The Warrior's Touch (5 page)

A pity there was no such miracle for himself
, Connor thought.

‘They’ve healed well,’ Connor acknowledged, offering a friendly smile to Ewan. ‘But I’d rather hear of your travels to England,’ he said. ‘You studied swordplay with Genevieve’s father, didn’t you?’

‘I did.’ At the mention of his travels, Ewan hurried into a story about his training. His sister-in-law Genevieve had offered Ewan the opportunity to study with a master swordsman. Ewan had eagerly accepted the invitation, but Connor had his doubts as to whether the boy had improved. His brother’s fighting skills had never been strong. Now, he himself might face the same ridicule.

While Ewan chattered, Trahern caught Connor’s glance. In a lowered voice he asked, ‘What will you do?’

The question was one he had expected. Trahern was not asking about his immediate plans, but rather, what Connor would do if he could never fight again.

‘I do not know.’

‘There are other ways to fight,’ Trahern suggested, ‘ways where a man does not need a sword.’

‘That may be.’ But he had spent years training to gain the skills he possessed. He refused to consider giving it up, not when there was a slight chance of recovery. ‘But you need not have come. I’ll return to Laochre when I have healed.’ The familiar towers of his brother’s fortress had been his home until he’d gone to serve the Ó Banníon chieftain.

‘Is there another reason you wish to stay?’ Trahern asked.

Connor flashed him an easy grin, letting his brother believe what he wanted. ‘There might be. But I’ll have to convince her.’

Ewan’s mouth dropped open. ‘
You?
There’s a woman in Éireann who has refused you?’

He began to laugh, and Connor wished he could box the boy’s ear. Instead he growled, ‘There is, yes.’

‘You should return to Laochre, brother. It is where you belong,’ Trahern advised.

Would that he could. He had spent a full year away from his family, and he longed to see the familiar
rath
. And yet, he didn’t want to return as a broken man. ‘Later, perhaps. But in the meantime, I’ll be staying here.’

Before they reached Aileen’s cottage, Connor turned serious. ‘The Ó Banníons took my sword from me. I’ll be needing another.’

Without question, Trahern unstrapped his sword and fastened the scabbard around Connor’s waist. Then he offered a bag of silver pieces. ‘You may need these as well. I’ll put them among your things inside the hut.’

‘I’ll take care of the horses,’ Ewan offered.

‘The gelding will stay with you until you are ready to return,’ Trahern said.

No one could fault the open generosity of his older brother. Whenever there was need, Trahern provided without question. Saint Trahern, his brother was. But Connor did not resent him. Trahern was a good man, and he had earned the respect of others.

Ewan opened the door, and Connor invited his brothers inside the hut. The sumptuous aroma of mutton stew filled the air. Aileen offered a warm smile. Her face glowed from the fire, her hair escaping its braid once more. The russet overdress and cream-coloured
léine
she wore accentuated her slight figure and the curve of her breast. At the sight of her, Connor realised that he did find Aileen pleasing to the eye, though her tongue was sharper than he’d have liked.

‘It’s welcome you are,’ she greeted them. ‘I am Aileen Ó Duinne.’

Connor introduced Trahern and Ewan. His younger brother blushed and grinned with appreciation when Aileen offered them a cup of mead. ‘Please, sit and rest.’

They removed their shoes and Aileen offered basins of water for them to bathe their feet. Afterwards, they sat upon the floor, a small low table between them.

Aileen gave each man a round loaf of bread with the insides removed, filled with mutton stew. The spicy aroma made his mouth water, but Connor suddenly grew aware that he still could not feed himself.

Aileen behaved as if nothing were amiss when she lifted a spoon to his lips.

Connor tasted the rich stew seasoned with rowan berries and teased her for his brothers’ benefit. ‘’Tis not every day a man is given his food by a lovely
cailín
.’

Aileen smiled and shoved another scorching bite of stew into his mouth, not waiting for it to cool. Her unspoken message was clear.

The next time she brought the spoon to his lips, Connor turned his face aside, joining in conversation with his brothers. Ewan abandoned himself to the food, mumbling a few words.

‘Ewan and I are grateful for your hospitality,’ Trahern said, smiling broadly at Aileen. ‘But I should like to hear your stories of my brother. I know he was fostered here, and I am certain you know a tale or two that would humble him before his brothers.’

‘I do,’ Aileen answered Trahern with a warm smile of her own.

Connor was startled to see the shyness gone. It transformed her, giving her the look of a seductress.

‘I’ve my doubts of that,’ he said. ‘I was never anything but the most innocent of lads.’

Ewan choked upon his mead, Trahern laughing as he pounded his brother on the back.

