The Warrior's Touch (3 page)

‘It’s pagan nonsense,’ Lianna scoffed. ‘Merely an excuse for a man to join with a woman. Connor won’t notice or care.’

‘How can you say that? Haven’t we been blessed with a fruitful harvest this past season?’

Lianna gave a bemused smile. ‘You believe in it, don’t you?’

‘Of course I do. As should you.’ Aileen was deeply shaken in the fear that Lianna’s falsification would bring ill fortune upon them.

‘Wait.’ Lianna’s eyes glittered. ‘You’re a virgin, aren’t you?’

‘I am.’ Aileen suddenly grew afraid of her friend’s interest.

‘Good.’ In one swift motion, Lianna extinguished the torch that lit the interior of the hut. In the darkness, Aileen could see nothing.

‘Take my place,’ Lianna urged. ‘That way you’ll ensure a good harvest. Connor won’t know the difference, and I can appease Tómas.’ Before Aileen could answer, Lianna crowned her with the hawthorn and flowers. She removed the ribbons, unbraiding Aileen’s hair until it spilled across her shoulders.

‘We should not do this,’ Aileen argued. She could never deceive Connor in such a way. And it was wrong. She was not the May Queen. If anyone found out, she would be punished.

‘You want him, don’t you?’

‘That does not matter. He’ll know, Lianna, and he’ll blame me for it.’

Ruthlessly, Lianna stripped away Aileen’s clothes and removed her own léine. ‘I’ll wear your gown. We’ll switch back later before anyone notices.’

Aileen did not protest because in her heart she feared the consequences of desecrating the ritual. The woman personifying the Goddess must be a virgin. And she understood that enacting a pure ceremony was far more important than who had been named May Queen.

But when she heard the sound of voices approaching, Aileen panicked. ‘Lianna, I cannot do this!’

Her friend had already disappeared from the hut. Naked, Aileen moved beneath the coverlet, her heart beating a fierce rhythm against her chest. Connor would discover her ruse and shame her before the others. Fear and panic consumed her.

‘Lianna?’ Connor called out into the hut. ‘Are you there?’

Now was the moment for her to admit the truth, to reveal herself. A virtuous woman would never rely on trickery.

But of all the men at Bealtaine, she wanted the embrace of only one: Connor MacEgan. She knew it would never happen, not if he knew her identity. But Fate had granted her a single chance.

Lianna had given her virginity to Tómas already. By taking Lianna’s place, Aileen could assure a fruitful harvest. Was it so wrong to wish good fortune upon her people?

Before she could lose her courage, she whispered, ‘I am here.’

She heard him enter, drawing the leather flap closed behind him until they were surrounded in darkness. The soft furs tantalised her bare skin, sensual and inviting.

She could not believe she had agreed to this deception. But it was far too late to turn back now. She heard the soft shush of Connor’s clothes falling to the ground, then felt the weight of him as he sat upon the pallet.

‘You know what is expected of us,’ he said. His voice, a deep resonant sound, fell over her like a caress.

‘I know it.’

His hand moved until it touched the wreath. He removed it, drawing his fingers through the length of her hair. She shivered and his hands moved over her bare shoulders.

‘You are beautiful,’ he said and, for a moment, she believed him. She reached out and her palm fit within his.

This is wrong
, she thought.
But this night I will have no regrets.
If Lianna had no wish to play the role of the Goddess, Aileen could do so.

Connor leaned down, threading his hands through her hair. His mouth brushed against hers, teasing her. His tongue tasted her lips, and the light, gentle touch sent fires racing within her. Her breasts tightened as his mouth descended on hers, evoking a thousand sensations of pleasure.

With her palms, she touched the firm muscles, the warm male skin. His kiss tasted of mead and girlhood dreams. He pushed the furs away, cupping her breasts in his palms.

Feeling bolder, Aileen kissed him back, letting her mouth move against his. His tongue entered her mouth and she moaned as he slid it inside, the way he would enter her body later. An aching heat surged between her thighs.

Every part of her body exhilarated under his touch, and she discarded the guilt. There would be time for that on the morrow.

