The Warrior's Touch (2 page)

Strange. These wounds were not from battle. Someone had deliberately tried to crush the bones. The thought of torture rose up again. Her stomach twisted, and doubts invaded her mind.

Did she have the skill to heal such intricate wounds? Or worse, did she possess the courage to remove his hands, if it was needed to save his life? Should the skin turn green or blacken, she’d have no choice. Her heart faltered, nausea rising at the thought of causing such pain. She sent up another prayer against the demons of sickness.

‘Mother, is everything all right?’ Her daughter Rhiannon entered, and Aileen halted at the sight of her. With all that had happened, she hadn’t thought of it. Her daughter, though fostered elsewhere, visited often to learn the trade of healing.

Aileen glanced toward Connor and saw that he had not regained consciousness. Putting an arm around Rhiannon, she led her daughter from the hut. ‘Everything is fine.’

Rhiannon’s face dimmed with confusion. ‘Would you like my help? The man back there—’

‘Not today.’ Aileen struggled to keep her voice calm. ‘But you may offer prayers for him.’

Rhiannon’s expression turned critical. ‘Will the prayers heal him?’ She twisted her dark brown braid, a worried expression puckering her face.

‘It can do no harm.’

‘Let me help you,’ her daughter begged.

‘No.’ The word came out sharper than she’d intended. Aileen forced herself to smile. ‘He will be well soon enough. It is not as bad as it seems.’ The lie added to her burden of guilt.

‘You are a good healer, Mother. No matter what they say,’ Rhiannon said. With shining eyes, she added, ‘I want to be like you.’

Aileen’s skin warmed with embarrassment. ‘I hope that you become a better healer than I.’ She was grateful she was to have such a bond with her daughter. Most children grew closer to their foster parents than to their own flesh and blood. Rhiannon’s frequent visits meant that and with each passing year Aileen loved her daughter more.

‘They are bringing a new healer,’ Rhiannon admitted, a frown shadowing her face. ‘I heard Tómas speak of it.’

‘When?’

‘Within a sennight.’ Rhiannon took her mother’s hand. ‘But she can’t be as good as you. What happened wasn’t your fault. They—’

‘It does not matter,’ Aileen interrupted. ‘Your foster parents will be waiting for you. You must go now.’

‘Shall I see you on the morrow?’

‘Not until this man is gone.’

‘But why? I have helped with battle wounds before.’

‘Do not argue with me. When he has returned to his people, then you may return.’ Aileen drew her daughter into an embrace. She stroked Rhiannon’s deep brown hair, murmuring, ‘I shall see you after that.’

Rhiannon held her tightly. ‘I’ll come back to see you soon, Mother.’

‘I love you,
a iníon
. Be good.’ She touched her nose to Rhiannon’s.

‘I will.’

Aileen waited until her daughter reached the top of the hillside before she returned to Connor. Thank the gods Rhiannon had not questioned her further.

Inside the hut, Connor lay still. She picked up his right hand, and he flinched. It was the first physical reaction she’d seen from him. Good. He might live after all. It looked as though someone had smashed a mallet against the fingers. The same treatment had been applied to his right wrist.

Such unusual wounds. If his enemy had wanted him dead, a simple arrow or dagger through the heart would suffice. This was a punishment, it seemed. Connor had no weapons, which suggested he had been a prisoner. They had discarded him in the midst of a field, and, were it not for Lorcan’s interference, Connor might be there still.

She needed to set the bones properly. As she looked through her supply of wooden splints for the right shape and size, her thoughts returned to Rhiannon. Love filled her at the thought of her sweet-faced girl. She could not imagine life without her.

No one would take Rhiannon from her. Especially not Connor MacEgan, the man who had fathered her.

His hands were on fire. Pain such as he’d never known coursed through him. Connor jerked, his muscles seizing at the vicious agony.

‘Lie still. I have to set the bones.’

Connor could no more cease his movements than he could prevent the roar that escaped him. The woman moved another of his bones, and he prayed for the blessed darkness to consume him once more.

