Surrender to an Irish Warrior (21 page)

‘She loved the sea,' he admitted. ‘My father gave her that.' From inside a fold of his tunic, Gunnar pulled out a chipped piece of stone. He held it up to the necklace, and the two pieces fit together. ‘This is all I have of her.' Gunnar withdrew the stone, his expression resigned. ‘I was too young to remember her, but I swore I would find out what happened. I promised my father.'

‘Is your father still alive?'

Gunnar shook his head. ‘He died a few years ago.'

It was unsettling, realising he would never know the father who had given him life. And yet, Gunnar Dalrata was his blood brother, his true kin, though they had been separated for most of their lives.

‘Our mother died after my birth,' Trahern admitted. A sense of sadness crossed over him for the mother he'd never known. ‘But she was given sanctuary by the MacEgans. Saraid MacEgan took her in.'

There was a weariness in Gunnar's face, but he accepted it. ‘Does the King know?'

Trahern shook his head. ‘I'll tell him, soon enough. And the rest of my broth—' He broke off, realising that he could no longer call them that. ‘The rest of the MacEgans,' he amended.

Gunnar mounted his horse. ‘If you'd like to know about our father, you've only to ask.' A hint of sadness darkened his mood. ‘He was a poet and a storyteller. Like yourself.'

 

They spent the night at Gall Tír, and though Trahern had returned to sleep, he'd remained restless. Morren wrapped her arms around him, trying to warm his cold skin.

‘Did you find Áron?' she asked.

‘Aye. He's back with the others. We didn't find the raiders, though.'

So they were still alive. And knowing the truth made it even harder for her to sleep. She burrowed closer to Trahern, but when her hand moved down his stomach, he caught her fingertips and squeezed them. ‘Not tonight,
a stór
.'

It was the first time he'd turned her away. She was glad he had his back turned, so he wouldn't see her humiliation. Was it because they'd now had their justice? Was he planning to set her aside and send her home again?

A heaviness settled in her stomach, her throat dry. She pulled back from him, turning away to try to sleep. With only a few words, he'd made it clear that the arrangement would soon end.

She'd been naïve to think that he might change his mind. Though Trahern had taught her not to fear a man's touch, the very thought of being with anyone else struck her as wrong. He was the only man she could imagine being intimate with.

Aye, the past few nights had been passionate and loving, but the shadow of the past wasn't entirely gone. Trahern kept her fears at bay, never forcing her to do anything she didn't want. But he was the only man she trusted. The only man she wanted.

And though his body heat warmed her skin this night, she was freezing inside, for already she feared she'd lost him.

 

As soon as light dawned in the sky, Trahern was gone. Morren rode with Ewan and Honora on the way back to Laochre. Ewan claimed that Trahern would catch up to them, but after two hours of riding, there was no sign of him or the other Ó Reilly men.

King Patrick had remained behind, with his own soldiers, to speak with the Hardrata chief. He intended to ease the peace between their people.

Though Morren knew she was safe enough with Ewan and Honora, not once did she take her eyes from her surroundings, searching for a sign of Trahern.

 

Half an hour later, it began to snow. Thick and fast, the flakes spread a layer of white upon the grass. It was too early for snow such as this, and Morren blew upon her hands, trying to warm them.

Ewan led them into a grove of trees for shelter. He brought his horse up beside hers, asking, ‘Do you want to turn back or wait out the storm?'

Morren hesitated. Though it was wiser to return to Gall Tír, she had no desire to revisit the
longphort
. ‘Let's wait and see if it slows down.'

Her face must have shown her worry, for Ewan reached out and caught the reins of her horse. ‘Trahern can take care of himself, Morren. He'll join us, soon enough. Don't be afraid for his sake.'

Morren gave a slight nod, though his words didn't reassure her. She didn't trust Egill. The wounded
Lochlannach
raider was merciless, and would not hesitate to strike back at Trahern, given the chance.