Aileen offered Connor a sip of mead, and he drank slowly, meeting her gaze with his own. The drink tasted sweet upon his tongue, though there was no sweetness in Aileen’s expression.

‘It was many summers ago,’ she began. ‘Connor was fifteen, I believe. He was in love with Lianna, a girl from the village, but she’d not have him.’

‘A woman who didn’t want our brother’s affections?’ Trahern teased. ‘I cannot believe such a thing. I am astonished to hear it.’

‘It isn’t so very difficult to imagine,’ Aileen quipped, darting a glance at Connor.

He feigned a smile, but it disappeared when she began the tale of a time when the village girls had stolen his clothing while he bathed in a stream. He’d been forced to return home without even a loincloth. The memory still made his cheeks burn. Though he knew she intended merely to provide amusement to his brothers, he didn’t like it.

Trahern began an amusing tale of a man who had gone to sleep and awakened in a maiden’s hut without his clothes. Ewan and Aileen both laughed, and Connor grew more withdrawn. His hands ached, and he hoped to dull the pain with the mead.

Awkwardly, he leaned down and tried to grip the goblet with his forearms. He could not tip the cup of mead without spilling it down his chest. Aileen took it from him and held it to his mouth. Connor accepted her help, but found it difficult to look at her.

Trahern rose and stretched. ‘Thank you for an exceptional meal, Aileen.’

She acknowledged his brother’s praise with a nod. Then she asked, ‘Have you decided to return to Laochre, Connor?’

‘I’ll stay here until I have my full strength again.’

Her eyes turned troubled. ‘Until I remove the bandages,’ she corrected.

A moment hung between them, and Connor saw her reluctance. Why? She was not allowed to heal anyone else. It was not as if she had others to tend.

Her hesitancy must have been evident to Trahern, for he said, ‘Would you care to walk with me? After such a fine meal, I’d like to enjoy the afternoon sun.’

Aileen glanced at Connor. ‘I don’t know—’

‘Go with him.’ Connor lifted his hand in agreement.

She didn’t want to, especially when she noted the pale lines of pain upon his face. Inwardly she berated herself for not adding a mild sleeping draught to his mead. She reached for her medicines, choosing the herbs she needed. Chamomile and mint would be mild, perhaps with a little willow bark to ease his discomfort.

‘Go and enjoy your walk,’ she suggested to Trahern while she added hot water to steep the herbs.

‘He wants to talk to you alone,’ Ewan interrupted.

Trahern glared at his brother. ‘Could you be a bit more subtle, lad?’

Ewan shrugged and pointed toward the door. Aileen didn’t want to leave, but at last relented. She set the tea in front of Connor, realising too late that he could not drink it without help.

But then, whatever Trahern wished to say would not take long. Outside she followed him, walking along the edge of her field. High above them, the sun burned brightly.

‘You’ve known our Connor for many years, haven’t you?’ Trahern began.

‘I have, yes.’

‘And does he seem to you a man who wishes to take advantage of others?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘Has he harmed you in any way?’

Aileen levelled a hard stare at Trahern. ‘What is it you want?’

Trahern’s green eyes softened with kindness. ‘I think he would heal and grow stronger, were he to stay under your care. You are more skilled than he knows.’

The flattery did not have its intended effect. Aileen bristled, wishing they would all leave the matter be. It was true, he might heal and help her prove her skills to the tribe. But what if he didn’t heal? What if he was right, and she lacked the ability to restore his strength?

Being around Connor brought back all her feelings of awkwardness. She felt herself slipping back into the shadow of the girl she had been, the girl who felt unworthy of being around him.

‘If Connor wishes to stay in Banslieve with the Ó Duinne tribe, then stay he will,’ Trahern asserted. ‘A grown man, he is, with a mind of his own. A man who does not want to face his tribe until he is whole again.’

‘His hands, you mean.’

‘Cinnite.
Can you not understand why he would rather remain here than face his men? He’ll not want to return until he is healed.’

‘And if he does not heal?’ Aileen asked.

Trahern’s face turned grim. ‘Then he may never return home.’

‘You speak of him as though he intends to die.’

‘A warrior who cannot use his hands is as good as dead. We all know it.’ Trahern circled their path back towards Aileen’s hut. ‘The question is, will you help him?’

‘I have helped him to the best of my ability.’

‘No.’ Trahern stopped to regard her. His long beard brushed his chest, his dark hair spilling over his shoulders. She had to tilt her head up to look at him. ‘There is more you can do for my brother. It is this that I ask you. In return, I will grant you anything within my power.’

‘What more can I possibly do?’

‘Help him to become the fighter he once was.’

