The Warrior's Touch (13 page)

‘Enough,’ Aileen bid him, and he sheathed the sword. ‘Let me see your fingers.’

He held them out, and she stood near, pulling on each of the joints. ‘These need to be splinted again.’

Her thumbs stroked his knuckles, massaging the soreness. His breath caught at the tender gesture. ‘How does that feel?’ She pulled gently at each of his fingers, her skin cool against his callused palms.

‘It aches.’

She frowned, leading him back into the sick hut. An array of splints and bandages awaited him, and she adjusted the fingers of his right hand. ‘I’m going to bind this one again. Don’t use it for a few more days and it might be I can align the muscles.’

She wrapped his hand, her attention upon his palm. Yet a spiral of heat rushed through him. It tormented him, not being able to touch her. As she reached for one of the gnarled fingers, she winced. His cheeks reddened with embarrassment, for the finger looked more like it belonged to an animal than a man.

‘You lied to me,’ she said softly. ‘You’re in far more pain than you’ve said.’

‘A warrior is accustomed to pain. It matters not.’

‘I can give you a potion to ease your suffering.’

‘I don’t need to sleep my days away, Aileen.’ When she’d finished tying up the splints, he softened his tone. ‘How are Bridget and her baby?’

A wistful smile edged her face. ‘The baby is sweet. She’s fallen asleep in my arms a time or two.’

‘You see them every day?’

She nodded. ‘I’ve said to Bridget it’s to look in on them, but, in truth, I want to hold the babe. It’s been so long since I’ve held Rhiannon.’

‘You should have more children,’ he said.

Her smile disappeared. ‘I would need a husband for that. And I’ve no wish to marry at the moment.’ Her face flamed, and Connor recalled Riordan’s unwanted attention.

She suddenly tilted her head. ‘And why is it you’ve never married?’

‘I’ve no land,’ he said. ‘Few chieftain’s daughters would welcome such a poor prospect as myself.’

‘Surely your father would have given you a little property.’

Connor shrugged. ‘The land he gave was hardly more than a small plot. I gave it back to my elder brother. I receive income from the rents, but I haven’t a fortress of my own.’

‘Do you need one? Can you not be happy as a farmer?’ There was a hint of teasing beneath her question.

‘I wish I could.’ He knew he should not want more than he had. But it bothered him that his brother should have command of a vast fortress and thousands of acres of land, while he could not hold the same. His fighting skills were strong enough to become a king himself. But he’d never dream of challenging Patrick for the honour. He respected his eldest brother too much.

‘What will you do after you leave?’ she asked. There was a trace of pity in her voice, and he stiffened.

‘Return home. Train until I must face Ó Banníon.’

‘And if you lose?’

His smile held no humour. ‘I’ll be dead, and it won’t matter, will it?’

‘This is not a fight to the death, Connor.’

‘It will be.’

He did not wait to see her reaction, but used his left hand to open the door. To his surprise, a group of boys waited for him atop the hillside. Their ages ranged from young Lorcan to a few lads old enough to be a squire. Some held wooden swords, a few possessed daggers, and the smallest lad proudly held a stout tree limb.

‘Your army regiment is here,’ Aileen remarked drily.

Lorcan stepped forward, a wide smile creasing his boyish face. He pushed a lock of dark brown hair to the side. ‘I come with a message from our chieftain. Seamus Ó Duinne wishes for you and Aileen to dine with him this night.’ He bowed at the completion of his message. ‘What reply should I send?’

Connor exchanged a look with Aileen, who inclined her head. ‘We accept the invitation of our chieftain.’

‘Be there before sundown,’ Lorcan urged.

From their eager stance, Connor asked, ‘Was there anything else you wanted?’

One of the elder boys stepped forward. ‘We’d like you to train us, sir.’

He didn’t know what to say. Aileen moved beside him and touched his arm. ‘You wanted a purpose for your life, other than being a farmer. It seems fate has answered your request.’

‘T
he tree branch weighed more than he did,’ Connor finished. Aileen wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes. After spending the day watching the ragged group of boys attempting to swat each other with wooden staffs, she didn’t know when she’d been more entertained.

