have continued the tale of Eithne and Dagda, but telling stories would only intensify the connection with her. And the truth was, he didn’t want her watching him with those blue eyes. Though he had no intention of laying a finger upon her, he couldn’t deny that she was beautiful.
‘It was a sword,’ she said softly.
‘What was?’
‘Ciara. You asked me how she died, and I promised to tell you if you helped my sister.’
His fingers dug into the pallet, his lungs tight. He couldn’t speak, feeling as though a stone were crushing him. But the need to know was greater than his desire for secrets.
‘She was cut down by one of their swordsmen,’ Morren said. ‘I don’t think he meant to strike her, but she was fleeing behind the man when he swung his weapon.’
‘Did she suffer?’ He couldn’t stop the question, though he feared the answer.
‘It was quick.’
The words granted him a slight reprieve, but he didn’t release his tight grip upon the pallet. Though he’d give anything in his power to have Ciara back, if she’d had to die, at least she hadn’t lingered.
‘Thank you,’ he said. And meant it. He’d tormented himself with images of her death, wishing to God he knew what had happened. Hearing the truth made it somewhat easier to bear.
‘She was a friend,’ Morren added. ‘And you gave her happiness. She often spoke of how much she loved you.’
The invisible grip around his heart squeezed tighter. A thickness rose in his throat, and he felt the need to leave.
Without a word of explanation, Trahern threw open the door and strode outside. He stumbled through the darkness, the night enfolding him. A lonely cross rested upon the hillside, shadowed in the moonlight.
He fell to his knees before it, the pain of loss suffocating him. He might die tomorrow, killing the bastards who’d taken her life. And God help him, he didn’t care.
Whether minutes or an hour passed, he didn’t know. But he sensed Morren’s presence standing behind him. Her hand settled upon his shoulder in a gesture of comfort. He knew what it cost her, to reach out with a physical touch.
‘Go back to the guest house,’ he said. ‘I’ll join you later.’
Her fingers squeezed his shoulder, and she obeyed.
In the distance, Trahern heard the faint sound of the monks’ footsteps as they returned to the chapel for vigils.
In the morning, Morren was feeling better, and she had no doubt she could finish the journey this time. Trahern had arranged to borrow horses from the monks, with the promise to return them within a few days.
They rode south, and along the way, she saw Trahern’s face tighten with restrained anger. He didn’t speak to her; outwardly, it appeared that countless plans and strategies consumed his mind.
In his expression, she saw vengeance. He believed he would find the Lochlannach who were responsible for the attack, and that she would be able to identify the guilty men.
A shiver passed over her. Although the men deserved to die for what they’d done, she’d never wanted to be an executioner. Morren slowed her pace, torn between wanting her own vengeance and wanting to forget.
Trahern drew back, turning concerned. He handed her the water bag. ‘You’re looking pale. Would you rather go back?’
‘No. I’m all right.’ It wasn’t physical weakness that bothered her; it was her own fear of what would happen when they reached the longphort.
After a drink, she handed back the water bag and took the reins again. ‘It’s not far. We’ll be there in less than an hour.’ Before Trahern could argue, she urged her horse into a walk, forcing him to follow. No matter what the danger was, she couldn’t leave Jilleen alone.
Trahern brought his horse alongside hers, and though he didn’t protest, she caught him watching her. A few cuts marred his chin and scalp where he’d shaved the hair off again. With his size and fierce appearance, she had no doubt he would intimidate many of the Vikings.
Yet she’d seen a different side to him. Last night, he’d remained outside until vigils was finished. Gone was the hardened warrior and in his place was a man consumed by grief. A part of her had wanted to bring him peace. Without thinking, she’d touched his shoulder.
His skin had been warm, the muscles tight and knotted. He’d flinched with shock, but then relaxed when he saw that it was her.
She’d almost pulled back her hand but didn’t. Instead, she’d squeezed his shoulder. It had been an impulse, born from a fleeting moment when he’d needed comfort. When she’d returned alone to her pallet, her cheeks had burned with embarrassment. Would he understand that it was friendship she’d offered, nothing more?
Bitterly, she turned her head against the wind, staring into the empty horizon. She knew full well that she was forever damaged, a woman no man would ever want.
Her hand moved to her barren stomach, and a tendril of sorrow took root. Once, she’d dreamed of becoming a mother.
Of feeling soft arms wrap around her neck, a child’s cheek resting upon hers.
The ache of emptiness became a physical pain within her womb. And then it rose into anger.
Those men had taken away the promise of any other children. Never before had she thought of it in that way.
Her knuckles tightened upon the reins, the unfettered rage battering against the shield of calm she’d wrapped around herself.
Don’t think of it. Put it in the past, where it belongs.
But when she met Trahern’s dark gaze, she saw the reflection of herself in his eyes.
Chapter Five
The longphort rested a few miles inland from Beanntraí, along the river and facing the south-west coast. Vivid blue water nestled against the shoreline, while in the distance, shadowed mountains hovered. Although the structure had been built centuries earlier, the Vikings had continually expanded, adding stone outbuildings to the settlement.
Trahern examined the longphort with the eyes of an invader, looking for flaws. From their elevated vantage point, he could see inside the fortress. Three circular outer walls formed multiple layers of defence, with deep gullies between each fosse. The interior longhouses were arranged in quadrants, each set of dwellings forming a square. Most rested on raised platforms to avoid flooding.
At a closer look, Trahern saw at least a dozen men stationed at all points around the outer palisade. It would not be easy to infiltrate.
But then, they wouldn’t have to. Gunnar had invited them here, presumably to join the survivors. Trahern’s suspicions sharpened. He’d promised himself that if any danger threatened Morren, he’d send her back to the abbey without hesitation.
He brought his horse alongside hers. ‘Are you