Aileen lowered her gaze, shaking her head. ‘You ask too much of me. I cannot change his injuries. I know nothing of a soldier’s training.’

Trahern’s expression softened. ‘You have lost much, just as he has.’ He reached out and joined her hand with his. ‘Think upon my words.’

She knew it. Connor’s stubbornness rivalled her own. But the longer he stayed, the harder it would be to keep the secret of Rhiannon. She’d hidden the truth for so long, she didn’t want to destroy Rhiannon’s memories by revealing that another man was her father. It would hurt her daughter, and she couldn’t bear that.

Worse, Connor might insist on making decisions about Rhiannon’s future. He had every right, especially since she had hidden his own child for so many years.

‘You knew the man he once was, Aileen,’ Trahern said softly. ‘If you bear him any friendship at all, I ask you to help him.’

She closed her eyes. Once, he had been much more than a friend to her. He had been the man she loved.

Trahern saw her waver and closed in for the kill. ‘Until the end of the summer, Aileen. Just until his hands have healed. Can you not grant him this?’

Tears gathered in her throat, but she managed a nod. As penance for hiding Rhiannon, she’d allow him to stay. And, God willing, he’d never learn what she’d done.

T
he following morn, his brothers had returned to Laochre. Connor rested easier now that they were gone. Aileen had hardly spoken a word since she had agreed to let him stay.

‘I intend to compensate you for your trouble of caring for my hands,’ he said. ‘Is there something you desire?’

Aileen prepared bowls of warm pottage, not answering his question. His stomach turned at the thought of eating yet another bowl of the warm gruel. If he never saw it again, it would be too soon.

‘Aileen?’ he repeated.

She pushed a strand of hair back from her cheek. ‘No, there is nothing. I’ll tend your hands, and then you’ll go.’

Her voice sounded tired as she motioned for him to sit down. With a wooden spoon, she scooped up the horrible pottage and held it toward him.

‘Must I truly eat that?’ he asked, putting on his most charming voice. ‘I thought you made honey cakes the other day.’

A gleam warmed her eye. ‘You sound like my daughter used to, when she was a babe.’ Without mercy, she shovelled in the warm gruel.

He forced himself to choke the mouthful down. When she held out the second bite, he eyed it with distaste. She wielded the spoon like a weapon, poised to attack him. But he had a warrior’s defence training. When she moved forward with another spoonful, he quickly turned his head. The pottage hit his cheek instead, falling to the ground with a heavy glop.

Her mouth twitched. ‘You did that on purpose.’

‘Of course I did.’ Connor’s gaze narrowed, and he watched her for the next move. She was going to try again, and he intended to be ready.

She prepared another spoonful. ‘You cannot run away.’

He moved sideways, but the pottage landed upon his neck as he dodged the spoon.

A laugh burst forth from her. She pinned him to the ground, her body forcing him motionless. He couldn’t help his own laugh, feigning weakness. ‘I surrender.’

She relaxed a moment, a genuine smile transforming her face. Exactly what he was hoping for.

He seized the advantage. With pottage covering his face, he lifted his head and smeared his cheek against her own. Wet gruel caked her face and she emitted a sound of disgust. ‘I thought you surrendered.’

‘A battle strategy. And it worked.’

‘It wasn’t fair.’

‘I don’t fight fair,
a stór
.’

‘This calls for vengeance.’ She smeared another handful of the mess upon his face, but he nipped at her fingers and she jerked back.

The softness of her curves pressing against him made him once again aware of her body. Aileen Ó Duinne was most definitely a woman, and one who intended to win this battle. He eased himself to a seated position, her bottom nestled in his lap. His body tightened with arousal.

Wild dark curls had fully escaped her braid, framing a face covered in pottage. Her sage green eyes brightened with teasing. ‘You look like a babe learning to feed himself.’

‘I’ll need you to wash my face,’ he said softly.

She got up from his lap, and brought back a dampened linen cloth. She knelt beside him and touched it to his cheeks and mouth.

‘You forgot your own face.’

At the reminder, she folded the cloth again and cleaned away the mess. She missed a spot at the corner of her mouth, and he imagined kissing it away, tasting her smooth skin. She intrigued him. Though she had not the traditional beauty of the women he liked, Aileen had captured his attention.

‘I think I have a way of making the pottage more palatable,’ she suggested.

‘Offer it to your sheep?’

‘No.’ She brought forth a container of honey to sweeten the gruel and stirred some into the pottage. ‘Is that better?’

‘A little.’ He accepted the offering as a truce, and was pleased to see her smiling again.

Changing the subject, he said, ‘I was serious about my earlier offer. There must be something I can grant you in return for my care.’

