The Warrior's Touch (11 page)

‘I am a man, yes. One who lives by the sword, and I will face Ó Banníon.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Morann agreed to my request. Two moons from now at Samhain, I will challenge Flynn Ó Banníon.’

A whisper of dread crept up her spine. She envisioned Flynn Ó Banníon’s blade sinking into Connor’s skin. She closed her eyes, willing the unwelcome thought away.

‘Why would you do this? You cannot kill him.’

‘If I defeat him in battle, I regain my honour. And he will drop all accusations against me.’

‘What claim did Deirdre make? Did the
brehons
believe her?’

‘They will always believe a woman’s pretty words and tears.’ Connor’s face darkened with resentment. ‘
Tá
, they believed Deirdre.’

‘Must you pay a fine?’

‘They wanted to dismiss the matter, since our fines nullify each other. I refused to accept Morann’s judgement. He finally agreed to my request.’

‘What if Flynn Ó Banníon wins the battle?’ she asked.

‘It won’t matter. For the only way he can win is to kill me.’

Aileen saw the resolution in his eyes. He would sacrifice everything. His eyes were bleak, the cool grey of stone.

‘Do not fight him,’ she whispered. ‘Let it go, Connor. You’re alive. Isn’t that what matters?’

‘He never intended to kill me. Only to cause suffering.’ He stared into the distance. ‘I won’t be staying with you much longer. I’ll go home to my brothers, to train as I must.’

They returned to the storytellers, the words of the bard captivating the audience. As they neared Rhiannon, Connor turned back. ‘Does she miss her father?’

The words caught at her heart. Swallowing, Aileen shrugged. ‘She has been with her foster-father since she could walk. Tómas has taken good care of her.’

A moment of surprise flashed across his face. ‘Lianna is her foster-mother then, isn’t she?’

Did he still hold feelings for Lianna after all this time? Knives of jealousy cut into her heart.

‘She is. They have four children between them besides Rhiannon,’ Aileen added.

Connor didn’t respond, but seemed resigned to her answer. They stood together on the outskirts of the crowd while the bard wove the tale of Cuchulainn.

His hand reached out and bumped against hers. Then he flinched, as though he’d forgotten his crooked fingers. Embarrassment coloured his cheeks.

‘Your daughter reminds me of my mother,’ he said suddenly. A light smile tipped his mouth. ‘But she has your face.’

Aileen could not look at him. He had seen the resemblance and yet remained blind to the truth.

His shoulder brushed against hers, and for a moment she wished he would pull her into his arms. She wanted to lean her head against him, to feel his strength. Aileen found herself staring at his mouth, and she forced her gaze back to the storytellers.

Connor’s hand moved to the small of her back. ‘Help me to fight again, Aileen.’

The fierce longing in his voice sobered her. She took his disfigured hand into hers. ‘I will do as much as I can for you.’

With his left hand, he drew her palm in until it touched his chest. At the contact, her body prickled with awareness. ‘Will it be enough?’

She gave his hand a slight squeeze. ‘I am offering you my faith. It is all I have.’

Connor drew her hand to his lips. The light kiss might have been given in friendship.

Why then, did his eyes offer promises of far more?

In the darkness, the orange flames of the fires danced an eerie pattern. Whelon used his crutches to move past the tents and the long tables to where the bards had set up their camp. Spellbound by their storytelling, he had hoped to coerce them into one more tale.

The sound of a hacking cough came from behind one of the shelters. Whelon followed the sound until he came across a man heaving with sickness.

‘Are you all right?’ he whispered. But there came no reply.

Whelon drew nearer and saw the man’s reddened skin gleaming with sweat. The bard’s glassy eyes stared as though he were blind. Another cough seized at the man, and he clutched his side in agony.

Without thinking, Whelon hobbled to the man and eased him to the ground. His arms burned with the effort, but he helped the storyteller into a reclining position.

‘I’ll summon the healer.’

But the man would not release his wrist. Whelon tugged, then froze as he stared at the man’s face. Upon his lips, the tell-tale sores revealed the truth.

Whelon jerked back in horror, making the sign of the cross. He had heard tales of men who had died from the pox. The man’s arm was covered in sores, revealed by the raised sleeve of his tunic.

He had to find Aileen. Quickly, Whelon used his crutches to get away from the fallen man.

He glanced backward at the body. Unseeing eyes stared at the sky while the man’s chest no longer rose with the breath of life.