They rode into the circle of trees, and Ewan stopped their horses. The dry snow fell swiftly, making it impossible to build a fire. Morren huddled against one of the trees, staring out at the horizon for a glimpse of Trahern. Silently, she prayed that he would return to her.

Near the edge of the trees, Ewan stood with his wife, Honora. His arm slipped about her waist, and he spoke quietly with her. Honora leaned her head against his shoulder, and love seemed to emanate from the couple.

A slight ache of envy slipped within Morren's heart, mingled with worry for her husband. But more than that, she couldn't dispel the anxiety about what would happen when
they reached Laochre. He'd always claimed that their marriage would be temporary, in order to gain his brother's support.

Now that they had succeeded in punishing the Viking raiders, would Trahern end their union? The thought of being left behind at Glen Omrigh evoked such a loneliness.

He didn't love her. Not the way he'd loved Ciara. Though they had been intimate every night since their handfasting, she'd sensed him keeping a careful shield around his heart. He would make love to her, showing her new ways to find pleasure with their bodies.

But afterwards, he would lie on his side, facing away from her. She didn't know what to say or do, and so she tended to curl up away from him until sleep took her.

Heaven help her, she didn't want him to set her aside. She wanted to remain married to him. To wake beside him, to love him and know that he would never leave her.

Her hand moved down to her flat stomach. Aileen had said that it was unlikely she'd bear another child. If she were to become pregnant, the chance was strong that she'd miscarry again.

For a moment, she allowed herself to dream of a child. A babe with Trahern's smile and his sharp intelligence. Wistful dreams that could never be. She started to close them away, drawing her cloak tighter against her body.

But then abruptly, her mind demanded,
Why don't you fight for him?

She stilled, wondering if it were possible. Could she win Trahern's heart for herself? He'd turned her down last night, but she suspected she could get past his defences if she tried hard enough. He was a man worth fighting for. A man she loved. And even if he hadn't forgotten his love for Ciara, she couldn't simply let him walk away from her.

I have to try.

It had grown colder, and her anxieties multiplied. No doubt Trahern was trying to track down Egill and the other raider.
More than likely, they would die of their wounds, whether or not Trahern found them.

She started to walk towards Ewan and Honora when she caught sight of something in the snow—a discolouration of some sort.

Blood.

Whether it was human or animal, she didn't know. ‘Ewan, will you come and look at this?' she asked.

The trail continued through the snow, a path leading to the side of a hill. ‘What do you think it is?'

Please don't let it be Trahern
, she prayed.
Let him be all right.

Ewan saw the direction of her gaze, but when she reached the outer edge of the trees, he called out, ‘Morren! Don't go any further.'

‘Why? It's leading away from us. And what if it's Trahern?' Though she obeyed him, remaining in place, she was afraid of what the blood meant.

‘I'll go and look.' Ewan unsheathed his sword and started to follow the tracks. Ahead, they heard the sound of muffled voices. ‘Honora, guard her,' he ordered his wife. ‘Morren, don't leave this grove.'

Once Ewan had left the trees, Morren shivered. He was out in the open, where anyone could attack. It made her uneasy, and she saw the reflection of her fears in Honora's face. The woman was pacing, her hand resting upon the lightweight sword at her side. It was killing her not to follow Ewan.

‘I'll be fine,' Morren told her. ‘Go and guard his back.'

‘But you—'

‘He's in more danger than I am. I promise, I won't leave the trees.'

Honora looked torn, but gave a nod and drew her blade. ‘I won't be gone for very long.'

Morren watched from within the shelter of the trees as both of them continued toward the hillside, tracking the footprints.
The cold wind made the branches shiver, and she huddled against one of the trees, beside an evergreen yew to shelter her from the wind.

‘You killed my brother,' came a voice.

She spun and Egill stepped out from behind the yew, staring at her. In his hand he held a knife. Morren tried to voice a scream, but it froze within her throat. Ewan and Honora weren't far away, but she couldn't seem to overcome the suffocating fear.