She shrugged. ‘You cannot give me what I want most.’

‘And what is that?’

‘I want to be the tribe’s healer again. But I can’t change that, can I? They believe I’m cursed.’

‘Then change their foolish superstitions.’

‘It would be easier to turn rocks into rain. They believe what they want to believe.’

‘Show them the truth.’

‘Connor, I cannot hold them down and force them to accept my care.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re quite good at holding a man down and forcing him, I’d say.’ The reference to their pottage war returned a smile to her face.

Connor sat down upon one of the pallets, the dry corn husks rustling beneath him. Aileen cleared away their wooden bowls, straightening the hut. It was as if he made her nervous. The more he dwelled upon it, the more he believed he’d done something to offend her.

Long moments passed, and Aileen swept the floor, behaving as though he weren’t there. Unused to being ignored, Connor stood. ‘Is there aught I can do to help?’

‘You can rest.’

‘I am not a weakling, Aileen.’

The closer he drew to her, the more anxious she behaved. Women were not usually afraid of him. He came up behind her. The strong fragrance of rosemary clung to her hands while she stripped the needles free of the plant. Lightly, he touched his bandaged hands to her shoulders. ‘Are you afraid of me?’

She expelled a half-laugh. ‘Do not be foolish. You could not harm me if you wanted to.’

‘Then why are you shaking?’

‘I am not.’ Aileen set aside the rosemary. Connor used his broken hand to turn her toward him. Her river-green eyes stood out in a fragile countenance. He wondered what it would be like to unravel the rest of her thick braid and let the wild curls spill down her back. Better yet, to thread his hands through the softness and to kiss her lips.

A strange tension gripped him when he realised he could not even move his fingers, much less use them to touch a woman. And this woman clearly did not want him.

He admitted it was a first for him. Most women laughed, enjoying his teasing. But Aileen kept him at a distance, offering nothing more than a healer’s relationship with her patient.

‘We were friends once,’ he offered.

Her mouth tilted in a false smile. ‘Not truly, Connor. I helped your dog, but that was all. You had eyes only for Lianna.’

Sadness coated her voice, along with the tinge of wistfulness. He hadn’t seen Lianna in nearly seven years. Truth to tell, he had not thought of her since he’d arrived.

His patience waned at Aileen’s refusal to accept his friendship. Connor moved away and used an elbow to push the door open. ‘I shall see you at the noon meal.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘Out to walk in the fields.’ The door clattered shut behind him, and as he trudged along the familiar path, his frustration expanded with each step. He needed to get away from the enclosed spaces, to stretch his endurance.

He had not reached the boundary of her land when he heard her call out to him, ‘Connor, wait.’

Aileen strode toward him. She wiped her hands on her skirts. ‘I spoke in haste. Do not tire yourself too quickly.’

‘And how will sitting in a hut help me grow stronger?’ The idea of remaining indoors upon a pallet was maddening. He moved towards her until she was forced to look up into his face.

Her eyes held uncertainty, her mouth frowning. A moment later, she softened with a new idea. ‘I must tend my garden today. You can sit out of doors if you wish.’

‘Might I?’ She was behaving as though he were helpless, a man who would collapse if he so much as took a few tottering steps. Yet he had gone into battle many times, leading raids against other tribes and defending their lands from the Norman invaders. ‘No, thank you.’

‘I want a horse,’ she said suddenly.

‘What?’ Her sudden change in subject confused him. He thought of the gelding his brothers had left behind.

‘Not yours,’ she said hastily. ‘You’ll need that one to return. But I’d like a horse of my own.’

He stared, uncomprehending.

‘You asked what I wanted in return for keeping you. I’d like a horse.’

If she had asked for a warrior’s ransom, he’d not have been more surprised. ‘What do you need a horse for?’

‘That is my business. You asked, and I answered. Now, if you do not mind, I must tend to my garden.’

‘Horses are worth a great deal.’

‘As are your hands. If you wish to grant me a gift, that is what I want.’

He didn’t understand her desire for such an animal, but he could not promise such wealth without a few conditions of his own.

‘I will meet your terms if my hands heal enough to wield a sword again.’ He tried to flex the bindings holding his wrist. A deep ache shot through him with the effort.

‘I can make no promises—’

‘Then I will give a lesser payment for your care. If you restore my hands, I’ll grant you a horse.’

She wavered, but at last nodded. ‘There may be some exercises where we can train your wrists and hands to be strong again.’

‘Good.’

She started to walk away, but he stopped her. ‘I am not your enemy, Aileen. I am no threat, nor would I ever bring harm to you.’