The pox had invaded the Ó Duinne tribe.

‘I’
ve been looking for you all evening,’ Riordan said.

Aileen turned, and he held out a wooden goblet. She had been standing alone after Connor had left to speak with Seamus. Rhiannon slept in one of the tents with the children.

When she reached out to accept the goblet, Riordan smiled. He beckoned her toward a small grove of trees, away from the crowd. Aileen followed, wondering what he wanted.

From his flushed expression, it soon became clear. She wished she had not come. Tonight, her thoughts had woven into turmoil. She now knew that she could not force herself to have feelings for Riordan.

She wanted Connor. And though she might never have him, it was wrong to lead Riordan into believing she cared.

His hand closed over hers. He lifted the cup to her lips, and she drank a sip of the spicy red wine. How could she leave without hurting his feelings?

‘Is it to your liking?’

She nodded, and he raised the rim to her lips again. Instead of tipping the cup, his fingers stopped upon her cheek. With the barest of touches, he caressed the line of her face.

In his eyes blazed the fires of lust. ‘It is also to my liking. I find that I’ve been longing for a taste of it all night.’ He dipped forward and stole a kiss before she could stop him.

Her skin warmed with embarrassment. ‘Riordan, I do not—’

‘Shh.’ He lowered the goblet and stepped closer until she could smell the wine upon his breath. He turned the cup until his lips touched the place where she had drunk. After he had finished, he tossed the goblet to the grass.

His hand snaked around her waist. Aileen tensed, putting her hands up to prevent him from coming too close. She berated herself for letting things go this far. Riordan had made no secret of his desires. It was her fault, letting him believe she wanted him to become her husband.

When he touched her, her skin felt clammy. She tried to push him away, but he kept her locked in the unwanted embrace. ‘Let yourself forget Eachan, Aileen. I’ll take away your grief this night. Let me lie with you.’

She shook her head, turning her cheek when he tried to kiss her again. ‘Riordan, this isn’t what I want.’

‘It’s been a long time for you, Aileen.’ His hand squeezed her bottom. ‘I can give you the children Eachan couldn’t.’

His arrogance fuelled her anger, and she jerked his hand away. ‘Do you believe me incapable of making my own decisions? I know what I want, and it isn’t you. Get away from me, Riordan.’

She could not read the expression in his eyes, but his drunken demeanour repulsed her. For the first time, she grew aware of his size. He could overpower her without the least bit of effort. But she refused to let him frighten her.

‘Let her go.’

Connor strode toward them, ignoring the folk who had turned their heads in interest. Public spectacle or not, he was well aware of Aileen’s discomfort.

‘I am fine,’ she said. Though she held her shoulders with confidence, she clenched her hands together. She looked as though she’d rather be anywhere else than here.

‘This is none of your affair, MacEgan.’ Riordan met his gaze with a challenge.

All this day, Connor had hoped for a way to release the caged energy within him. He wanted to fight someone, to prove that he had not lost any of his abilities.

‘She told you no, and you did not release her. I believe it is my affair, when a man seeks to force a woman.’

‘I would never force Aileen.’ Riordan’s fists doubled up and he circled Connor, searching for a weak point. ‘But aren’t you the one who forced Ó Banníon’s daughter? Quick to accuse, aren’t you?’ He swung at Connor, but Connor sidestepped and the fist met with air.

Riordan threw another punch, and Connor blocked it with his forearm. ‘You’ve had quite a bit of wine this eve, haven’t you, Riordan? It seems to be affecting your aim.’

‘It hasn’t affected mine.’ A feminine fist jabbed him in the shoulder. ‘I did not heal your hands, just to have you break your fingers once again.’

‘He dishonoured you. And I find that I’m wanting to break a few of his fingers.’

Riordan lurched forward, but Connor’s elbow connected with his face. A sickening crunch resounded and a trickle of blood ran from Riordan’s nose.

‘I don’t need to use my hands,’ he remarked. But he paid for his arrogance when Riordan dived, knocking him off his feet. Connor tasted dirt and blood, but he quickly rolled over and leapt to his feet.

‘Enough of this.’ Aileen pushed Riordan back. ‘Both of you are behaving like animals.’

Though she stood between them to stop the fight, Connor’s eyes locked with Riordan’s. He wanted to avenge Aileen’s embarrassment and release his own frustrations.