For now, for this night of Bealtaine, Connor MacEgan belonged to her. And she intended to enjoy every moment of it.

Connor reached out to Lianna in sleep, but found her gone. Only the barest hint of warmth upon the fur pallet gave evidence to her presence. He rose and stretched, staring at the place where he had joined with her.

The ritual had become a sacrament, though he had not fully believed in the superstition. Lying in Lianna’s arms fulfilled every adolescent dream he’d ever had. In his mind, he viewed it as a preliminary to their wedding night. He wanted Lianna as his wife.

Already he had offered a respectable bride price for her, but her father had turned him down. His pride stung at the memory. With nothing but a few head of cattle and sheep to call his own, it seemed his prospects were not strong enough.

He rose and donned his trews, his mind still filled with her. If Lianna would agree to handfast with him, they might overcome her father’s misgivings. He needed to find her and ask.

For a moment, he stared at the empty furs, wishing she hadn’t left. He wanted to awaken with her soft skin against his, smelling the light fragrance of herbs in her hair. The thought made him yearn to have her beneath him once more.

Outside the rain fell, spattering mud against his trews as he walked. He didn’t care. A lightness seemed to spread across his spirit, in spite of the storm.

A woman’s moan caught his attention, the sound coming from a grove of trees. His steps grew hesitant, but he heard a familiar sound of laughter. Then he saw her, bare from the waist up, embracing Tómas.

The black fist of jealousy caught in his gut when he saw them together. Only hours ago, Lianna had given herself to him. And now Tómas.

Connor took a step back, his blood flowing like ice in his veins. How could she betray him that way? It made him sick to think of how she’d gone from his bed into the arms of another man. Had she truly been a virgin? Or was that a lie, too? He’d thought she was, but perhaps he had been too green to know any better.

He didn’t stop to confront them, couldn’t think clearly as his footing slipped in the mud. As he righted himself, he broke into a run. Without looking, he passed the small plots of land with the beehive-shaped cottages.

‘Connor!’ a girl’s voice called out to him. He turned and saw Aileen.

Clad in a green
léine
, her hair hung down to her waist in a riot of dark curls. Her cheeks were flushed as she held out her hand in greeting. ‘I need to speak with you.’

‘Not now, Aileen.’

But she refused to listen to him, dogging his steps. Connor increased his pace, hoping to get away.

‘This is important.’ She reached out and touched his shoulder. ‘I must tell you—’

He didn’t want a woman clinging to him, especially after Lianna had deceived him into thinking she wanted him. ‘Leave me. Whatever it is can wait.’

Hurt spread across her face, but he paid it no mind.

‘Please,’ she whispered, her eyes beseeching him.

‘I said, leave me!’ He wrenched away, and she lost her balance, stumbling into the mud. He hadn’t meant to be so rough, but his wounded pride had suffered a blow.

Her hands dug into the mud, her dress sodden with the rain and dirt. Instantly, he regretted his actions. ‘I am sorry.’

She said nothing, but he offered a hand to help her up. Aileen ignored it and rose to her feet.

‘What did you wish to tell me?’

The disappointment in her face had transformed into a rigid shell of hurt. ‘It was nothing.’

She turned away, and he wished he had not been so harsh. It would have taken but a moment to hear what she’d wanted to tell him. He knew Aileen favoured him, but he didn’t hold the same affection toward her. If he granted her his attention, she might believe it was more than he intended.

Connor watched her return home, her shoulders slumped forward. He had made her cry and the realisation troubled him. He was accustomed to making women smile in flirtation. He could not take back his transgression, however.

He continued walking in the opposite direction until he reached the dense forest. Tall hazel trees and rowans interlaced, growing so near to one another that in places he had to turn sideways to pass the natural barriers. The heavy rain slowed against the leaves, and he sought shelter beneath one of the oak trees.

With his face in his hands, his heart ached, the steel bands of anger surrounding it. Foolish, he had been, to believe Lianna when she’d embraced him. Foolish to believe her soft whispers that she’d dreamed of being with him.

