The Warrior's Touch (16 page)

A
t dawn, Aileen awakened to the faint sound of voices. She rose, her body weary from lack of sleep. She opened the door, squinting at the morning sunlight. She saw Seamus, along with her brother Cillian and her father. The chieftain seemed to have aged beyond his years. Haggard lines around his mouth revealed unspoken pain.

He knew about Whelon. She could see it in his eyes. Fear and sadness clenched her lungs at the memory of the boy’s death. Whelon had placed her hand in Connor’s, as if to bring them together. But now, that would never happen.

Aileen pulled her
brat
tightly around her shoulders, the grey shawl offering a slight shield from the morning chill. It was like facing her own execution, for she already knew what Seamus’s judgement would be. He was here to banish her, nothing else.

Her father Graeme moved forward, as if to intervene, but Cillian held him back. The door to the sick hut opened, and Connor leaned against the entrance.

He wore travelling clothes, his brother’s sword hanging at his side. He would leave today, as he’d promised. His eyes did not meet hers.

It hurt to see him, to know that he felt nothing towards her. Why had she thought it might turn out differently? And why hadn’t she let matters alone? Taking him into her arms last night had been the most wonderful pleasure she’d known in seven years. It had been an act of desperation, the need to embrace someone in a moment of terrible grief. But the lovemaking came at a terrible cost. She’d destroyed their friendship.

The chieftain’s face showed no mercy, and he walked forward until he stood before her. ‘You know why I am here, Aileen,’ he said.

‘I do.’ She would not cower or weep. She had made the bargain and now he would force her to leave. She raised her eyes to Seamus’s. ‘I am sorry for it. Would to God I could change Fate.’

‘The people will not trust you as their healer any longer. They believe you brought the pox upon them.’ Seamus’s gruff voice held the weight of loss.

‘They are wrong. I did what I could to help them.’

‘You cannot stay here. They believe demons have cursed you. If you remain, they’ll demand that I burn you for it.’

She drew her
brat
closer around her shoulders, afraid he was right. Though most of the folk knew her, superstitions were high. They could easily believe that the demons of illness worked through her hands.

‘How long until I must leave?’ she asked.

‘Three days,’ Seamus said quietly. ‘Gather your belongings and leave Banslieve. Do not show yourself here again.’

‘What about my family?’ Her gaze passed to her brother and father.

‘They have my permission to visit you elsewhere.’

With the judgement passed, Seamus turned away. Graeme came forwards and took Aileen in his arms, comforting her. ‘I tried to change his mind,
a iníon
. But he is right. If you stay, some may try to hurt you.’

‘I know.’ Her voice was hardly above a whisper, but she managed to keep her emotions from snapping. ‘I will be fine.’

‘You can go and stay with your Aunt Noreen,’ Graeme said. ‘She lives just over the boundary.’

She managed a nod, clinging tightly to her father. Even as she grasped the understanding that she had to leave behind everything dear to her came the greater knowledge that Rhiannon was not safe here either. If they blamed her for the demons of illness, then they might also cast blame upon her child. She would have to take Rhiannon away from Banslieve.

Connor had ordered her to bring Rhiannon to Laochre to be fostered after Samhain. She had dismissed the idea at first, but now she considered it. There was nowhere safer for her daughter to stay than with one of the most powerful families in Ireland.

Moments later, Connor approached, greeting her father and brother. Graeme studied him with a suspicious eye. ‘You’re leaving today, are you?’

‘I am.’

‘Why don’t you take her with you?’ Graeme suggested with a warm smile. ‘You could escort her to her Aunt Noreen.’

‘Da, stop your interfering.’ Aileen’s face burned with embarrassment at his obvious matchmaking. How could he think of such a thing at this moment?

Connor did not return the smile. ‘Aileen has done much for me, but our paths must go in separate ways. I wish her and her daughter good fortune.’

Dark shadows lined his eyes, as if he, too, had not slept. His gold hair was pulled back in a leather thong, and his blue tunic emphasised the silver of his eyes. Leather bracers encased his forearms, and tight muscles pressed against the thin fabric. He’d become the warrior again, bent upon destroying anyone who threatened him.

And she’d become a threat.

Her brother led Connor’s horse from the animal pen. The saddle had already been prepared, his belongings strapped to the mare. Connor must have readied the animal for his departure earlier this morn.

‘Will you break your fast before you go?’ she asked.