Her ministrations made that impossible. Instead, he focused his mind on what had happened, with fleeting images of Flynn Ó Banníon’s men holding him down. He’d fought against them as knives sliced into his flesh. The pain was nothing compared to what came next. His former friends had held him down while the chieftain raised a stone mallet.

Blinding pain coursed through his hand and wrist from the crushing impact. A cry tore from his throat when they struck his other hand. Thanks be, he’d lost consciousness after that.

But the healer’s torment far outweighed that of his enemy’s. He didn’t remember how he had escaped, but Ó Banníon’s parting words burned in his mind. ‘Now you’ll never touch another woman again.’

The healer set another bone, and he gasped with pain. ‘Have a care.’

‘I am nearly finished.’

‘Thank God.’

‘Then I’ll start on your other hand.’

The other hand? Sweet Jesu, the woman had been sent by the
sibh dubh
to plague him. Dark spirits held more mercy than her. Never had he known such torture, the excruciating anguish in his hands. He kept his eyes closed, trying to block out the pain.

‘Where am I?’ he asked, breathing slowly to avoid the searing ache in his ribs.

‘Don’t you remember? You were fostered here at Banslieve. With the Ó Duinne tribe.’

He had not visited the lands of his foster family since he was a lad of seventeen. He had fond memories of Banslieve.

Connor studied the woman who had tended his wounds. Her braided hair resembled the deep brown of a polished wood, her eyes a soft grey-green.

‘Your name is Aileen?’ he asked.

At her assent, he wondered if she was the same young girl who rarely spoke and hid in the shadows. ‘I remember you.’

She stared at him, and for a moment he thought he saw accusation in her eyes. The flash of anger disappeared and grew calm. ‘It was a very long time ago.’

‘Where is Kyna?’ At his mention of the ancient healer, he caught a look of sadness in Aileen’s eyes.

‘She died last winter. I am the healer now.’

‘Is there another healer in the village?’ He didn’t trust Aileen; she was far too young to know Kyna’s healing methods.

‘No.’ Her lips pursed with angry pride. ‘I am the only one.’

He cared not if he offended her. If his bones were not set properly, he could lose the use of his hands. Being a warrior was his life. He closed his eyes as searing pain throbbed in his hands.

Flynn Ó Banníon had chosen Connor’s punishment, believing false witnesses. And all for a crime he hadn’t committed. Fury burned within him, along with the pain of betrayal. Flynn had once been a friend to him, as well as a sword master.

‘How bad is it?’ he asked.

‘How bad is what?’

‘My hands. Will I regain the use of them?’ He needed to know whether he would lose his hands. His skin prickled, suddenly cold with fear.

‘I do not know.’

He stilled. All his life, he’d been a warrior. He’d fought in battles against the Normans, against enemy tribes, until his sword was a natural extension of himself.

‘What of my sword? Will I be able to fight again?’

He tried to sit up, but a gentle hand pushed him back. ‘Again, I do not know. But you have your life, and for that you should be thankful.’

Even as she answered, the icy hand of Fate taunted him. There was no life he could imagine, save that of being a soldier.

‘Sleep now,’ Aileen whispered, lifting a potion to his lips. He drank the bitter liquid, feeling as though he were made of stone. For if he could not wield a sword again, he was as good as dead.

A
ileen Ó Duinne brushed her long brown hair, plaiting it with the blue ribbons her da had given her. She wore her best overdress, a cheerful matching gown the colour of the sky with a cream-coloured
léine
beneath it. It made her feel more grown up than her years of sixteen. It was the feast of Bealtaine this night, an ancient ritual celebrating life and one necessary to preserving their good fortune. She smiled dreamily, her thoughts drifting upon the possibilities of finding love.

A hand jerked at her braid and she yelped. Her older brother Cillian grinned. With deep brown hair and laughing green eyes, Cillian was both her favourite brother and the bane of her life. ‘Planning to find a man this eve, are you?’

‘Of course not,’ she lied, her face flaming. ‘They hardly notice me anyway.’

Her brother shook his head knowingly. ‘They notice you more than you think, Aileen.’

