Surrender to an Irish Warrior (18 page)

‘You know what happened to the woman, don't you?'

Annle began walking again, and he was forced to remain at her side. ‘I do.' She gestured for him to open the door to her hut. He did and saw that someone had already brought in hot stones to warm the interior for her. Annle was the oldest woman in the tribe and beloved by all.

‘I don't look like my brothers,' he said, when they were inside. ‘I always thought I looked like my grandfather. But there's more, isn't there?'

‘You've seen the ones who do look like you.' She leaned heavily upon him as he helped her sit down. ‘And it troubles you.'

The Lochlannach
.

The coldness bled from Trahern's heart and through his veins, fear snaking up into his throat. ‘No. It's not true.'

Annle folded her hands on her lap. ‘The
Lochlannach
woman came to us, long ago. She gave birth to a son the very night after Saraid gave birth. But your mother's child was sickly. He came too soon, and there was nothing I could do to save him.'

Annle reached out for Trahern's hand. ‘I know you can guess what your mother did. The woman was bleeding, and she died that night. Saraid took you and raised you as her own.'

He wanted to deny it, to give all the reasons why it couldn't be true. But his physical appearance didn't lie. His height and his features were not like his brothers.

You're a Lochlannach
, Áron had said. Trahern's jaw tightened, hating the thought that it was true. Even Gunnar had believed he was one of them, from the moment Trahern had tried to kill the man. His eyes had been blinded to the truth, it seemed.

He wanted to drive his fist into a wall, anything to burn off the reckless anger rising inside. But Annle's delicate hand held firm, squeezing his palm.

He forced himself to take a breath. ‘You said the woman didn't come from Gall Tír.'

‘She wasn't one of the Hardrata tribe,' Annle agreed. ‘She'd fled their settlement, begging us for sanctuary.'

‘What happened to her, after she died?'

Annle's quiet smile held amusement. ‘You know that she didn't truly disappear. We buried her along the sea cliff, and covered the place with stones.'

The healer took his hand. ‘The woman may have given birth to you, but Saraid gave you a home and a family. You may not be a MacEgan by blood, but…' she reached out and touched his heart ‘…you are here, where it counts.'

Trahern didn't hear the rest of what she said, words of consolation and words trying to explain the lies. He'd always believed that Saraid and Duncan were his parents. And his mother had treated him as though he were born of her own flesh.

‘Did my father know?'

Annle nodded. ‘He did. But they chose to treat you as their own son, a precious gift in the midst of Saraid's tragedy.' The old healer patted his hand. ‘Don't let it bother you, Trahern.'

But it did. Not only would he never know his true parents, but his family ties had been dissolved with a single revelation. He wasn't a MacEgan. And knowing the truth was like a knife slashing through his heart.

He bid farewell to Annle, but he was numb to the celebration going on around him. He saw Connor laughing with his wife, Aileen, and his brother waved.

No. No longer his brother. He was
Lochlannach
, of the same blood as his enemy.

Trahern kept walking, away from the crowd. Right now, he couldn't seem to grasp what had happened or what he should do with the information.

Behind him, he heard quiet footsteps following. He
continued back to the castle, knowing who it was. But right now, he didn't know what he could say to Morren.

‘Trahern?' she called out to him, when he reached the spiral stairs. ‘Is everything all right?'

No, it wasn't. But he could only lift his shoulders in a shrug. ‘I just need to be alone for a time.'

Long enough to decide what he should do about Annle's confession. It was as if someone had swept his past clean, destroying his family.

Morren moved closer, concern etched in her eyes. ‘Something happened since I spoke with you last. After you left Annle's hut, you looked upset.'

‘It has nothing to do with the raiders,' he reassured her. ‘You can go and join the others.'

Morren took a step up, passing him until she stood above him on the stairs. She reached out to touch his cheek, her face lined with concern. ‘You're still my friend, Trahern. Tell me.'

He wanted to deny her again. He ought to hold his silence, not troubling her with his errant thoughts, yet Morren's calm presence steadied him. She knew him as no other woman did and would not cast any judgement.

‘Come.' Trahern took her hand and led her up the winding stairs until they reached the family chambers. He opened one of the doors and invited her inside. Turmoil and uncertainty shadowed his mind as he wondered how to begin. She didn't push for answers, but simply waited.

‘Annle told me a story about my mother,' he admitted. ‘It bothered me to hear it.

He explained what he'd learned about the infant Saraid had lost and how she had raised him as her own.

‘I know she loved me,' he admitted. ‘And I grew up believing I had five brothers.'

‘You did. Whether or not they are your brothers by birth, you know it's the truth.'