Connor had not scolded or reprimanded them, even when two of the boys began chasing one another with the staffs. He’d simply disarmed them and forced them to sit on the grass, watching the others. It was punishment enough, not being allowed to participate.

The older boys received more serious attention. Connor had corrected their stances, offering advice on which motions would bring down an enemy. They listened, and not one had voiced a question about Connor’s injuries. All seemed to accept that he would redeem his fighting abilities in time.

Connor’s left hand brushed against hers, and he took hold of her palm. Aileen accepted the touch, though her heartbeat stumbled. He kept talking about the boys’ training as if the gesture meant nothing. Aileen tried to relax, but she was distracted.

Stop behaving like a giddy young girl
, she warned herself. But his touch unravelled her senses. Before she knew it, they were standing at the gates of Seamus Ó Duinne’s ring fort.

The rocky stone walls encircled a group of outbuildings, while the chieftain’s house lay beyond the inner curtain wall. Though the
donjon
was not as large as some she’d seen, the fortress showed signs of wealth.

Inside, fresh rushes were strewn over the threshold. A servant accepted Aileen’s scarlet cloak, and Riona Ó Duinne rushed forward to embrace Connor.

‘It’s pleased I am to see you, a
dalta
.’ Riona Ó Duinne ruffled Connor’s hair as though he were a young lad.

Aileen repressed a smile at the affectionate term. Connor MacEgan would ever be viewed as Riona’s son, no matter that he was not her own flesh and blood.

To Aileen, she gave a curt nod. The message was clear: her presence would be tolerated, but not welcomed. There was no kiss or embrace, and Aileen pretended as though she thought nothing of it.

‘Hello, Riona,’ she said.

The woman did not return the greeting. To Connor she offered a warm smile. ‘I saw you at the
aenach
, but I’ve been wanting more time with you as I said to Seamus. I told that man who calls himself my husband, I’d not be sleeping with him until he brought my boy back for a visit.’

Seamus rolled his eyes. ‘Stop your prattle, woman, and let the man come and eat with us.’

Riona patted Connor’s arm, a smile lighting up her eyes. ‘Come, then.’

Connor turned back to Aileen and extended his hand. She took it, though aware of Riona’s displeasure. For a moment, she wondered why she had been invited.

Connor led her to sit upon a wooden bench just inside the home. The chieftain’s house was only a single level with a large interior. Partitions divided up the house into smaller chambers for sleeping, while the largest area was used to greet and entertain guests.

‘How are your hands?’ Seamus asked Connor.

‘They grow stronger with each day,’ he said. And it was true. With Aileen’s help, he now noticed subtle progressions. Each night she adjusted the splints, and his range of movement had improved.

Seamus grunted. ‘Good.’ His gaze sharpened upon Aileen. ‘Bridget and Frasier told me you delivered their new babe.’

‘I did.’ She raised her chin, meeting his gaze squarely. ‘Bridget has a healthy daughter.’

‘You were forbidden to heal.’

‘My cousin needed my help.’ Anger blazed in her expression. How dare he reprimand her for helping her family? She was tired of defending herself, tired of being blamed for what had happened to their sons. It broke her heart to remember the tiny, frail bodies of the babes. She wished there were some way to undo the past.

‘Illona told me that you did well while you were there.’

Had his words become more gentle? Or was she imagining it? Seamus’s gaze moved to Connor’s hands. ‘After that night, Illona was told to return to Dunhaven, upon the order of Flynn Ó Banníon. Did you know of this?’

Aileen shook her head, suppressing the rush of hope that filled her. ‘No, I did not know it. I thought she would stay among us.’

‘When Flynn learned of Connor’s presence, he forbade her to stay.’

Suspicion coloured her tone. ‘Why do you tell me this?’

He glanced at Riona, whose face was pale. ‘Until Samhain, I will grant you the right to be our healer once more. If you prove your worth, you may remain as such.’

‘No!’ Riona burst out. Rigid pain creased her eyes, her face white with emotion. ‘You cannot let her, Seamus. Not after what happened to my sons. They died because of her.’

Aileen shook her head, unable to speak. She recognised the raw grief, the mother’s pain. If something happened to Rhiannon, would she not feel the same? There were no words to take away Riona’s anger. Only time could heal it.