She left them both behind, walking in long strides. He couldn’t stop himself from watching her. Her long dark braid swung against the blue overdress. The gown flattered her slender hips, dipping at the curve of her waist.

He recalled the inviting taste of her lips. A rush of jealousy invaded at the thought of Riordan touching her, whether Aileen wanted him to or not.

‘She is mine, MacEgan.’ Though Riordan did not begin the fight again, Connor didn’t miss the threat.

‘Is she? Then why did she turn from you?’

‘She turned from both of us. But you’re leaving, while I’m the man who will wait for her.’ With a smug look, Riordan returned to one of the tents, swaying slightly.

Connor ignored the taunt. He refused to think of Aileen allowing Riordan to share her bed, or worse, wedding the man. Riordan’s attack had spurred something primitive within him. Aileen evoked his raw need to protect.

In the hour that passed, Connor’s thoughts grew heated. He imagined removing the gown from her shoulders, sliding the wool across her bared skin. Would her breasts pucker in the cool night air? Would her breath shatter when he touched her? Or would she allow him to touch her at all?

As a group of actors performed a play, he found her among the audience. She laughed at a humourous part of the story.

‘Aileen,’ he said in a low voice.

Her face turned toward him, but she did not smile.

‘I am returning to the cottage.’ Hunkering down, he reached out to take her hand. ‘If you’ve time later, I need you to tend one of my wounds.’

Her brow crinkled with confusion. ‘What do you mean? I thought—’

‘Someone punched me in the shoulder tonight.’ He fingered the spot where her fist had connected with the hardened muscle. ‘I believe there might be a bruise.’ He teased her, the corner of his mouth twitching with a laugh. ‘I’ll wait for you.’

‘You’ll be waiting quite a long time,’ she rebuked. Even so, he caught the flash of interest in her eyes.

For Aileen Ó Duinne, he decided the wait would be worth it.

‘Aileen.’ A child’s hand tugged at her skirts. She turned and saw a young girl’s worried face. Zaira, Aileen remembered, one of her cousin Bridget’s foster-children.

‘What is it? Is someone hurt?’

‘No, it is Bridget. She does not look well.’

‘Is it time for the babe to be born? Her time is near.’

Zaira shook her head. ‘I do not know. But I fear for her.’

‘Where is she?’

‘Near the women’s tents. She spent all day at the women’s council, and now she is with the storytellers.’

Aileen walked with the young girl toward the assembly of women. Children played in front of the tents while another boy fed a dog scraps from the feast.

She wondered if anyone had thought to summon Illona, the new healer. Even the thought deepened her resentment. She had delivered babes for tribeswomen over the past few seasons. She needed no one’s help for that.

But the quiet memory of the chieftain’s two children invaded. She had held the tiny bodies in her hands, weeping over the loss of Seamus’s twin sons. Though she had done all she could, the boys had not lived more than a few days.

And what if there was a problem with Bridget’s child? It was not right to shoulder the responsibility alone. Though she hated the thought of another woman interfering, the compulsion to protect the newborn infant was stronger.

Zaira gripped Aileen’s hand to pull her forward. When they entered the tent, Aileen searched until she saw her cousin.

Bridget held a hand to her swollen belly, and tell-tale signs of tension creased her eyes. Aileen watched closely until she was certain. Bridget looked to be having pains, despite her storytelling.

When the story was over, Aileen stepped past the young children and took Bridget’s arm. ‘When did they start?’

‘A few hours ago. It may be some time yet before the babe is born. Have you sent for Illona?’

‘Not yet.’ Aileen turned her attention back to the young girl Zaira. ‘Can you find Illona and send her back to us?’

‘I don’t know where she is.’

‘Then ask. Tell her she is needed to help with the delivery.’

Bridget gripped Zaira’s arm. ‘I want to birth this child in my own hut. Not here. Tell Illona to meet us there.’

‘There may not be time,’ Aileen protested. ‘We should—’

‘No.’ Stubbornness lined the pregnant woman’s face. ‘I swaddled each of my babes with my grandmother’s blanket. It has brought luck to all of them. I’ll not deny this child the same.’

Aileen started to argue, but held her tongue. What did it matter where the child was born? She could see that Bridget would not relent.

She directed her attention to Zaira. ‘Do as Bridget says. And afterwards, go back to the hut. Make sure a warm fire is burning and prepare Bridget’s bed.’