‘I should tell them, but a part of me doesn't want to. I'd rather they believed the lie.'

‘Just because you don't possess MacEgan blood doesn't change the feelings they have for you. You're their brother and always will be.'

‘I don't want to have
Lochlannach
blood running through me. Every time I think of them, I think of Ciara. And you.' He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I don't want to be related to my enemy in any way.'

He gripped her hair, lowering his forehead. ‘She was fleeing from Gall Tír, Morren. I was likely fathered by one of them.'

She embraced him, wrapping her arms around his back in a gesture of silent comfort. ‘Nothing's changed, Trahern. Nothing at all.'

She was wrong. Something had changed, something between them. Though she claimed to be his friend, there was more. He held her tightly, breathing in her scent. He didn't press her for anything further, but he couldn't stop the physical response to her. The closeness of her body against his was a reminder that every time he touched her, he was desecrating Ciara's memory.

He was about to pull away when Morren's hand moved up to the back of his head. The touch of her hands struck him aflame like a match against dry leaves.

He wanted to draw her close and remove the layers between them. Instead, he took her hands and lowered them. Her smile faded, and she pulled them back. ‘You're angry with me.'

‘No. Angry with myself.'

She hugged her shoulders, shivering slightly. ‘You're angry that I refused to wed you.'

He shook his head slowly. ‘I promised myself I would never forget Ciara. That I would avenge what happened, even if I died in the attempt.'

Her fingers moved up to touch her mouth, as though holding back what she wanted to say.

‘I'm angry at myself because…I've stopped thinking of her.' He raised his eyes to hers, feeling raw and furious for being weak. ‘And because I want you, far more than is good for either of us.'

Her shoulders lowered in confusion, but still, she didn't speak.

‘Leave, Morren,' he said. ‘Now. Before I do something I'll regret.'

He wasn't thinking clearly, the anger and sexual frustration mingling together in a way that made him feel like an animal.

‘You're not betraying Ciara,' she whispered, taking a step closer. ‘She loved you. And she would want you to go on living.' Before he could argue, she stood on her tiptoes and brought his mouth down to hers.

God above, but he needed this. He needed Morren's gentleness, her soothing warmth. And she seemed to sense it.

Without breaking the kiss, he led her to a chair and sat down, pulling her into his lap. Her breath caught, but still he didn't stop kissing her.

He tasted the seam of her mouth, and she allowed him entrance. But when his tongue touched hers, she emitted a soft gasp.

‘You shouldn't have started this,' he murmured, cupping her nape. He shut out the raging voices that told him how wrong this was. He didn't care. Morren had reached out to him, and damned if he'd turn down this moment with her.

He'd kissed her like this before, but she seemed tentative all of a sudden. ‘Don't be afraid, Morren.'

‘You wouldn't hurt me, I know.' Her whisper was tremulous.

‘Never in a thousand years.' He nipped at her mouth again, feeling hazy with desire. ‘You know that, don't you?'

‘Yes.' She let her hand slide down the back of his tunic, her cool hand exploring his skin. The rippling touch sent a grinding pulse of heat through his groin, and his fingers curled against the seat of the chair.

She sensed it and drew back. ‘I didn't mean to cause you pain.'

He gritted his teeth. ‘No, it feels good.' To show her he meant it, he loosened the ties of his tunic and lifted it away, baring his skin. He held still, seeing the mixture of fear and curiosity on her face. When she didn't move, he lifted her palms to his chest.

‘Go on.' He leaned back, closing his eyes. She'd refuse, no doubt. Even Ciara had preferred to let him do the touching.

But Morren surprised him. Her hands slid over his muscled chest, slowly. Fingertips traced the battle scars from years ago, gently learning the planes of his body. ‘When did you get these?'

‘Years ago, in the battle against the Normans.' He didn't open his eyes, and it was torment to feel her caressing his skin.

Get her out now
, his brain warned.
Stop her before it goes too far.

‘You're strong.' Morren's hands moved over the taut muscles of his stomach. Lower, until they brushed the ties of his trews.

The head of him strained to meet her touch, and he caught her hands. His breathing had grown hoarse as he fought to keep himself under control.

‘Morren, stop,' he managed.

She drew her hands back, her lips parted in shock. ‘Have I done something wrong?'

He closed his eyes, shaking his head. ‘I'm about to do something very wrong, if you don't leave.'

She moved away from his lap, but his harsh words hadn't dimmed the curiosity. ‘What…would happen?'

He leaned forward, resting his wrists upon his knees. Heat burned through his skin, his body craving hers. ‘I'd remove the gown you're wearing. I'd take off every layer until you were sitting naked upon my lap.'