Seamus took Riona’s hand, caressing it. ‘You need not fear,
a ghrá
. She’ll not harm anyone.’

He leaned forward, his face fierce with warning. ‘But one death during your trial period, Aileen, and you will leave us. Is that understood?’

‘I am not God. I cannot prevent a natural death,’ she argued, extinguishing the hope rising within her. ‘If a man’s soul is called, I can do nothing.’

‘No deaths brought by your own hand.’

‘You ask the impossible. No healer can make such a promise.’

‘Then I will send for someone else.’

‘You would force me to leave, if I fail?’

‘I would.’ His stern countenance convinced her of it. ‘Until you prove yourself, our people believe you to be cursed. They’ll not trust you again, if aught goes wrong. I cannot say what they would do to you. It would be for your own protection.’

Aileen felt as though she were clinging to the edge of a crevasse. She wanted so badly to accept his offer, this second chance. But if she failed during the trial period, she might have to leave her home and family.

The memory of the storyteller’s death haunted her. Though she had not seen any signs of the pox as of yet, it might come.

And if it did, there was no one else to help them, save herself. More folk would die if she did not agree. There was no choice but to accept Seamus’s offer. Though it was a grave risk and only for a short while, she needed to be a healer again. ‘I will do it,’ she whispered.

‘I beg of you, Seamus,’ Riona intervened. ‘Think of what happened to our sons.’

‘That was not her doing,’ Connor interrupted, placing his hand upon Aileen’s shoulder. ‘Do not blame her for their deaths.’

Warmth blossomed inside her at his reassuring touch. It meant a great deal, hearing him defend her skills.

‘She ruined Whelon’s life as well.’ Riona’s face grew enraged. ‘He was meant to be a leader like his father. What else is left for him, if he cannot fight?’ She began to weep quiet tears.

Connor exchanged glances with Aileen and stood. He put an arm around Riona and spoke softly to her. Aileen did not hear what was said, but the words must have brought Riona comfort. The older woman wiped her eyes, her pallor ghostly white. ‘Forgive me,’ she said. ‘I will return in a moment.’

Seamus’s shoulders lowered as he stared at the corridor where his wife had departed. ‘It hurts her still. She mourns the boys and cannot abide to look at Whelon.’

‘But Whelon lives,’ Aileen said softly. ‘You have that.’

Weariness cloaked Seamus. ‘It is not enough for her.’

He signalled for two servants to bring basins of water.

Sitting beside Connor, she caught his glance. Though another servant’s hands moved across her feet, her skin erupted in goose bumps. Connor’s silver eyes grew heated, and she thought of his hands upon her. As if to rekindle the vision, he covered her hand in his.

She breathed in deeply, inhaling his clean male scent. Awareness of him slipped beneath her defences. Beside him she felt small. Though he’d been injured, his frequent training exercises kept his body strong. His chest filled every inch of the tunic he wore, and she sensed the power radiating from him. On a battleground, he must have been a formidable opponent.

Before she could collect her thoughts, the servants dried their feet and they walked barefoot upon a straw mat to the cushions lining the floor.

Riona returned, her eyes reddened from weeping. She stood beside her husband, who handed her a silver goblet. ‘Please, sit down,’ she bade them.

The low table was covered in cloth, and they accepted two goblets of wine. Aileen took a sip, and the sweet blend took her by surprise.

‘Where did you get this? It is the best wine I’ve ever tasted.’

‘I traded for it,’ Seamus admitted with pride. ‘A man came from Saxony, and a finer wine I’ve never tasted.’

‘And too much of it you’ve tasted,’ Riona argued. ‘Between the wine and your poteen, it’s a wonder you haven’t pickled your insides with as many barrels as you’ve drunk.’

Aileen hid her smile behind the goblet. She sat beside Connor at the table, their knees brushing. A harpist entered the room and began to play a light melody as the servants brought in the first course of food.

The evening progressed as though within a dream, for she was aware of Connor’s eyes upon her. Aileen found herself conscious of his every move. He offered her choice pieces of the roasted pork, his fingers brushing against hers as he passed the meat to her.