This was his last summer with his foster family. The Ó Duinne tribe meant as much to him as his own blood. Though he had intended to wait until Samhain, perhaps it was best to leave now. He had no desire to watch Lianna with Tómas, or to see the pitying looks upon his friends’ faces.

He would gather his belongings and return home. And he’d not look back upon the past.

Two moons had come and gone since Connor’s departure. Aileen had spoken nothing to her parents about the night of Bealtaine. Though her tears had soaked through her pallet each night, the terrible humiliation burdening her, she had another reason to weep.

Her menses had not come. She could no longer deny the fact that she carried Connor’s child within her. Instead of bringing her joy, the knowledge made her weep harder.

Never should she have taken Lianna’s place. Her friend had already wed Tómas, and Aileen remained alone.

That morning, the sun dawned clear and bright above the emerald horizon. She walked through the forest and into the clearing, her hand pressed against her abdomen. A part of Connor grew within her, yet she could not forget the way he had spurned her.

He believed he had lain with Lianna. And she hadn’t told him the truth. She couldn’t bear to see the disgust upon his face, were he to realise it was she.

The sound of a horse walking behind her drew Aileen’s attention. She saw Eachan dismount and tether the mare to a nearby shrub.

‘May I walk with you, Aileen?’ he asked.

She inclined her head, not knowing why he had sought her company.

‘Do I seem an old man to you?’ he asked, offering a friendly smile. His question startled her, but it forced her to regard his face.

Though the weathered planes of his cheeks bespoke his age, his hair had not yet grown white. His demeanour had ever been gentle, and she could not fault him for his persistent courtship.

‘No,’ she replied. ‘You are not so old.’ He fell into step beside her, and they walked among the wild orange crocosmia blossoms flowering upon the hillside.

‘I know of your grief,’ he said, his hand brushing against hers. ‘You should have told him.’

Aileen grew rigid. ‘What do you mean? Told whom?’ Eachan could not know the truth of what she had done.

‘Told Connor that you carry his child.’

Her hands moved to her scarlet cheeks. Was it that evident? Did everyone know her secret?

‘Why—what makes you th-think—’

‘I saw you that night. And it was right that you offered yourself to protect the harvest.’ He gestured over the land, the fields swelling with stalks of grain and green corn. ‘The gods have blessed us for it.’

He took her hand in his. ‘I do not fault you for it. I know you care for him, and you do not care for me.’

His kindness eased her battered heart, and unbidden tears swelled. ‘It isn’t that. You have been good to me.’

‘I would take care of you,’ he offered, squeezing her hand. ‘You and the babe. No one need know that it isn’t mine.’

The tear spilled over. ‘Eachan, you do not deserve a bride such as me.’

He raised her hand to his lips. ‘I would like to think that we could be friends. And you need a father for your child.’

She knew there were herbs to end the life of the unborn babe, but she could never consider taking them. Eachan’s offer brought a tear streaming down her face. He wiped it away with a knuckle. ‘Will you accept me as your husband? Will you let me look after you?’

She did not consider refusing him. His kindness enfolded her like a warm woollen shawl. She put her hand in his, even knowing that it meant abandoning her dreams of wedding a warrior like Connor.

After the summer waned and the harvest grew ready for threshing, Aileen took Eachan as her husband. But even as she spoke the vows binding them together, he knew her heart belonged to another.

As the child grew within her, and Eachan continued to court her, Aileen made her own vow. She silently promised to be a good wife to Eachan. She would put Connor from her mind and learn to love her husband.

H
is days and nights ran together in a faded tapestry of pain, helplessness, and anger. Connor had grown to despise the pungent aroma of garlic that Aileen used upon his wounds to prevent fever. But more than that, he hated his inability to control his healing.

The cuts and bruises joined a host of other scars. The Ó Banníon’s primitive form of justice spurred his rage and bitterness. His friends had turned on him, men he’d trusted with his life. They’d obeyed their chieftain’s commands blindly, and it was their betrayal that bothered him most of all. So be it. When he regained his strength, they would regret their actions.