‘Not here. Seamus has asked me to join him and Riona. Then I’ll depart.’ He mounted the horse, his expression grim.

There was so much she wanted to say to him. She wished she could mend the ill feelings, wished she had the courage to say what she really felt.

‘Wear the splints each night,’ she said. ‘They will help.’ Awkwardness closed over her, burning her skin with embarrassment.

Dispassionate eyes stared into hers. Then he turned the horse and left.

What had she expected? A kiss farewell? Stupid she was, to believe he might come to love her. He would never forgive her. Pride meant more to him than anything else.

‘Are you all right?’ Cillian asked. He put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Would you like me to beat him senseless for you? I can see that he’s hurt your feelings, the bastard.’

She choked back a laugh, for he would. ‘No.’ The offer cleared her head. She wasn’t going to cry over Connor MacEgan.

But she would not let him cast the blame on her. She had done what she could to keep Rhiannon safe. Now that he knew about her, the danger was worse. She would not let him control her daughter’s fate, not without her own say in the matter.

And the only way to do this was to remain with Rhiannon.

‘Are you in love with him,
a stór
?’ her father asked.

‘No. I am not a feather-headed girl with foolish dreams.’

‘You were never that. But they are not such foolish dreams. He has feelings for you.’

‘And if he acts upon them, I’ll beat him senseless,’ Cillian muttered.

Too late for that
. Aileen thought.

‘Da,’ she reasoned, ‘you’re blind if you believe Connor cares anything for me beyond thankfulness that I restored his hands.’

‘I am not the one who is blind,’ Graeme said, patting her hand. ‘But if you care for him, you’ll need to go after him. Why not now? Laochre is only a few days’ journey. Cillian will take you there.’

‘I’ll not throw myself at him. I have more pride than that.’

‘I didn’t raise a coward, now, did I?’

She wanted to throw up her hands in exasperation. ‘This isn’t about cowardice.’

‘Yes, it is.’ Graeme raised her chin to face him. ‘You’re afraid to seek what you want. Always, it’s been about others, Aileen. You’ve given so much to so many. Take something for yourself.’ His mouth curved in a half-smile, and he winked. ‘A man like Connor cannot stay angry with you for very long.’ He lowered his voice so that Cillian could not hear. ‘Especially not if you bring his daughter to him.’

He knew
. Aileen’s face burned red, but she forced a nod. ‘I will think about it.’

‘Good. I’ll give you a few moments to pack, and then I want you to come home. Your mother wants to say goodbye and give advice, and chatter your ears off.’ He embraced her. ‘You won’t be living in Banslieve any more. But we’ll come to see you often. It will be all right.’

Leaning upon his shoulders, she finally released the tears building up inside. ‘I’ll miss you.’

He wiped his own eyes, and cleared his throat. ‘Well, you’d better get started then.’

Somehow, he’d made it bearable. With her heart bruised and battered, she glanced back at the empty horizon and wondered if she had the courage to go after Connor MacEgan.

Or if she wanted to.

It took less time than she’d expected to pack her medicines and few belongings. She’d brought a few carved wooden bowls, a hide tent, and some dried food. Nothing more than she could fit on the mare Connor had given her. She ran her hand across the animal, staring back at her small plot of land.

Danu, she didn’t want to leave. Her life, all her memories, were here. She had climbed atop the roof to replace the thatching, laughing when Eachan tossed the bundles to her. It had been a good marriage, and she missed him still. Rhiannon had stumbled across the threshold, grasping the wooden frame for support when she’d learned to walk.

Her eyes dry, she swallowed hard and forced herself to look away. It was then that she saw Riordan Ó Duinne walking over the rise of the hill.

‘Good morn to you, Aileen,’ he greeted.

‘And to you.’ She forced a smile, afraid of the reason why he’d come. Certainly he’d heard of her banishment.

‘Would you walk with me for a few moments?’ He glanced at her horse, and then behaved as if he hadn’t seen her packed belongings.

She supposed it wouldn’t matter if she walked for a while. There was time yet before she went to her parents’ dwelling.

She joined him, and he remained close to her side, his fingers touching her palms. ‘I thought you should know that Maive lived. Only Whelon and Padraig died.’

‘Did anyone else fall ill?’

‘No.’ This time, he took her palm in his. ‘Aileen, I don’t want to be parted from you. I want you to be my wife.’

