrain
pit.
Usually it was hidden within one of the dwellings, but there was nothing but fallen debris and ashes surrounding the ladder that led below.

‘Wait here,' he whispered to Gunnar. He preferred to face his enemy alone, but the
Lochlannach
could back him up, if need be.

Trahern climbed down the ladder into the
souterrain
. Gunnar held his battle-axe in one hand and took the torch. He backed away, keeping the light away from the passage.

The frigid interior of the underground passage was much colder, and Trahern felt ice upon the stone walls. He kept his back pressed to the shadows, his sword ready.

Footsteps crept closer, the intruder nearing the storage containers. No light permeated the space, and Trahern waited until he heard someone reaching for one of the containers. Though he didn't know who the man was, he was sure the person was connected to the attacks.

He threw himself at the intruder, slamming the man against the wall. A grunt expelled from his enemy's throat, and clay containers shattered beneath his feet. Trahern punched hard, his fist clipping the man's jaw, dropping him to the ground.

‘Bring the torch,' he called out to Gunnar. ‘I want to see him.'

The torch flared above, illuminating the passage. Trahern grabbed his attacker by the hair, jerking the intruder's face up into the light to see who he was.

It wasn't one of the Ó Reilly men, nor one of the brothers from the monastery, but he was undeniably a Viking.

Trahern hauled the unconscious man over one shoulder and struggled to climb up the ladder. The added weight put additional stress upon the wood, and one of the rungs cracked.

‘Take him,' Trahern ordered, and Gunnar grasped the man beneath his arms, dragging him away from the
souterrain
entrance. ‘Do you know who he is?'

Gunnar laid the man out on the ground, exposing his face.
‘I've never seen him before. He has the look of one of the Danes.'

A quiet voice interrupted. ‘I've seen him.'

Trahern climbed the ladder and saw Morren standing on the threshold of the women's hut. Her face had lost all colour.

He knew what she would say, even before she spoke the words.

‘He was one of the raiders.' She clenched her arms around herself, looking as though she wanted to flee. ‘He was there that night.'

T
rahern shoved the man onto his stomach, pinning him down. Morren remained in place while they lashed the raider's hands behind his back, tightening the ropes. Blood stained his nose, and when the Viking regained consciousness, his efforts to fight back were quickly subdued.

Though she didn't know his name, she recognised the man's face. She felt hollow inside, as though she'd left her body standing there while her mind was screaming. For months, she'd tried to block out all thoughts of the attack, pretending as though it hadn't happened.

But as soon as she saw the raider, it came flooding back.

Bile rose up in her throat, and Morren struggled not to be sick. He'd been one of the men to hold her down, grinning as the first had violated her.

She tasted blood in her mouth, biting her tongue in an effort to hold on to her control.

Trahern forced the man to walk towards one of the fallen beams, where he secured the man's bindings, imprisoning him.

‘I've done nothing wrong,' the raider protested. ‘I was lost and came seeking shelter.'

Liar.
She tried to protest, but no words came. She couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe.

‘You were sneaking around in the storage chambers.' Trahern reached into the pouch at his waist. ‘Looking for these.' He allowed the coins to slip back down through his fingers.

Morren didn't want to move any closer, but her feet were driven forward with the need to face him. To prove to him that she was strong enough for this.

When she emerged in front of the flickering torches, he saw her at last. A light smirk pulled at his mouth, an unspoken taunt.

‘Where are the others?' Trahern demanded. The man gave no answer, and his silence earned him another punch and a split lip. ‘Tell me.'

Morren took another step forward, though it pained her to be anywhere near the man. Her stomach roiled inside, but she fought the nausea. Her hands clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her skin.

Trahern saw her coming closer and held up his hand to stop her. ‘You don't have to watch.'

And she knew then that the raider was going to die. He would suffer as they questioned him, and upon Trahern's face she saw no emotion. He didn't care what happened to the prisoner. His moment of vengeance was here, and he would glory in it.

Gunnar moved forward. ‘Go back and fetch the chief,' he ordered her. ‘He'll decide what's to be done with this man.'

‘No,' Trahern said. His voice was fierce, and she heard the undertones of grief within it. ‘For all I know, it was this man who killed Ciara.'

It wasn't. But Morren couldn't bring herself to speak. Her numbing fear was transforming, building up inside, until it became something else entirely.

Rage. Cold fury at this man who had hurt her, not caring
that she had never been with a man before. He, along with the others, had made her endure the worst nightmare of her life.

He didn't deserve to live.