‘You must be thinking of another sister.’

‘You are my only sister,’ he argued. ‘And if they cannot see you for what you are, I’ll be thrashing them soundly.’

His compliment tugged a smile from her. ‘I washed my face in the dew three times this morn,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t think it’s working yet.’ It was said that beauty would come to those who bathed in the dew on the morning of Bealtaine. She still held out hope that perhaps the effects might happen later that evening.

Bealtaine was a night when many a maiden might find love in the arms of a handsome suitor. Last Midsummer’s Eve, she’d received her first kiss. It had not lived up to her expectations, being a tangle of wet tongue and lips. She shuddered at the memory, but didn’t blame the boy for it. He hadn’t had much experience either.

‘I know where your thoughts lie, Aileen Ó Duinne. You’re wanting Connor MacEgan to handfast with you.’ Cillian started making kissing faces, and Aileen swatted at him.

‘Stop your teasing,’ she warned. ‘Weren’t you supposed to be gathering the wood for the Bel fires?’ She knew her father and their other brother Bradan were busy assembling the cattle. After they drove the herd between the Bel fires, their good fortune would be assured.

‘That was hours ago,’ Cillian answered. A knowing smile creased his face. ‘And I’ll be finding a fair
cailín
to pick out the splinters for me.’

‘You’ll need luck for that.’

‘As will you,’ he answered. ‘I’ve sad news to impart.’ He let out a mocking sob, as though his heart were breaking. ‘Connor has been chosen to play the part of Belenus. You won’t be having him as your lover after all. Lianna will be Danu.’

It wasn’t hard to imagine Connor as the sun god. But Aileen’s good spirits wilted a little. It meant that Connor would become Lianna’s consort this night. They would consecrate the Sacred Marriage and become lovers.

She shivered, just thinking of it. Why couldn’t she have been chosen? Even as the thought flew into her mind, she cast it aside. Her plain face and untamed mass of brown curls made her nothing but a sparrow beside Lianna’s swan beauty. More than once, a young man had looked past Aileen, his attentions fully upon Lianna.

‘Chin up, sister,’ Cillian said. ‘I could hold Connor down for you, and you could steal a kiss. I don’t think he’d struggle too much.’

She rested her fists on her hips. ‘If you so much as breathe a word to him, I’ll—’

He laughed and ducked outside. Aileen wanted to groan. Cillian knew that she secretly dreamed of Connor. But if he valued his life, he’d not tell a soul.

She raised her
brat
, wrapping the woollen shawl across her shoulders. At the threshold, a soft wind blew across the hills, soothing her wounded feelings. Tonight she wanted to shed her youth, to join hands and promise herself to one of the tribesmen.

On this night lovers slipped away together, celebrating the fires in their own way. Anything could happen, particularly magic. And it would take a bit of magic to get Connor MacEgan to notice her.

Aileen’s mouth went dry at the thought of him. Though only a year older than herself, he had trained most of his life to be a warrior. He moved with stealth and power, a man on the brink of becoming a legend.

His hair was the colour of burnished gold, and he was so tall, she had to lean back to look at him. His grey eyes could stare into any woman’s eyes and make her feel beautiful. In the fields she had seen him ride, his powerful thighs gripping the horse with consummate control. A flutter rose within her skin, just remembering him.

Was it so wrong to wish that she could lie in Connor’s arms this evening, learning the ways between a man and a woman?

But then, such thoughts were foolish. She had best put them aside and hope to find someone else who would look upon her as a suitable bride.

‘Aileen! Come and help me,’ her mother called. ‘I must prepare the baskets for the feast.’

Aileen wrapped loaves of bread inside linen, breaking off a piece to set upon the threshold for the faeries. They had been careful not to use any steel knives when preparing the bread, for steel was deadly to the faery folk. Tonight the veil between her world and the world of the Folk would lift. The offering would ensure luck.

‘Are you ready?’ her mother asked. Aileen nodded, picking up her basket once more. Outside, a small mountain of wood rested atop each of the two hills in readiness for the bonfires. All of their hearth fires had been extinguished the previous day, for the new fires would be lit from the Bel fires.