Her hand felt cool in his, the touch nothing like Connor’s. Once again, a steady man offered his protection. Instead of being a comfort, it unsettled her.

Da was right. She’d let her head rule her heart, never seeking what she wanted. Both times, she’d given Connor up. She hadn’t spoken her heart, nor had she fought for him. She did not want to make the same mistake another time. If he turned her away, so be it. But at least she’d try.

‘You have always been dear to me, Riordan. A true friend, you are,’ she said gently.

Colour suffused his cheeks, as if he knew what she was about to say.

‘I won’t be marrying you,’ she said, drawing her hand away.

Riordan took a steadying breath. ‘You’ve already said it was too soon to wed anyone. There is time, yet, Aileen. I can take you with me, to the home of my family in the north. Give me the chance to be the man you want.’

She squared her shoulders. ‘Connor MacEgan is the man I want.’ The words spilled out without warning. But they were true.

Riordan’s expression darkened. ‘Why do you wish to wed a man who cannot protect you? You saw what happened the night you were attacked. He bade you to run. Will you run for the remainder of your life? Think upon what would have happened, had they caught you, Aileen.’

He reached out and touched her shoulder. ‘It would not have been pleasant.’

She stepped away, and he pleaded, ‘I can take care of you, Aileen. Let me try at least.’

‘I am sorry, Riordan. I cannot.’

And with those words, his compassion transformed into brutal wrath. ‘You’ve shared his bed, haven’t you?’ he sneered. ‘Like a common whore.’

She slapped him, and the sting of her hand only infuriated him more. He pushed her against the fence, his hand gripping her throat.

‘I paid those two men to attack you, to show you what a coward MacEgan was,’ he admitted, enjoying the shock in her eyes. ‘I wasted the silver on you, it seems.’

‘Get away from me.’

At last, he released her. ‘Go, then. But he’ll never have you. You’re not noble enough for a man of his breeding.’

His words struck a barb in her confidence. Rubbing her throat, she stared at him. His sudden violence made her only the more certain that she needed to leave Banslieve. Riordan saw her as a possession to be had, not a woman with feelings.

When at last he had gone, she lifted her face to the skies, praying to heaven that she had the courage to confront Connor. And this time, she would bring Rhiannon with her.

R
ain spattered against the muddy roads, but Connor paid it no heed. The stone walls of his brother Patrick’s fortress loomed ahead. Over the past few days, his mind had centred upon his purpose: preparing to defeat Flynn Ó Banníon. He would gain the strength he needed, no matter the cost.

Connor slowed the gait of his horse to study Laochre. The imposing stone fortress had nearly become a castle. He hadn’t realised they’d accomplished so much of the building. He had done his share of lifting stones, same as the others. Yet he hadn’t appreciated the full impact until he saw Laochre from a distance. By using stone instead of wood, it would keep out the invaders. Envy struck at him, but he quelled the thought. His brother had earned the right to be king.

He kept the horse at a steady pace, watching the landscape unfold in colours of rich green. Tufts of grain lifted their heads to the sky, bowing beneath the rain. Though he should have rejoiced at coming home again, he felt empty.

The last few nights, he’d thought of Aileen. What would become of her? Not that he should care, not after what she’d done. But he couldn’t forget her beautiful face, nor the eyes brimming with unshed tears.

She’d made him feel like a callous brute. He hadn’t spoken a word of farewell, for he’d truly been at a loss for words. She’d stolen a part of him, his child. Damn it all, he needed to strike her from his mind.

When he reached the gates, he greeted the guards and dismounted. A groom led his horse away, and he accepted welcoming embraces from kinsmen and friends. Patrick’s wife Isabel was the first to see him in the courtyard. She flew to his side, heedless of the mud, and hugged him tightly. ‘We’ve missed you, Connor.’

Isabel was beautiful, dressed like a queen in a crimson silk
léine
and white overdress, and Connor didn’t miss her swelling middle. ‘My congratulations to you and my brother. When will the new babe be born?’

Isabel’s cheeks brightened with the inner glow of a mother. ‘In mid-winter, I believe. Liam will have another brother or sister to torment, instead of his uncle Ewan.’ While she chatted, leading him into the Great Chamber, his mind drifted back to Aileen. Had she looked like that when she’d carried Rhiannon in her womb? Had her fingers caressed the small bump as if to soothe the unborn child?