Egill drew closer, and she stepped backwards. ‘They won't have time to help you. I'll slit your throat before they can move.' He held the knife up, fury rigid upon his face. ‘I watched him burn because of your accusations. Whoring bitch.'

Morren took another step backwards. If she could reach the clearing, Ewan could help her. But a moment later, Egill grabbed her arm and dragged her to him. She felt the kiss of the blade against her throat.

I'm going to die.

Every moment of the previous attack returned to her, and she felt lightheaded and nauseous. She wanted to fight back, but her limbs wouldn't move. Empty screams locked in her throat, her courage imprisoned.

Egill Hardrata didn't care about anything, save vengeance for his brother. The rigid darkness in him reminded her of Trahern's coldness, only months ago.

She'd been afraid of everything, then. A fragmented shell of a woman with no substance. But Trahern had given her back her strength, teaching her not to be afraid of the darkness. In him, she'd found herself once more. A woman of worth.

I won't be his victim this time
, she swore.
Not again.

Her mind seized upon Egill's weakness, and she used the force of her weight to stomp upon his burned feet. He expelled a cry of pain, his hand slipping against her neck. She felt
the stinging slice of the blade, the warmth of blood on her throat.

But she kicked at him again, fighting back against her own fears and seizing control. He wasn't going to take her life, and she wasn't going to die quietly.

Wrenching free of him, she let out a piercing scream that brought Ewan and Honora running. Egill lunged for her, but when he caught her wrist, Morren threw herself to the ground. She rolled over, her palm finding a stone.

Voices shouted, but she heard none of what was said. A knife flashed, and she struck the stone at Egill's face, hearing the crunch of bone. Blood streamed from his wound, and he crumpled to the ground.

It was then that she saw the knife embedded in Egill's back. Standing behind him was Trahern. She didn't know when he'd arrived or how, but her husband caught her up in his arms. Morren clung so tightly, it was as if she became a part of him.

‘Are you all right?' he whispered in her ear, still not letting go. ‘You're bleeding.'

‘I'll be all right.' She used her
brat
to wipe away the smear of blood. ‘How did you—?'

‘I was tracking him.' His expression turned grim, sobering at the body of the raider. ‘Exile or not, I wanted my answers.'

‘What about the other outlaw?' Her voice trembled, and the shock of what had happened was starting to take hold. ‘He's still alive.'

‘Not any more,' Ewan said, joining them with Honora at his side. ‘Áron took care of him.' He pointed in the distance to the path of blood.

‘It was the last raider's tracks you saw in the snow,' Ewan explained. ‘I found Trahern and the others when I followed the trail of blood.' He glanced at his wife, and Honora coloured with guilt.

Trahern glared at Ewan. ‘You should never have left Morren alone. She could have been killed.'

‘I'm sorry,' Honora apologised. ‘I blame myself for what happened.'

‘No,' Morren intervened, sliding her hand around Trahern's waist. ‘It was my fault for sending Honora away. I thought it was safe.' She touched her palm to Trahern's cheek, trying to soothe his anger. In truth, it warmed her to know that he'd worried. ‘I didn't know Egill was hiding among the yew trees.' Morren pointed to the evergreen where the raider had concealed himself. ‘None of us did.'

The glint in Trahern's eyes suggested that there was something else bothering him. Gunnar rejoined them, his own countenance grim.

‘What is it?' Morren asked.

Trahern exchanged a glance with Gunnar. ‘Before he died, the last raider confessed who hired them to attack the Ó Reilly
cashel
.'

She drew back, afraid of hearing the answer. ‘Who?'

‘It was Katla,' Gunnar interjected, his voice furious. ‘My brother's wife.'

Hours later, at Laochre Castle

‘W
e have to go back.' Morren paced across the chamber they shared. ‘I left Jilleen with Katla.' Trahern saw the anxiety on her face, the desperate worry for her sister.