If he regained his strength
, he thought dully.

His hands had swollen up to three times their normal size, the pain only relieved when Aileen gave him a sleeping draught.

‘Ó Banníon’s men,’ he asked Aileen one evening when she held out a wooden mug of bitter liquid. ‘Have you seen any of their tribe?’

‘No. Were they the ones who did this to you?’ She tipped the drink into his mouth, offering him little choice but to drink it. He felt like a newborn babe, helpless to even hold a cup.

‘They were. I wondered if they came back for me.’

‘If they did, I heard nothing of it.’ Aileen took the cup away. ‘Why did they attack you?’

‘I was punished for a crime I did not commit.’

‘What happened?’

Connor kept silent. He had no wish to relive those moments, nor to share his shame with a woman he barely knew. ‘I do not wish to speak of it. But when I find them, they will regret their actions.’

‘You should let the Brehon courts settle the dispute,’ Aileen argued.

‘The courts would require a fine, nothing more. The Ó Banníon chieftain deserves to suffer as I have.’

Connor struggled to rise from his pallet, but Aileen forced him to lie back.

‘And if you have your revenge, will that make you a better man than he is?’

Her calm words kindled more anger. Aileen knew nothing of what he’d endured. He held out his injured hands. ‘An eye for an eye is all the justice I need. I care not about being a better man.’

‘What will you do if you cannot fight again?’ she asked.

‘If you set the bones properly, I shall.’

She stared at him, her grey-green eyes filled with pity. Her chestnut hair, pulled tightly into a braid, allowed a few curls to escape. In her face, he could read the doubt. It pulled at his insides, fraying his hope. ‘I did all I could do for you. The rest is up to God.’

‘How long, Aileen?’ Connor wanted to grasp her by the shoulders, to demand the answers he sought. But the useless hands could do nothing. His muscles grew heavy as the sleeping draught weakened his senses.

‘Another moon cycle, at least. Perhaps two.’

The helpless rage at being unable to control his body’s healing made him want to lash out at something. He was a soldier, a man accustomed to commanding others. To be a victim was not in his nature.

He managed to gather the threads of his anger and pull them back into submission. ‘I have to regain my full strength. You must see to it.’

‘I am not an enchantress.’ She stared at him. ‘I can only do my best.’

‘And if your best is not good enough?’

She paled, her eyes damning him. ‘Then your own healer can help you. She can remove the bandages and cast whatever spells she may.’

He’d touched a nerve. Beneath the complacent tone, he sensed hurt.

Connor took a breath. ‘I did not mean that the way it sounded. You have done much for me, and I am grateful for it.’

She said nothing, but picked up a broom and began to sweep the interior of the hut. With even strokes she cleared out the dust and swept it outside. The coolness of the evening breezed inside the hut.

He fought against the sleep threatening to pull him under. When he returned home, his brothers would share his desire for vengeance. But he didn’t want his older brothers to shoulder this fight for him. War was not his intent. Only justice.

Wounds such as these rarely healed well. And his brothers might share the uneasy suspicion that he was no longer the same fighter as before. Connor did not wish to see the regret in his brothers’ eyes.

From the time he was old enough to lift a wooden sword, he’d known he was meant to be a warrior. It was the only path for him. As one of the youngest sons in his family, he had virtually no property. His only chance of gaining a stronghold of his own was to fight for it.

It was the way of Ireland, men competing to become a chieftain or a king chosen by the people. Since he would not depose his own brother, his only path was to be a strong enough leader to command another tribe.

He didn’t want anyone, particularly his brothers, to see him in such a state of helplessness. His pride bruised at the idea. But to avoid it, he would have to stay here with a healer whom he’d insulted.

With effort, he opened his eyes again. He didn’t know how to mend the harsh words that were spoken, but he had to do something.

‘I remember you,’ he said at last. ‘From when we were children.’

‘We never talked,’ she said, tying bundles of herbs and hanging them to dry. ‘You couldn’t remember me.’