‘I know it.’ But even as she spoke, she shielded her expression. She reminded him of a wild mare, easily startled.

‘There is no need to hide from me.’

Aileen raised her gaze to him. ‘I am not hiding from you, Connor.’

‘There is something else,’ he mentioned. It was an indelicate matter, but one he could not avoid. Perhaps it was good that she disliked him so, for then it would not bother her.

Aileen waited, her face questioning. Connor offered his most innocent look, the one most maidens sighed over. ‘I am in great need of a bath. I smell like a swine.’

Without waiting for a reply, he whistled and made his way towards the cottages in the distance.

Aileen ripped weeds from the earth, attacking them like a horde of invaders. She longed to dump a bucket of freezing water over Connor’s arrogant head. Did he expect her to giggle and fawn over him, soaping his muscles as she blushed like a maiden?

She groaned. On the night she had tended his wounds, and many times since, she had seen for herself how time and training had sculpted his chest. Her most vivid imaginings could not have conjured up a more magnificent warrior. With dark golden hair and the face of Belenus, Connor still evoked long-buried feelings of desire. To touch his bare skin, washing him with only a light cloth made her body remember exactly what it was like to lie with him.

She hacked a stray clump of grass out of her lavender bed, berating herself. She was a healer, wasn’t she? As a wounded man, Connor could hardly bathe himself.

When he’d touched her shoulders, it was as though her body remembered him from so many years ago. The physical contact had startled her. She didn’t want to touch him, didn’t want to risk feeling the sharp longing of desire.

Expelling a sigh, she wiped the perspiration from her forehead. When her garden held no more weeds, she walked toward the stream. She knelt at the water’s edge and scooped up a mouthful of cool, clear water.

It was then that she saw her father Graeme walking toward her. He leaned upon a walking stick, his broad shoulders and girth revealing his weakness for fine foods. His hair held strands of grey, though he wore war braids at his temples in memory of his younger days.

She rose to her feet, tucking the stray hairs back. With a splash of water on her face, she scrubbed it clean to greet him.

Graeme embraced her with a warm smile. ‘Aileen, you are looking well,
a iníon
.’

‘And you, Da.’

His smile faded and her skin prickled with fear. Graeme Ó Duinne was a man she’d admired all her life, a father who spoke his mind without excuses. Somehow she suspected his presence boded unwelcome news.

Her father put a hand upon her shoulder. ‘Seamus informed me that you have been looking after Connor Mac-Egan. Is that true?’

‘Yes. He needed care, and I gave it.’ She sent her father a penetrating gaze. ‘Unlike others who would let a man suffer rather than accept help from me.’

‘Seamus lost a great deal. He is a father who is not thinking clearly.’

She knew it, but bitterness cloaked her heart. ‘He should open his eyes to the son he has instead of dwelling upon the past.’

‘He cannot.’ Graeme shook his head. ‘And neither should you dwell upon the past.’ Her father cupped her cheek, his eyes turning serious. ‘You have suffered the loss of a husband, daughter. I know you grieve for him, but it is time to put it behind you. You wish to bear other children, do you not?’

The shadow of sadness passed over her heart at the mention of it. How many times had she wept at her inability to bear Eachan a child? A kind man he had been, the kindest. He had taken her in, spoken to no one of her shame. Tears sprang to her eyes, and her throat closed up. ‘I do miss my husband.’

‘You should marry again, Aileen. When the
aenach
begins, many will seek a wife. You need someone to take care of you.’ Fatherly concern drew out the wrinkles in his face. ‘It is for the best, now that you can no longer be the healer.’

Aileen wanted to cry out,
No, it isn’t for the best
. But she would not disgrace herself by begging. It wasn’t the prospect of a husband that hurt so deeply. It was the loss of her healing as a means to help others.

The idea of never visiting the sick, tending their illnesses, and watching them heal was like a razor to her gut. And they wanted her to give it up.

Only when her father had left did she indulge herself in weeping. She cried on the way back to her small hut, letting the tears fall freely. She hadn’t thought of Eachan in so long, but the mention of marriage brought all the grief back. A twinge of loneliness tugged at her heart.

When she reached her small hut, she leaned against the door and wiped the tears away. She ducked beneath the bundle of wool hung above the frame and went inside. Her gaze fixed upon the small wooden tub in the corner that she used for bathing. She could hardly imagine a tall man such as Connor inside it, and suddenly her earlier apprehensions grew stronger.

Temptation and mixed dreams filled her imagination, thoughts for which she chided herself. Connor MacEgan was a man who had hurt her once before, never knowing how he’d crushed her tender feelings. This time, she would not fall prey to such a man again.