‘We will,' he reassured her. But not this night. The winter snow had intensified, and he was thankful that they'd made it back to his brother's castle before the worst of the storm had struck. ‘As soon as the snow clears, we'll leave.'

She stared out the window, her face visibly upset. ‘Do you think it's true? Could Katla really have done such a thing?'

Trahern shook his head. ‘I don't know. It doesn't seem so, but how else would he have known her name?'

Katla had taken charge of the Ó Reilly survivors, organising food and shelter. She'd been indignant at Trahern's suspicions, insisting that her family was innocent. Now, he wondered if it had all been an act.

Morren went and sat down on the bed. Her shoulders were lowered, her face pensive. She let her
brat
fall away, and she
huddled her knees to her chest. ‘I can't let anything happen to Jilleen. I never should have left her.'

There was nothing he could say to alleviate her guilt. And so he remained silent, vowing inwardly that he would make it right somehow.

It was then that his attention centred upon the thin red line marring her throat. Although the cut was light, another inch, and Morren would have been dead. His throat closed up at the thought. He couldn't have endured such a thing. Not again.

He moved over to the bed and sat beside her. She looked lost, and his hand closed over hers. Lightly he stroked her fingers. She lifted her eyes to his, and he didn't like the fear he saw in them. ‘I won't let any harm come to Jilleen. I promise you.'

She leaned against him, her arms circling around his waist. ‘Trahern, after you take me home—?' Her voice broke off, as though she were uncertain about finishing her question. He waited for her to finish, and she took a breath. ‘Are you planning to leave me behind?'

There was disappointment in her tone, mingled with resignation. She believed he would set her aside, ending their brief marriage.

It was what he'd intended. Their marriage had been an arrangement, centred upon bringing the raiders to justice. Now that it was done, he ought to bring her back. And yet the thought of leaving her felt wrong.

Fair strands of hair tumbled around her face, tangled from the long ride earlier. She looked like a woman who had just awakened from sleep, beautifully rumpled.

It reminded him of the first few mornings following their handfasting, when he'd found himself without a coverlet. Morren had bundled herself into her own cocoon, leaving him not a single inch of wool for himself. He'd snatched the covers back, only to end up making love to her, wrapped amid the warmth.

The memory tugged at him. No, he didn't want to leave her behind. But neither did he want to pressure her into a permanent marriage.

‘What do you want?' he asked, evading the question. ‘Shall I go or stay?'

Her fingertips reached up to his cheek, and she rose onto her knees beside him. ‘Today when you were gone, I was afraid.'

She hadn't really answered the question, and he wasn't certain what to think of that. ‘I blame myself for leaving you,' he said. ‘I trusted my brother, thinking that—'

He stopped, suddenly realising what he'd said. Ewan wasn't truly his brother. Gunnar was. And he hardly knew the man. He didn't know anything about his blood family, nor their other brother Hoskuld, Katla's husband.

An unsettled feeling pricked at him. Too many unanswered questions. Too many unspoken secrets. He needed the answers, needed to learn about his lost family. And he owed the truth to the MacEgans.

‘Ewan is still your brother, Trahern.' Morren drew his mouth to hers, breaking off his troubled thoughts. ‘And I don't blame anyone for what happened. In the end, you kept me safe.' There was faith in her eyes. ‘I never doubted it for a moment.'

‘Morren, I won't let anyone harm you.' He caught her nape and leaned in, tasting her lips. ‘Not again.'

She pressed herself closer, as though she could fuse her skin to his. ‘Stay with me, Trahern. No matter what happens.' Her lips pressed close to his, her arms wrapped about his waist. In the barest whisper, she said, ‘I know I'm not Ciara…but I don't want to end this marriage. Not yet.'

His feelings constricted, knowing the courage it had taken her to speak the words. ‘You're not a replacement for Ciara. You never were.'

He brought his mouth to hers, feeling as if all the right
words had escaped him. Instead, he used his hands to show her how he felt. His fingers threaded through her fair hair, his thumbs caressing her temples. Like a blind man learning the planes of her face, he touched her.