Her expression grew wary; colour stained her cheeks. She took a step backwards, her hands gripping her arms. ‘Then what?'

Her voice held a trace of interest, and he stood up. Her innocent question aroused him even more. Though he didn't want to frighten her, she needed to understand. Advancing towards her, he brought his hands to the curve of her waist, sliding down to her hips.

‘I'd put you in that chair, Morren, and I'd kiss every last inch of your skin.' He leaned up, pressing his mouth against her throat. ‘Here.'

His hands held her in place while he lowered his head to the curve of her breast. Through the woollen fabric, he breathed a warm breath upon her nipple. It tightened, and he caught the faint shudder of her desire. ‘Here,' he whispered.

Then he brought his leg between hers, lifting her weight to straddle him. Though her gown and his trews kept the barriers between them, he knew she could feel his thick erection against her thigh. ‘I'd even kiss you there, Morren.'

The rise and fall of her lungs was quickening, and he sensed that if he touched her intimately, she would be wet. Sleek with desire.

‘I'd use my tongue to taste your salt. I'd kiss you until you trembled, lick your folds until you screamed.'

When he leaned back to look at her, her eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed. Her mouth was swollen from his kiss earlier, and he wanted to capture it again, driving her closer to her own fulfilment.

She moved her body against his length, and he sensed how close she was. He pressed her back against the wall, his hands
just below her arms. Her breasts strained against the wool, and he lowered his mouth to them once again.

‘Then, do you know what I'd do?' he murmured, dangerously close to her nipple. The sensitive nub rose up against his cheek, and the aching pain of arousal was so deep, he was close to losing control.

‘What would you do?' she breathed, her breath coming in short gasps.

‘I'd lift your skirts and I'd join my body with yours. I'd suckle you here…' his mouth took possession of her breast, dampening the fabric ‘…and then I'd let you ride me. Slow and deep…' He used his fingers to stroke the other nipple, and her face was tight with need.

‘Or hard and fast.' He lifted his leg between hers, rubbing her. Coaxing her to reach for the release she craved. ‘I'd give my body to you, Morren. For your pleasure alone.'

H
e took her mouth in a fierce kiss, and that was all it took to send her over the edge. Morren gripped his neck, clinging to him in the storm of her release.

It was too much. She trembled as waves of shaking pleasure rocked through her. Her centre felt wet and swollen, craving more.

Trahern groaned, holding her tight, and his face suddenly transformed, before relaxation came over him. Something had happened, and she suspected his frustration wasn't as bad as it was before.

She shuddered, resting her face against his chest. Her hands moved over his skin, tracing a pattern over his muscles, her nails scraping against his taut nipple.

Then, when she realised what she was doing, she pulled back. Embarrassment and shame washed over her. ‘I'm sorry. You're right, I should go.'

A coldness seemed to fill the air between them. He released her, remaining silent.

And yet she couldn't stop herself from the babble of words that came out. ‘I know you had other reasons for wanting to
wed me. That it wasn't about…love.' Her shoulders lowered, and she bared her most secret shame. ‘But even if I'd agreed, I could never be what you wanted.'

‘What is it you think I wanted?' There was a steel to his voice, and she turned from him, unable to look.

‘You're a man who should have children. I can't give that to you.'

‘It was only going to be a temporary marriage,' he told her. ‘An arrangement.'

His voice was cold, like the stone walls of the chamber. ‘I—I know,' she stammered. ‘I just thought that—you would expect me to act as your wife. In all ways.'

She lowered her forehead to the wall, feeling all the world like a fool. He was a man, the same as any other. When she'd thrown herself at him, he'd taken what she'd offered. And she was desperately afraid that he'd want her to share his bed, making love to her.

The thought of any man joining with her body made her feel nervous and sick. She hadn't minded the way Trahern had touched her tonight, for he'd caressed her with words, as much as anything else. It had been so different from the violence she'd experienced.

But he would want more. She didn't believe they could have a celibate marriage, not from the way he'd caressed her.

‘I'm not an animal, Morren,' he told her. ‘Believe me. I can keep my hands off of you.'

Oh, Heaven above, she'd offended him. It wasn't at all what she'd intended.

Face him
, she urged herself. She turned around and saw the irritation in his grey eyes, the palpable frustration. She forced herself to speak. ‘I don't think I could…lie there and let it happen again. Not with any man.'

His jaw tightened. ‘As I've said, when I offered you a marriage arrangement, I wasn't intending to consummate it.' He let out a breath. ‘But you should know that I would never
ask you to lie there and endure my touch.' His eyes held an unnamed emotion as he softened his tone. ‘I promise you, you'd enjoy it.'