A wave of pain spiralled through his hands, but he masked it. ‘You used to have wild brown curls flying about your face.’ With a forced smile, he added, ‘You used to watch me, when you thought I wasn’t looking.’ He thought he detected a faint reddening of her cheeks, but it was difficult to tell.

‘I never watched you.’ Aileen gathered several stalks of dried herbs, crumbling them into a stone mortar. She smashed the herbs with the pestle, grinding the stone mortar until the helpless plants became dust.

Before other plants could fall victim to her ire he asked, ‘What happened to your husband? I heard you married.’

She added melted fat to the herbs, mixing it into a thick paste. Her hands moved in a rhythmic motion before she answered at last, ‘Eachan died a few moons ago.’

Connor had not known Eachan well, but none had ever spoken an unkind word about the man. Grief shadowed Aileen’s face, and he regretted his earlier words. ‘I am sorry to hear of it.’

When she made no reply, he added, ‘I imagine you have your children to bring you comfort?’ He kept a questioning note in the remark, for he did not know for certain.

‘I have a daughter,’ she said. After a moment of hesitation she added, ‘She is being fostered with another family.’

Connor forced himself to concentrate on the conversation at hand. His vision swam and he struggled to stay awake. ‘Did you have any sons?’

‘I lost several babes,’ she said, making him wish he hadn’t brought it up. Aileen busied herself with putting the herbal ointment away, and then she set the pot upon the peat fire to boil water.

‘When my husband Eachan was alive, we fostered many children,’ she offered. ‘Lorcan was among them.’ Disappointment darkened her face. ‘I was not allowed to keep him once Eachan died.’ She sprinkled herbs into a wooden cup and filled it with boiling water to make a tea. ‘I wish I could have. He was a comfort to me.’

He could understand that. His youngest brother Ewan had come home six years ago, after his foster-father was killed in battle.

‘Do my brothers know I am here?’ Connor asked.

‘We sent for them, yes. But it will take days for the message to arrive and days more for them to come.’ She cast him a look.

Connor had no desire to be paraded across the countryside in a litter. ‘What if I wished to stay?’

‘I thought you did not believe in my healing skills.’

He hesitated, for it was true. And yet he saw no alternative.

‘I would prefer to remain in Banslieve until I regain my strength.’

Aileen turned her back, busying herself with her herbs again. She had wanted to heal him, to prove to the people that she could save Connor’s life. But would it be enough? They would only see the terrible damage done to his hands.

She shook the errant thoughts away. Saving his life wasn’t enough. To prove herself, she needed to bring him back to his former strength.

Doubts undermined her confidence. She had treated broken bones before, but nothing like this. Her heart warned her that she would almost certainly fail. How could a man with crushed bones grasp a sword again, much less use it?

‘Aileen,’ he murmured, ‘I don’t want the others to see me like this.’ His eyes were glazed with exhaustion. He held up the splinted hands.

‘You won’t have a choice. Seamus will demand that you come and stay with them.’ Were it not for a raid, the chieftain would have been here already. The Faelain tribe had stolen nearly a dozen cattle, and Seamus had gone with his men to steal them back again.

‘And I’ll refuse,’ he said firmly. ‘I’d rather my foster-father remember me as I was.’

‘You speak as though you’re dead.’

His face dimmed. ‘Perhaps I am.’ He closed his eyes, no longer resisting the heaviness of the sleeping draught. As his chest rose and fell, she drew nearer. She lifted a coverlet over his bare chest. The bandages remained dry; no blood seeped from the cuts.

His flesh was warm and firm, a body honed to fight the enemy. He needed her skills. She understood his desire to stay and rebuild what had been lost.

Softly, she murmured goodnight and rose to her feet. Outside the small hut, she leaned against the wicker framing. She covered her cheeks with her hands, filling her lungs with the crisp night air.

What was the matter with her? She was a healer, he was her patient. She could shield her feelings well enough. He’d never know about her secret.

But in his handsome face, she saw her daughter’s smile.

‘There are visitors, come to see you.’ Aileen said. She suspected she wouldn’t be able to hold the women off without donning a shield and spear. Nothing would deter the unwed maidens from seeing Connor.