‘When I saw the
Lochlannach
raider trying to kill you…' he lowered his hands down to her shoulders, then to her arms ‘…I couldn't let it happen. I would have died in your place, Morren. My life for yours.'

He touched his mouth to her lips in a soft kiss. ‘I don't want to let you go. I'll stay, for as long as you'll have me as a husband.'

A smile creased her lips. ‘We were married on the eve of Samhain. You once told me that anything that occurs on that night will last forever, don't you remember?'

Her reminder of the tale of Oengus, the son of Dagda, evoked an answering smile. ‘You're right.'

When she drew him down for another kiss, Trahern felt an unquenchable need to mark her as his own, joining their bodies together. He pulled her atop him, fumbling with her clothing. The gown was caught in the tangle of their limbs, and he fought to free her.

Morren started to laugh when he couldn't seem to get the laces untied. ‘You've been defeated by a length of wool.'

‘I'm going to get my knife and cut it off you if I can't get these laces loosened.' The words were only half-jesting.

But then she managed to free the garment, and he lifted it away. The curve of her breasts, the sweet dip of her waist, caught him like a fist between the ribs.

‘When I look upon you, I can hardly breathe,' he murmured against her skin. With his mouth, he trailed a path from her ribs to the hidden spot beneath her breast. She shivered, reaching to his own clothing to lift it away. When they were both naked, he rested his weight atop her.

‘You're keeping me warm,' she murmured, lifting her mouth to his for another kiss.

‘Perhaps you can warm another part of me,' he teased, pressing his length against her hip.

She shivered, but smiled as she kissed him. She opened to him, uttering a soft cry when he used his shaft to tease at the moist centre of her.

He wanted to drive her mad, to push her past the brink until she writhed with desire. His mouth coaxed her nipples into sharp points, and she shuddered with relief when he filled her.

‘Trahern,' she breathed, her hands reaching to grasp his hips. He made love to her slowly, savouring the soft depths as he entered and withdrew.

‘Do you suppose I could…have another baby?'

The words stopped him cold. He froze in place, not knowing what to say. The idea hadn't even entered his mind. ‘I thought Aileen said it wasn't possible.'

Morren eased back, wrapping her legs around his waist in a silent urge for him to continue. ‘She never said it wasn't possible. Only that it was unlikely.' She reached up and took his face between her hands. ‘There's nothing I'd want more.'

Icy fear snaked through his skin, and he held still within her body. In his mind, he'd believed that she would have no children. After the bleeding and the pain she'd suffered, he'd never considered that she could bear another child.

And what if she did become pregnant? What if his own child died? Would he have to stand back and watch her suffer, watch her grieve once more? Or worse, what if she died in childbirth? It had happened to his own mother, because of him.

‘You don't have to stop,' she whispered. He heard the hurt in her voice, but he couldn't have gone on if he'd wanted to.

Too shaken to continue, he withdrew from her body. ‘Morren, no. I can't be the cause of you dying.'

‘I'm not going to die.' There was anger in her voice, and she sat up, pulling the coverlet to cover her body.

‘You almost died a few months ago,' he shot back. ‘I was there, remember? I held the body of your son in my hands.'

She flinched as though he'd struck her. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she sat back to stare at him. ‘Trahern, you're being unreasonable.'

‘Am I? I swore I would never hurt you,' he said. The vehement words poured out of him, ‘And I won't. I touched you before, thinking that it was safe. I thought…after your son died, that you could bear no more children.'

‘I don't know if I can or not,' she admitted.

‘I won't be the cause of your suffering.' The desolate words were a vow. ‘If it's a child you want, we can foster Alanna, Genevieve's daughter, when she's old enough.'

‘And you'll martyr yourself, having a celibate marriage?' Anger and sexual frustration laced her tone.

‘We can give each other pleasure, without the joining.'

‘It's not the same.' She drew back from him, lying down and facing the wall.

