‘How many of the Lochlannach attacked that night?’
Morren didn’t speak, the dark fear washing over her. She clenched her teeth, fighting to keep herself together.
But Trahern wouldn’t let it go. ‘How many, Morren? Did you see them?’
Staring directly into his face, she said, ‘I know…exactly how many men there were.’
She could tell from the look on his face when he understood her meaning. Trahern expelled a dark curse, his gaze crossing over her broken body.
She said nothing more. There was no need.
When his hand reached out to touch hers, she pulled it back. And this time, when the darkness lured her in, she surrendered.
She’d started bleeding again.
It bothered Trahern, having to care for Morren in such an intimate manner. She was a stranger to him, and he knew nothing about how to fight the demons of sickness. Though he did his best to help her, he wondered if it would be enough.
God help her, she was still burning with fever. Trahern gave her small sips of water and did his best to tend her. But he did not reach for her hand, nor touch her in any way. It wouldn’t bring her comfort anyhow.
His rage against the Vikings heightened. The Lochlannach had done this to Morren, and worse, he feared they’d also violated Ciara. He renewed his vow of vengeance against the raiders. They would suffer for what they’d done. If what Morren said was true, that the tribe had scattered, then she might be his best hope of learning more about these raiders.
The hours stretched onward, and Trahern kept vigil over Morren. In the middle of the night, she started shaking. Terror lined her face, and he wished he had some means of taking away her pain. But he knew nothing of plants or medicines. And he didn’t want to leave her alone, not when she’d lost so much blood.
Helplessness cloaked him, and he wondered if Ciara had suffered like this or whether she’d died instantly. Had anyone taken care of his betrothed during her last moments?
He stared down at his hands, wishing there was something he could do. There was only one thing he had left to offer—his stories. Though he’d been a bard for as long as he could remember, not a single tale had he uttered since Ciara’s death. He hadn’t been able to find the words any more. It was as if the stories had dried up inside him. Bringing laughter and entertainment to others seemed wrong, not when the woman he’d loved was gone and could no longer hear the legends.
But now, while Morren was fighting for her life, he saw it as a way of bringing comfort without a physical touch.
The story of Dagda and Eithne flowed from inside him, the way he’d told it to others, year after year. Morren’s trembling grew calmer when he used his voice to soothe her.
‘Dagda was a god who invoked goodness among the earth and in the fields,’ Trahern murmured. ‘But one day he saw a beautiful woman whom he desired as no other before. Her name was Eithne.’
Trahern wrung out a cold cloth and set it upon Morren’s forehead, careful not to touch her skin. He told the story, using every nuance of his voice to capture her attention.
He spoke of the god who seduced Eithne and gave her a son. Trahern continued until his voice was nearly hoarse, stopping just before dawn.
Morren shuddered, struggling as the fever drew her deeper. She thrashed on the small pallet, her face tight with pain.
‘Don’t,’ he ordered her. ‘You’re not going to give up now.’
‘I’ve no wish to die,’ she whispered, leaning forward when he offered her another sip of water. Her skin was flushed hot, her body limp and weakened. ‘I have to look after my sister.’
She lifted her eyes to his. They were a deep blue, the colour of the sea. Within them, he saw a rigid strength to match his own.
‘You’re going to live,’ he insisted.
Her expression was glazed with fever, but she pleaded with him, ‘Trahern, when my sister returns, don’t tell her about the child.’
Whatever he’d expected her to say, it wasn’t that. His mouth tightened into a line. ‘How could she not already know?’
‘I…hid it from her. Jilleen knows what happened to me on the night of the raid. She doesn’t need to know about the child—she’s only thirteen.’
‘She’s old enough. And it will fall to her, to take care of you after this.’ He couldn’t stay with her indefinitely.
‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘Say nothing.’
His hand clenched into a fist. ‘I can make no such promise.’
Chapter Two
The next morning and afternoon went by with still no sign of her sister. Worries eroded her conscience, and Morren tried to convince Trahern to leave.
‘Jilleen is just a girl,’ she argued. ‘She shouldn’t be travelling alone.’ Her own wild fears came back to haunt her, of all the things that could happen to her sister. ‘You have to bring her back.’
‘One more day.’ Trahern folded his arms across his chest. ‘I won’t leave you behind when you’re still unwell.’
‘I’m afraid for her, Trahern. Please.’
‘Not until you’re strong enough.’ He held out a plate of food, but Morren could hardly bring herself to eat any of the dried venison or the tart apples he’d brought. ‘Try to eat.’
She forced herself to pick at a piece of the venison. ‘Why did you come back?’ The meat tasted bland, and she struggled to chew it.
‘I came to avenge her death.’
She knew he meant Ciara. ‘How did you hear of it?’
‘Her brother sent word. I want to know the rest.’
She saw the terrible expression on his face and held her tongue. Some things were better left unremembered.
‘Tell me,’ he ordered. ‘You were there.’
‘No.’ She saw no reason to torment him. It wouldn’t change Ciara’s fate.
Irritation flashed over his face. ‘I’ve the right to know what happened to her. We were betrothed.’
She kept silent, meeting his gaze with her own stubbornness.
‘I want to know everything,’ he insisted. ‘And I will revisit the same upon my enemies tenfold.’ The ferocity of his glare left her no doubt that he meant what he said.
‘Tomorrow,’ she murmured. ‘Take me back to Glen Omrigh, and help me find Jilleen. Then I’ll tell you what you wish to know.’
‘You’ll tell me now.’
‘Or