Zaira raced ahead to follow her bidding. When the girl had gone, Aileen assisted Bridget in rising to a standing position. ‘In the meantime, I will help you,’ she assured her cousin. ‘This one will come faster than the ones before. Can you walk?’

‘Of course.’ With a bemused smile, Bridget took Aileen’s arm, accepting the support. ‘You seem concerned.’

Though there was always an element of danger, helping women deliver babies was a task Aileen enjoyed. To help guide a new life into the world, hearing the newborn squall and wrapping the tiny infant in warm swaddling clothes—it somehow made her own barrenness easier to endure. Were it not for Rhiannon, she would have none to call her own.

She knew her daughter slept in one of the tents, along with the other children. Though she wished Rhiannon could attend the birth, it was better for her to remain here.

Bridget stopped walking a moment later, breathing slowly. Her eyes closed with the effort of the contraction, and she gripped Aileen’s hand for support.

Inwardly, Aileen counted the length of time between contractions and feared the expectant mother would not make it home in time. She searched for a kinsman, someone to bring a horse. At last, she caught sight of one of her brothers.

‘Cillian!’ she called out, waving to him.

Her brother turned and smiled at her, crushing her into an embrace. Beneath his mantle, she realised that he had changed since his apprenticeship. His arms held the strength of manhood, his smile confident. ‘It has been a long time, my sister. Are you well?’

She nodded, explaining Bridget’s situation. Cillian glanced at the woman, his brows furrowing. ‘I thought you were not allowed to heal any more.’

Aileen didn’t lie. ‘That is true. But I cannot leave her like this while waiting for Illona. She won’t make it back to her hut without a cart. I cannot put her on horseback. Can you help us?’

His expression grew serious. ‘What of the new healer? Is this not her responsibility?’

‘I sent for her.’ At the warning in Cillian’s eyes, she waved her hands. ‘Bridget is our cousin. Seamus will not mind if I help her until Illona comes.’

‘He forbade it, Aileen.’

‘The new healer is a stranger and an Ó Banníon, no less,’ she argued. ‘I am Bridget’s family.’

Her brother sighed and shook his head. ‘I do not know, Aileen.’

‘Please, Cillian. Bridget needs us.’ Even now, the expectant mother’s pains grew closer together. Aileen gripped his hand. ‘She will not make it home without our help.’

Finally, he relented. ‘If I had any doubts in your abilities, never would I agree to this. I will bring a cart to help you. And I’ll make certain Illona comes.’

‘Thank you.’ She kissed his cheek, and he ruffled her hair.

‘What’s this I hear about you and Connor MacEgan?’

Her face flushed scarlet. ‘Nothing that would interest you.’

He laughed. ‘Our mother will tell me anything I wish to know.’

‘And none of it will be true,’ Aileen argued, while her brother went off to find a horse and cart. She breathed easier when she saw Cillian hitching a mare in the distance. Now she needed to find Frasier and tell him of his wife’s labour.

She spied Lorcan near a table heaped with pastries and waved to the boy. ‘Lorcan! Bring Frasier to help me with Bridget. Her babe will come this night.’

Lorcan reached out for an almond pastry. He stuffed it into a fold of his tunic before hurrying toward the crowd to find Bridget’s husband.

Bridget swayed, and Aileen strained to hold her upright. With each step, she recalled her own agony giving birth to Rhiannon. And yet, a frisson of excitement bloomed within her. She would endure childbirth again in a heartbeat, should God bless her with another babe.

‘We will be there soon,’ she soothed the labouring mother.

‘If I do not deliver this babe in the field,’ Bridget responded. Tight lines of pain etched deeply at the corners of Bridget’s mouth. A vicious contraction gripped the woman, and Aileen coaxed her through it.

‘I’m glad you are here, Aileen,’ Bridget breathed. ‘Even if Seamus has forbidden you to be our healer, I’ve always trusted you.’

The words eased Aileen’s mind, and she warmed to them. Moments later, Cillian arrived with the cart and horse. Lorcan had not yet returned with Frasier, but Aileen trusted the boy to fetch him.

The cart rumbled across the meadow, Bridget clutching at the curve of her stomach. As the torches faded into the distance, Aileen found herself thinking of Connor. He had gone to their hut, promising to wait for her. Though she recognised his intent, she didn’t know how she felt about it.

Not that any of it mattered. She had to remain with Bridget until the birth, and Connor would give up waiting for her. It would be dawn before she returned home.