He'd hurt her feelings. But damn it all, he'd been there that night, watching her suffer. Nothing could have prepared him for the helplessness, not knowing if she would live or die. He wouldn't go through it again.

Trahern ached with longing for her, his shaft stiff and swollen. With one hand, he reached out to touch her silken hip, his fingers sliding toward the cleft between her legs.

Her hand clamped over his. ‘No, Trahern. I don't want it. Not without you.'

Her rejection burned through him, and he rolled over to face the opposite side of the chamber. In his mind, he remembered how it had felt to join their bodies together. It had been far more than consummating a marriage. It was a way of giving to her, and he'd loved watching the way her face would tighten with pleasure.

But, God forgive him, he couldn't let her bear a child. He
wouldn't cause her pain and suffering, not when it could be prevented.

Somehow, he had to make her understand that.

 

His brother King Patrick arrived late the following afternoon, despite the snow. Queen Isabel fretted over him, and Trahern asked to meet with him and all of the MacEgan brothers.

‘I need to speak with you and our brothers privately,' he said to the king. ‘Along with Annle, if you can arrange it.'

‘I thought we'd finished with the Gall Tír matter,' Patrick said. ‘Is something else wrong?'

Although it wasn't over, Trahern didn't want to discuss Katla's involvement. Patrick had done everything he could, and he preferred to handle the rest on his own. ‘That isn't why I need to see all of you.'

‘Is it about Morren?'

He shook his head. ‘Something else.'

The mention of his wife made him uneasy, for she hadn't spoken to him since last night. When he'd tried to make conversation, she'd answered his questions. But there was sadness in her voice, along with regret.

‘Within the hour,' he said. ‘In your chamber.'

As soon as he made the request, he felt a sense of emptiness. It was the right thing to do, telling them the truth about his birth mother. And yet he was afraid that Annle would be wrong, that his confession would change the way they saw him.

 

As he waited, one by one, his brothers arrived. Connor, Ewan, Patrick and Bevan. Each one a warrior, like himself. Patrick, the King of their province, who would put everyone else's needs before his own. Bevan, a stoic warrior, whose actions often said what words could not. Connor, a teasing man who had lost the use of one hand, but was no less a
fighter. And Ewan, the youngest of them, who had struggled to find his own strength, but had proven his own worth time and again.

They waited for him to speak, their silent glances trying to reassure him that whatever happened, they would stand together. As they always had.

Annle was the last to arrive. Her wrinkled face was placid, for she knew why he had summoned her here.

‘Tell them,' Trahern urged.

The old healer sat down, resting her hands upon one knee. And after she'd finished her story, Trahern's hands tightened into fists. It broke him apart, but the truth had to be spoken.

‘I'm not one of you,' he said at last. ‘Not by blood. I may have been raised a MacEgan, but Duncan and Saraid were not my parents.'

Patrick's mouth tightened into a line. ‘You learned of this a few nights ago. And you said nothing until now.' There was disapproval in his tone, laced with the authority of a king.

Trahern eyed each one of them. ‘I could have remained silent about it. Unless Annle had spoken, you wouldn't have known differently. But there has always been honesty between us. And trust.'

Bevan looked as though he wanted to speak, but he closed his mouth again. The scars lining each of his cheeks tightened, and he glanced over at Ewan.

‘What do you want us to say?' his youngest brother demanded. ‘Do you want us to cast you out? Pretend that all the years don't matter?'

‘I don't know what matters to you. All I know is that the life I knew was a lie. I believed that Saraid was my mother.'

‘She was,' Annle interrupted. ‘In every way, she was. She loved you no differently from any of the others.'

‘She might have loved you a little more,' Patrick said. He rubbed at his chin, and Trahern noticed the slight traces of grey in his brother's hair. ‘Whenever you scraped a knee or
got a bruise, she coddled you. There was more than one time that I wanted to drown you for it.'

An unexpected laugh broke forth. ‘You tried.'