The evening light had begun to wane, the sun descending into an ocean of scarlet and purple hues. Soon, they would light the sacred wood.

Her father and brothers stood with their cattle among the rest of the tribe, waiting to drive them between the fires. Aileen followed her mother into the crowd. As they passed the huts, she saw flowering hawthorn branches laid across some of the homes. Her heart clenched, for no sweetheart had brought flowers for her.

‘Now remember,’ her mother warned. ‘If any young man tries to force you—’ Her green eyes filled with concern, lines furrowing the edge of her mouth. She seemed torn by an invisible decision.

Aileen gave her mother a gentle hug. ‘I shall tell him no.’ She understood her mother’s fears, though there was no reason for them.

‘’Tis your choice if you wish to take a lover and honour the Goddess Danu tonight, my daughter. But you needn’t. You are still so very young.’ Though her mother honoured the gods of their ancestors, she did not look at all willing to see her daughter become a woman in the truest sense.

‘I will be fine, Mother.’ And she would. She stiffened her spine and put on a bright smile.

All around her, the sound of cattle lowing blended with the crowd of voices. The air was fragrant with flowers, and ahead she saw Lianna and Connor. Both wore green, and a crown of hawthorn and primroses adorned Lianna’s hair. Connor wore a matching garland of the same flowers.

Aileen drew closer, wishing with all her being that she could take Lianna’s place. She turned to join the circle of girls and stumbled into a man. Eachan caught her before she could fall, steadying her balance. ‘There, now. It’s not every day that a pretty cailín falls at my feet.’

His lips curved in a smile, the lines at his eyes creasing with humour. Nearly the age of her father, Eachan had always been kind.

‘I am sorry.’ Aileen’s face reddened, and she tried to escape his notice.

‘Don’t be. And may I say that ye look lovelier than the May Queen this evening?’

Aileen recognised the intent in his eyes and decided to let Eachan know her feelings. ‘It’s lying you are, if you say so.’

‘I do not lie. Anyone can see that Lianna has naught but wool for brains. You far outshine her.’

Aileen decided that Eachan had drunk too much mead. ‘I must go.’ She excused herself and found a place where she could stand and watch Connor and Lianna. Lianna laughed as Connor’s elbow brushed against her breast.

Aileen froze, as if Connor had touched her instead of Lianna. Her skin rose in response, her nipple growing tight against the wool of her gown.

‘MacEgan bastard,’ a male voice muttered from beside her. Aileen heard the jealousy in Tómas’s voice. A full head shorter than Connor, he resented not being chosen as Lianna’s consort.

‘He should not be here. He belongs with his own tribe.’

Aileen did not argue that Connor had been fostered with the Ó Duinnes since he was a babe. Tómas wanted Lianna as his bride and made no secret of it.

‘I’ll kill him if he touches her,’ Tómas threatened beneath his breath.

‘And bring bad luck upon us all if you do such a foolish thing,’ Aileen scolded. ‘He was chosen. There is nothing to be done about it.’

‘I won’t let him have her.’ The dark tone in his voice unnerved her.

‘
Tá
, you will, and, if you stop behaving like a sulking boy, she may come to you later.’

‘What would you know about it, Aileen? No man here wants a plain-faced girl like you for a bride.’

His words stung, but she raised her chin. ‘I know enough to hear a boy speaking nonsense instead of a man.’

He pushed away from her, and Aileen blinked hard. Apparently the Bealtaine dew had not yet worked its magic upon her face.

She joined in the dancing, trying not to be hurt when the young men smiled eagerly at the other girls. She would make just as fine a wife as any of them. Hadn’t the village healer Kyna taught her the skills of treating the sick?

Then she came face to face with Connor. His palm joined with hers in the dance, and it was a wonder lightning did not crackle from his touch. Nervous tension twined within her.

‘Hello, Connor,’ she squeaked. By the Blessed Danu, what had happened to her voice?

‘Hello.’ He turned her in a circle, smiling warmly. ‘I’ve been wanting to thank you for tending my hound. Ulric seems to be back to his old ways again.’