She wanted to strike out at him, to make him suffer as she had.

‘Where are your people?' Trahern demanded. Blood streamed down the raider's throat, but still, there came no answer.

With a glance back at Morren, Trahern kicked between the man's legs, and his enemy cried out in pain. He'd deliberately chosen to emasculate their enemy, avenging her in a way that would torment the raider.

‘Gall Tír,' he gasped, doubled over with pain.

The settlement was nowhere near here; rather, it was close to Trahern's home at Laochre, near Port Láirge.

Strange. Why would the man be so far from his own clan? Morren couldn't understand it.

Trahern stepped away, letting the raider catch his breath. Several of the others had awakened from the noise, and they gathered around the small space. Morren heard the murmurings of her clansmen who had seen the intruder.

They knew who he was, but not why he was here. Was he alone or had the other raiders returned as well? Trahern seemed to read her thoughts, for he spoke with Gunnar, who ordered several Vikings to scout the territory nearby.

Morren's nerves drew tighter when she saw Jilleen. Her sister stared at the man, recognition dawning. Tears filled Jilleen's eyes, and she moved closer to Trahern.

It happened so fast, Morren didn't even realise her sister's intent. In a flash, Jilleen seized Trahern's knife from his belt and darted towards the bound raider.

Trahern reached out to stop her, but it was too late. The knife lay embedded in the man's throat, his last breaths gurgling away.

Morren could only stare, shocked as Jilleen ran back sobbing. Her sister flung her arms around her waist, trembling violently. ‘I'm sorry, Morren. It was my fault that night. I'm sorry.'

She held Jilleen tightly, her fingers stroking her sister's hair.

And moments later, the raider slumped forward. Dead.

 

‘What will happen to her?' Trahern asked the chief quietly. Jilleen had committed murder, in front of several witnesses. He didn't know if the Vikings would honour the Brehon laws of the Irish. Under them, Jilleen would be required to compensate the raider's family with a body price.

But given the raider's crimes, that might not be necessary. There wasn't a man among them who hadn't wanted him dead. After the number of lives the raider had taken, the penalties would cancel one another.

‘Her actions were clear,' the chief remarked. ‘She committed murder.'

‘The man was one of the attackers that night,' Trahern said. ‘There are several who can testify to it.'

‘That may be. We will hold an assembly in the morning and decide her penalty. For now, she will remain confined with the women and guarded.'

‘She's a girl,' Trahern snapped. ‘Not an adult. A girl of thirteen who saw more violence that night than she should have.'

He said nothing about Morren's suffering, though he wanted to. The truth was, if Jilleen hadn't killed the raider, he would have. Without a second thought.

‘It's late, MacEgan. As I've said, we will gather everyone in the morning and decide what to do.'

‘We bury him,' Trahern remarked, ‘and we'll take a group of men to Gall Tír to find the other raiders and bring them to justice.'

‘This isn't our battle,' the chief remarked.

‘I didn't say your men, did I?' Before he lost the tight control over his temper, Trahern turned and left. Though it was only hours before dawn, he felt nothing but raw madness coursing through him.

When Morren had looked upon the raider, horror had washed over her face, as though she were reliving the nightmare all over again. He'd wanted to go to her, to reassure her of his protection. But at that moment, his greater focus had been on getting information.

The raider had come from Gall Tír, a Viking settlement only miles from his family lands. Why had the men travelled so far? Someone had hired them, but who?

He needed those answers. And he had every intention of tracking the men down. Though it was not the best time to travel, there was still time before winter struck.

He could recruit men from among the Ó Reillys, men who wanted vengeance as much as he did. Perhaps Ciara's brother, Áron, would come. He visualised the men to ask, his mind spinning with plans.

As he turned to walk back to the men's hut, he saw Morren standing near the palisade wall. Her back faced him, and from the trembling in her shoulders, likely she was weeping.

Trahern didn't think about what he was doing. He simply closed the distance and took her into his embrace. She wept shuddering sobs, her tears dampening his tunic.

‘What will happen to Jilleen?' she asked at last, lifting her tearstained eyes to his.

‘Nothing.' His voice was hard, confident. ‘I'll let nothing happen to her.' He stroked her hair, fitting Morren's slender body against his own.

‘She's all I have left, Trahern. I can't let anyone harm her.' She pulled back and wiped her eyes. ‘They wouldn't let me close to her, she's so heavily guarded.'

‘I'll speak to them.' He took her hand in his, leading her back to the women's hut. ‘Trust me.'