A shiver passed through her. When he'd touched her earlier, she'd felt liquid inside, before the sweet torment had sent a flood of release pulsing within.

She swallowed her fear back. ‘Perhaps. But you wouldn't enjoy being with me, if we were to—' Her voice broke off in humiliation. She couldn't even speak the words.

There was not a doubt in her mind that she would freeze up or scream, the way she had with Adham. And she didn't want her fears to damage their friendship.

Trahern took her hand in his. ‘I would enjoy every moment of it, Morren.' His thumb slid over her palm, but his words grew careful, his tone even. ‘But I'll honour your wishes. We'll finish the matter at Gall Tír, and then I'll take you back to Glen Omrigh.'

Her heart seemed to grow brittle at his suggestion. She didn't want to be brushed aside again. ‘That's not what I want.' Her words came out as a whisper, and Trahern took his hand away. Resting it against the wall, he touched his forehead to hers.

‘If you want something more—' His mouth nipped at her ear lobe, his tongue swirling over the soft skin. Shivers poured through her, drenching down her breasts and between her thighs. She clung to him for balance, afraid her knees would buckle.

‘I'll teach you whatever you want to learn.'

She found it hard to think clearly. Against her better judgement, he was coaxing a response she'd never anticipated. Her body was acting on its own needs, ignoring the common sense of her brain. She'd inadvertently pressed herself closer to him, needing the warmth of his embrace.

But it was still only an arrangement, Morren reminded herself. Not a true marriage. Even if he did somehow drive
away the demons of her past, their paths weren't meant to join together.

Closing her eyes, she pushed him back. ‘Take me back to the others,' she pleaded. ‘Let us enjoy the first night of Samhain among your family.'

Trahern stared at her for a moment, but he gave a nod that he'd heard her. Within minutes, he escorted her down the stairs and outside again. He put on the golden mask once more, and as soon as he did, she sensed the distance widening between them. Her own mask was crumbling apart, so she let it fall to the ground.

The atmosphere had changed during their absence, and it sent a wave of uncertainty through her. Masked men and women paired off, retiring to the shadows. Trahern's hand rested upon her waist, and she caught a glimpse of Connor and Aileen slipping away together. The blond man looked upon his wife with the same expression of desire she'd seen in Trahern's eyes, just moments ago—as if he would lift the world on his shoulders for her.

The fires burned brightly in the night sky, and around the huts turnip lanterns rested upon the doorways. Other men and women ate, drank and laughed together. Morren spied one couple kissing amidst cheers, their hands bound together with three coloured cords.

They must have handfasted, she realised. Bound together in marriage for a year and a day. If they did not suit as husband and wife, both could be free of each other after the trial period.

It was what Trahern had offered her—a temporary union. And though it wasn't threatening in any way, it bothered her. He'd already admitted that after they faced the men of Gall Tír, he would end the marriage.

He didn't even want to try
, she realised. That's what troubled her. He treated the suggested union as one easily discarded. Her frustration heightened, for what woman wanted a
marriage like that? Yet she couldn't deny the feelings she held for him in her heart. He made her feel safe, almost beloved. It bothered her to let him go.

In the firelight, Trahern's mask gleamed, and though he attempted a smile when his brother Patrick greeted him, she saw the strain beneath it and a hint of guilt. Would he tell Patrick the truth of his birth, that they were not brothers? Or would it matter at all?

They passed by a table of food, and Trahern reached for a loaf of bread. She, in turn, chose a flask of wine. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, and he chose a place for them beside one of the fires. Tearing the loaf in half, he handed her the bread. She tasted it and then took a sip of wine from the flask, passing it to him.

His fingers brushed against hers when he took the flask, and her heartbeat quickened. In the firelight, his hair was a dark colour, still cut close to his scalp. Grey eyes watched over her, and the rest of the world seemed to slip away.

‘You look like an ancient god, wearing that,' she teased, pointing towards his mask.

His mouth didn't smile, but he removed the mask and set it aside. ‘I'm not a god, Morren. Just a man.'

A man she'd turned away. A soft shiver of regret flowed over her skin at the memory. Trahern had shown her that a man's touch didn't have to be degrading or painful. It could be something beautiful.

All around them, she saw men and women together. Trahern's eyes faltered upon the handfasted couple. Though he said nothing, she sensed something in his gaze. Was it envy?

Confusion tangled up her thoughts, for she saw that her refusal had indeed bothered him. She'd struck down his pride, believing that he'd wanted only to use her in the arranged marriage.

But perhaps that wasn't it at all. In his grey eyes, she saw
the loneliness of his life. He'd been a traveller, moving from place to place while his brothers had their own homes and families. Now, he'd lost the only stability he had, without the MacEgan name to call his own.