‘I am glad he is better.’ She had done nothing more than mix a mint infusion for the dog after the beastie had eaten more than his share of table scraps.

Connor took her right hand and squeezed it. ‘My thanks to you.’

At that, Aileen decided she would never wash her right hand again. They switched partners again, and she was saved from embarrassing herself when Eachan joined her.

‘You’ve a fancy for him, have you?’

‘I don’t—he just—’

Eachan laughed and took her hands in his own. ‘An old man like myself is no match for young Connor. Still, you’re a sensible lass and one worth knowing. Shall I tell him and put in a good word for you?’

‘No!’ She was horrified at the idea of Eachan recommending her to Connor like a prized mare.

A teasing chuckle resounded from his throat as he passed her to the next partner. ‘Think upon it, young Aileen.’

She blushed. Though a few visiting men came from nearby tribes, none gave her their attention. She watched as men and women paired off, joining hands in preparation for the fires.

Alone, she stood, feeling like an outsider again. Even Eachan, for all his teasing, had left her. She rubbed her arms, braving a smile she did not feel.

When the bonfires were lit, the crowds stood to watch while men drove the cattle between the two blazing fires. Against the black sky, the orange flames cast a stark, spell-binding glow. Connor and Lianna circled one of the fires three times, then took a running leap across the Bel fire.

Aileen’s heart beat faster, as though she were the one to jump across the burning flames. Connor caught Lianna in his arms, dipping low to kiss her. Aileen turned away, pretending she had not seen it.

Mead flowed freely and, as the feasting continued, couples began to disappear into the undergrowth. Aileen heard the sounds of lovemaking and, at the muffled cries of satisfaction, something deep within her stirred. She moved to the edge of the clearing, standing near the forest. Darkness enfolded the trees, shadows guarding the lovers in secrecy.

Upon the dais, Connor held Lianna’s hand in his, whispering to her. It was time for Lianna to honour the Goddess, to join with Connor in the hut set aside for that purpose. Lianna smiled, though her eyes rested upon Tómas. The man’s face was rigid with hatred. Aileen feared suddenly that he would do something rash.

In the distance Aileen watched Connor raise Lianna’s palm to his lips. Moments later, her friend walked toward the hut to prepare herself. While Connor endured the raucous jests from the other men, Tómas was moving toward the hut.

Aileen would not put it past him to destroy the ritual, regardless of the consequences. In desperation, she looked around until she found Lianna’s older brother Riordan.

‘I am worried about your sister,’ she said. ‘Tómas is jealous of Connor.’

The deep relaxation upon Riordan’s face revealed the quantity of mead he had drunk. ‘Lianna can take care of herself,’ he said. His eyes grew deep, his expression relaxed. He reached out and patted her head. ‘Go on, now.’ Stumbling forward, he moved toward a group of women.

Aileen moved away from him, her blood pounding with embarrassment. She fled, pushing her way past men and women. Familiar sounds surrounded her, children whining in their mothers’ arms, and the seductive sounds coming from the grove of trees ahead. Before she knew what had happened, she found herself standing before the ritual hut.

Anticipation coursed within her veins, her sensitised skin rising. What would Lianna be feeling right now? Were she in her friend’s place, she’d not be able to breathe. The very thought of making love with Connor MacEgan, feeling the strength of his hardened body against her own, sent shivers through her.

The flickering blaze of the Bel fires drew her inside the hut, though she could not say why.

‘What are you doing here?’ Lianna whispered. ‘He’s coming soon.’

‘I know. I—I wanted to wish you good fortune.’

‘It isn’t good fortune, not at all. Tómas may try to kill Connor. I don’t know what to do. He warned me not to lie with him.’

‘Tómas cannot interfere with the ritual. He wouldn’t dare.’

‘I pledged myself to him,’ Lianna admitted. ‘He thinks no man has the right to touch me. And—’ her face flushed ‘—I am no longer a virgin.’

Aileen’s eyes widened. ‘But…what will you do?’ If Lianna was no longer a virgin, then the act held no meaning.