‘I don't know why she did it,' Morren confessed. ‘She would never hurt anyone. Jilleen is the most soft-hearted person I know.'

The anguish in her face pierced him through the heart. He stopped walking, his fingers caressing hers. ‘She loves you, Morren.'

‘And I love her. But I would never have asked her to do some thing like that.'

‘You sacrificed yourself for her. Don't you think she would do the same?' He touched her damp cheek, and her blue eyes grew solemn. His thumb brushed against her temple, and her cheek warmed against his palm. ‘She wanted to punish the raider for what he did.'

‘I was so angry,' she admitted. ‘I didn't know how much until I saw him.' She touched his hand, gently moving it away. ‘I'm not sorry he's dead.'

‘Neither am I.'

After a few moments passed, she seemed to realise that she was still holding his hand. Her blush darkened in the torchlight, and she dropped her fingers from his.

But she didn't leave him.

‘You're going after them, aren't you?' she guessed. ‘To Gall Tír.'

He inclined his head. ‘As soon as I can gather men to join me.'

‘I want to go with you.'

He'd sooner cut off his legs than put her in danger. ‘No. The other men can identify the raiders. There's no need.'

‘Can they?' She shook her head. ‘I doubt it. It was dark that night, and they struck so quickly, everyone was trying to put out the fires.' She squared her shoulders, as if trying to reassure herself.

‘Stay here with the others, and rebuild your
cashel
. Let a
man like Adham look after you.' The words he spoke were the right ones. She should remain safely within her clan, protected by a man who cared about her.

But in his gut, he knew that Adham Ó Reilly didn't have the courage or the ability to appreciate a woman like Morren. The man would never understand the kind of hell she'd been through.

And if he dared to blame her for the attack, or treat her like an outcast…

Trahern's fingers curled into a fist, his mouth set in a dark line.

‘I'm not going to marry Adham. Or anyone.' She took a deep breath, cutting off his arguments before he could voice them. ‘I'll go with you to Gall Tír because I want justice, the same as you. I've been cowering for long enough.'

She crossed her arms and looked him squarely in the eye. ‘I want to look upon their faces and let them know that they didn't defeat me. And when I've done that, the nightmares will stop.' Her hands moved down to her mid-section. ‘They took everything from me. I'll have no children because of them.'

He wanted to deny it, but the words were trapped in his throat. His own memories came back, of the night she'd lost her child. Grief caught him like a blade between his ribs, along with the need to share the truth with her.

‘You had a son that night,' he said.

Morren looked stricken, and her eyes filled up with tears again. He felt his own eyes burning, but he continued on. ‘He was too small to live, hardly larger than my palm. I baptised him with a little water and said a prayer for his soul.' He took a breath, finishing with, ‘He's buried outside the hut.'

Silent tears ran down her cheeks, and he took her into his arms again, letting her weep. Though death had taken the lives of many, and certainly enough women had suffered the same loss as Morren, he felt her pain as his own.

‘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.

Morren's arms moved around his neck, returning the embrace. She held tightly to him, as if drawing strength only he could give to her. And though a part of him hesitated in offering comfort, this was no betrayal of what he'd had with Ciara. Morren needed him right now, and there was no sin in it.

The longer he held her, the more something within him began to shift. He didn't want to let go. He wanted to keep her within his arms, for she'd given him a chance at redemption. She was a beautiful, desirable woman who had lost as much as he had. Perhaps more.

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.

She was hesitant, unsure of herself. But a moment later, her lips moved upon his, kissing him back. Light as rain, her cool mouth quenched a thirst he didn't know he had.

His body responded to her, and though their hips were not touching, he prayed she was unaware of her effect upon him.

Though he'd promised her it wouldn't happen again, this wasn't meant to be an act of desire—it was reassurance. Comfort and healing.

His mind was ordering him to end the kiss before he lost his head even more. But if he pushed her back now, she'd think it was because she repulsed him.

Far from it. He angled his mouth, tasting her lips, the sleekness of her tongue. So long it had been. Ciara hadn't been much for kissing. She'd tease him, taking a quick kiss before holding him tight. She'd wanted his strength, and she delighted
in it when he'd carry her off, bringing her some place where they could be alone to love one another.

Morren was different. She seemed to need the kiss, as though she were pushing away the darkness she'd suffered. And he let her kiss him as long as she wanted him to, his mouth moving against her hesitant lips.

Her hands moved to his head, touching the prickled scalp where his hair was growing back. She broke free and said, ‘It's softer than I thought it would be.'

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.