She fought her body’s reaction, wishing he did not tempt her so. At this very moment, she longed to feel his embrace, to taste the warmth of his mouth. She wanted his kiss against her throat, her breasts, even touching her most secret place. Her gown had grown overly warm, and she drank the remainder of her wine to press away the unwanted feelings.

The haze of the drink buzzed in her ears, but at one moment she stared at him. By the blessed Belisama, he was handsome. His gold hair was pulled back with a leather thong, his warrior’s face strong and chiselled. Her attention was drawn to his mouth, the masculine lips that had brought her so much pleasure.

She closed her eyes, as if to shut out the temptation.

‘Do you want more?’ he asked, holding the pitcher of wine. His voice allured her with its low timbre. Dark grey eyes burned into hers, mirroring her own desire.

‘Yes,’ she whispered. His returning look seared her as he filled her cup. Despite her lightheaded state, she was aware of her actions. She was a grown woman with needs. And here was the man she’d always dreamed of, looking at her with the same desire. She should take what he offered, even at the risk to her heart. It might be her only chance.

Seamus coughed, drawing her attention back to their host. ‘I want to ask why you’ve challenged Flynn Ó Banníon.’

In her chieftain’s gaze, Aileen saw the concern. He knew, as she did, that if Connor raised his sword against Ó Banníon, he would be defeated.

‘If it is a question of payment—’ Seamus said.

‘No. He owes me a fine, as well. The
brehons
wanted an even exchange.’

‘Then why will you not take it?’

Connor’s expression darkened into shielded rage. ‘Because it is my honour we speak of. I have done nothing against his daughter. If I accept this agreement, I am admitting a false guilt.’

Seamus’s face coloured, but he shrugged. ‘Why should you risk your life over a mistake?’

‘Because I want my vengeance. He took away my fighting skills, my ability to support a family.’

Aileen’s heart constricted. There was his true reason for wanting to face Flynn Ó Banníon. He didn’t believe himself to be a man any more, nor could he have the family he wanted. His hands had not been crushed. It was his dreams.

She suddenly saw past his shield of pride. Just as she was willing to risk everything to be a healer again, he would sacrifice his life for honour.

If he regained his strength, would he become a chieftain or a king? Would he reign over a land with sons to train as he had Lorcan and Whelon? Her eyes blurred, for she could envision the dream as surely as though it were her own.

But if he failed, he would pay the ultimate price. ‘What if you die?’ she whispered, her throat closing up with tears.

His gaze hardened to stone. ‘I am already dead, Aileen. But in this way, I can die knowing that I faced my enemy. I’ll not die a coward.’

The finality in his voice made her understand that nothing would stop him from this battle.

He didn’t have the strength, not against a master swordsman like Flynn Ó Banníon. Even without his wounded hands, such a battle was an invitation to death. She knew he would fail.

‘You’ll die a fool,’ she whispered, unable to listen any more. She rose from the table, blinking back the hot tears. ‘I am sorry, Seamus and Riona, but I must go.’ She refused to look back at Connor.

Outside, she passed through the gates, hearing the night sounds of a fire crackling and muted conversations. She accepted a torch from one of the soldiers and walked into the open field. The fire cast a golden glow against the grasses, and this time she gave rein to her feelings. Silent tears slipped down her cheeks. She couldn’t bear to think of Connor dying.

Footsteps moved behind her. She did not move, knowing it was Connor who followed.

‘Why is it, I wonder, that you have worked to help me regain my strength when you believe I’ll die?’

‘Because I promised,’ she responded. Turning, she added, ‘And I keep my promises.’

He touched a hand to her shoulder. ‘Wait. Please.’

She paused, allowing him to face her. ‘What more do you want from me, Connor?’

‘I want to know why my death would bother you so.’

Moonlight spilled over him, illuminating his face. She swallowed back the tears. It was too late to guard her heart from him. The thought of Ó Banníon striking a death blow against this man, the father of her child, quite simply devastated her.

She was in love with him.

‘It would be a waste of my healing,’ she lied. ‘I went to all the trouble to mend your bones, when you only intend to get yourself killed.’

‘Is that the only reason?’ he asked, raising his palm to her cheek. He wiped away the tears, his touch burning deep into her heart. She wanted so badly to go into his arms, to feel his warmth surrounding her.