She ached for his loss, and in that moment, she realised how much she cared about him. Just as he made her feel safe, she wanted to offer him the comfort of her own embrace.

His marriage proposal had been awkward and clumsy. But she sensed that he would have honoured the vows spoken, treating her like a cherished bride. Though it might be an arrangement at first, perhaps it could become something more.

Did she want that? To fall asleep with his arms around her and awaken beside him each morning? The very thought opened up a longing deep within her. She wondered if it were even possible, to push away the darkness of her past and learn what it meant to feel desire.

It was growing late, and she ate the remainder of her food, realising that most of the men and women had retired for the night. She was about to ask Trahern to walk back to the castle with her, when she suddenly heard a noise.

Frowning, she listened, trying to identify what it was. There was a rhythmic, panting sound, coupled with a female moan. A man grunted, and she recognised what she was hearing.

A flash of panic came over her, and Trahern saw it. Images poured through her, and she set down her bread, clenching her knees to her chest.

Just get up and leave
, she told herself.
You don't have to listen.
And yet, her feet wouldn't move.

Trahern took her hand, saying, ‘He's not hurting her, Morren. Don't be afraid.'

Throaty moans came from the couple, and she threw herself into Trahern's arms, trying to block out the sound. More harsh memories battered at her, threatening to drown her. But through it all, he held her.

He'd become her stronghold, her shelter from the darkness. In his arms, she had what she needed most—a man who understood her pain.

She knelt on the ground with her arms around his neck. Trahern murmured words of reassurance, his wide palms smoothing down her spine. Like a healing touch, she warmed to it.

And in that moment, she realised she needed him, this strong man who had lost so much. In spite of everything, he'd always been there for her. Could she do less for him?

His eyes were intensely focused upon her, as though no one else existed. She brought his arms to her waist, reaching up to his shoulders. Behind him came the satisfied moans of the lovers; after a time, their voices fell into silence.

Her mind drifted back to the handfasted couple she'd seen earlier. A year and a day wasn't so very long to ask. It was enough time to learn whether the arrangement could become a lasting union. Her one hesitation was the prospect of the marriage bed.

‘Are you all right?' he asked, releasing her from his embrace.

She nodded, taking a breath. Best to speak her mind and be honest with him about the thoughts troubling her. ‘Trahern, if I were to agree to your marriage proposal, I don't want you to despise me.' Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment. ‘I can't be…like most women.' When her gaze shifted in the direction of the lovers, he seemed to understand her meaning.

‘Do you trust me?' he prompted.

‘Yes.'

‘Then know that I would never hurt you, nor despise you. No matter what happens.'

She lifted her face until her mouth was a breath away from his. So badly she wanted to believe it. And though it went against her instincts, she found herself saying, ‘I'll marry
you, Trahern. Until after we've settled the matter of the
Lochlannach
.'

He nodded, but there was no sense of anticipation or joy in his face. She hid her disappointment, wishing there was the hope of something more.

 

The following afternoon, Trahern found himself pacing. He hadn't seen Morren, not since she'd voiced her desire to handfast. Though he'd behaved as though it were nothing of importance, that wasn't true at all. When she'd agreed to marry him, he'd felt a sense of relief. Not simply because he would gain Patrick's support, but also for his own reasons. He wanted to be close to Morren, even if it would only be for a short time.

Last night, when she'd taken refuge in his arms, he'd wanted to shield her from the world. When she'd clung to him, it was as if she'd become a physical part of him, one he couldn't let go, even though he had to.

A heaviness rested in his spirit, for, despite his promises not to touch her, he wanted Morren. His body seemed to mock him for the thought. Last night, he'd barely been able to keep control over his lust. He'd desired Morren so badly, his hands had been shaking. And when they'd overheard another couple making love, he'd imagined joining with her, sheathing his hard length within her moist depths.

His mood darkened, for it wasn't wise to let his thoughts go down that path. Thank the saints, their marriage would only be temporary. Keeping his hands off Morren would likely kill him.

It bothered him that she hadn't arrived for the handfasting yet. Queen Isabel and Aileen had gone about their way, saying nothing of the ceremony tonight. Had Morren told them of their plans to wed? Did anyone know?

From the casual behaviour of his family, he doubted it. Trahern had worn his best clothing, a tunic that was a dark
shade of red. His sword hung at his waist, and he'd fastened his cloak with a golden brooch shaped like a serpent. He felt like an anxious lad, about to kiss his first woman. The next group of handfastings would take place at sundown, with Father Brían to bless them. And he didn't know if Morren would come to him then or not.