‘Visitors?’

‘Seamus’s daughters.’ Aileen grimaced. Though the women were friendly enough to her face, she knew exactly why they were here—to coax Connor to the chieftain’s home. This was Riona’s doing. She wondered why Connor’s foster-mother hadn’t come herself. But then, Riona hated her and made no secret about it.

‘What do they want?’

‘To worship at your feet, I would guess. Their arms are filled with cakes, flowers and tokens.’

‘Really?’ A hint of interest darkened his eyes, and he suddenly stared at her with a look that made her knees go wobbly. He’d seen her reaction, and his voice grew deeper. ‘And am I the object of your worship as well?’

‘No,’ she snapped. ‘You most definitely are not.’

Humour creased his eyes. ‘I suppose not. You might soil your gown should you get down upon your knees to worship at my feet.’ Connor leaned back upon his pallet, adding wickedly, ‘Now, if you removed your gown, it wouldn’t be such a problem, would it?’

‘The only thing I will remove is your head, should you continue speaking such nonsense.’

A pounding noise sounded upon the door, and the women’s voices called out greetings. Connor propped himself up on the pallet, while Aileen went to answer the door.

In an instant, the door to the sick hut opened. A pair of women descended upon him like vultures.

‘Oh, Connor, it’s been years since we’ve seen you!’

‘What happened to your hands? Do they hurt?’

‘Your pillow needs adjusting. Here, let me fix it.’

Both were pretty, smelling of fresh spring flowers. He tensed, suddenly realising that Seamus’s daughters were on a quest of their own. He had become their target, a potential husband.

Connor pretended to enjoy their attentions, but, in truth, he watched Aileen slip into the background. She wasn’t as fair as the other women, but her face held his interest.

One of the women offered him a succulent meat pasty. What was her name? He couldn’t remember since she’d been fostered elsewhere. The fair-haired woman slid her fingertip into his lips while she fed it to him. The rich juicy mutton tasted far better than the bland pottage Aileen had served him this morn.

He kissed her fingertip, and she giggled. Aileen rolled her eyes with exasperation. Interesting.

She behaved like a jealous wife. Why should she care? Yet Aileen looked as if she’d rather chase the women from the room with a club than allow them to visit.

The day had suddenly grown more entertaining. Connor cared little for the flirtation of the women; not that he would have acted upon their interest even if he could engage in bed sport. But Aileen’s reaction intrigued him.

The women wore colourful gowns of scarlet and green, while Aileen’s overdress and léine were a serviceable brown. He’d noticed that she rarely wore an overdress that would draw attention to her. Faded wisps of memory made him recall Aileen’s shyness as a young girl, waiting to be noticed by anyone. Browns, greys and the colours of the peasantry were all she donned. She had the right to wear richer colours, from her status as a healer.

In their hair, the women wore golden balls. Bracelets adorned their arms while long earrings hung from their earlobes. Aileen wore no jewellery that he could see, save a simple ring upon her finger.

The one feature that set her apart was her clear, beautiful skin. Not a blemish or wrinkle marred the delicate pale complexion. It made her eyes stand out. He couldn’t quite tell what colour they were. Sometimes grey, sometimes green, depending upon the light. The rigid, intricate braid kept the dark brown curls at bay. He imagined the thick length of her hair surrounding her hips.

A startled smile crept across his face at the thought of Aileen sharing his bed. The earth would burn into ashes before such a thing would happen.

One of the women mistook his smile as an invitation. ‘Have you taken a woman to wife yet, Connor?’ she teased.

He thought her name might be Grainne or Glenna, but he didn’t remember. ‘Not yet, Glenna.’

‘Grania,’ she corrected, smiling broadly. ‘Were there no women to your liking?’

‘There were too many,’ he bantered. ‘I could not take all of them to wife.’

The women laughed, but he noticed the distaste upon Aileen’s face.

Grania emitted a sigh. ‘Oh, Aileen, I nearly forgot.’ Her face became a mask of innocence. ‘My father is on his way here. You are to bring Connor to our dwelling this night.’