He’d caught a glimpse of his daughter before leaving Banslieve. She had done nothing more than tend the animals outside Lianna and Tómas’s dwelling, but his heart had stopped cold.

He hadn’t spoken a word, only watched her from a distance, drinking in the sight. Though he longed to know her, to have a bond with his daughter, he knew it was impossible.

Fate had a cruel way of taunting him. His dreams of a wife and children were beyond his reach. Though his hands had healed, he didn’t know if he held the strength to defeat and kill Flynn Ó Banníon. And if he did, would he ever achieve his hopes to reign over a tribe of his own?

‘Connor?’ Isabel asked, drawing his attention back to the present. ‘Did you hear what I said?’

He coloured. ‘No. My mind wandered, I fear.’

Isabel surmised him with a sharp look. ‘Let us go inside.’ He could see the spinning thoughts passing over her face. Then she glanced towards the far end of the Great Chamber. ‘The maidservants are happy at your return, I see.’

Connor turned and four women giggled. They stood near the perimeter of the room, women he’d admired once. Fair and dark-haired, short and tall, slim and plump, all stood poised to offer him their attentions. Once, he might have enjoyed them, but now, he viewed them as a source of irritation. He didn’t even remember their names.

‘I see them,’ he said. ‘But I’ve no time for this just now. I would speak with Patrick.’

‘By the Blessed Mother,’ Isabel murmured. ‘You’ve gone and done it now.’

‘Done what?’

‘Trahern said there was a woman. You care for her, don’t you?’ He didn’t answer, but Isabel could read through him. ‘Tell me about her.’

‘You are wrong,’ he said. ‘It’s best left in the past.’

Isabel took his hand, and then she saw the misaligned bones, the crooked fingers. Though no revulsion lined her face, there was concern. ‘Does she care for you?’

‘Let it go, Isabel.’ Though she veiled her expression, he saw the pity in her eyes. Connor tamped down the anger rising. He didn’t need or require Isabel’s interference.

At that moment, his brother Patrick appeared. He wore leather training armour, and his dark hair was wet from the rain. ‘I heard you had returned. Seamus Ó Duinne sent us a message that you’d given him your land.’

Connor took his leave from Isabel and followed his brother above stairs into the solarium. Patrick dismissed the ladies and waited until they were alone.

‘Why did you give away your only property in exchange for a horse?’

‘I had a debt to repay.’

‘I’ll loan you any coin you need. You know that, brother.’

‘Come the festival of Samhain, I’ll have no need of the land.’

‘This is about Flynn Ó Banníon, isn’t it? Trahern told me what he did to your hands.’

Connor inclined his head. ‘He claims I defiled his daughter, and the
brehons
believed her.’

‘Was evidence brought forth?’

‘False witnesses. The fines nullified each other.’

‘But you are not satisfied,’ Patrick guessed.

‘I want vengeance for what Ó Banníon’s men did to me. I intend to fight him.’

Patrick shook his head and sighed. ‘Did the
brehons
agree to it?’

‘They did.’

‘You should have accepted their first judgement.’

‘I’ll not pay for a woman’s lies, brother.’

‘I know it. But I also know you won’t let Flynn Ó Banníon live.’

Connor’s skin turned cold, but he met Patrick’s gaze. ‘He deserves death.’

‘You’re a fool,’ Patrick said. ‘Though I imagine I should do the same, were it me.’ A look of understanding passed between them.

Connor sat upon one of the chairs, absently rubbing his right fingers. He’d need to splint them this night. Aileen had warned him that rain would often cause them to ache, and she’d been right.

Stop thinking of her. You did the right thing, leaving her
. And yet, anger tightened in his chest.

He needed to defeat Ó Banníon and start his life anew. He could buy more land and compete to become a chieftain or a king. Perhaps marry a chieftain’s daughter.

The thought evoked the image of Aileen in his bed, her warmth nestling close to his body. He shook it away.

‘Draw your sword,’ Patrick commanded, unsheathing his own blade. ‘I would see your skills.’

Connor gripped the weapon with his left hand. His strength had returned, but he knew his reflexes were weak.

Patrick swung his sword toward Connor’s head. With both hands, Connor blocked the blow. His brother showed no mercy as he lunged and sliced, testing for weaknesses. Connor defended each blow, but his wrists ached. Each strike rattled his arms, until it was only his training that kept him from dropping the sword.

Patrick swung the blade toward his middle, and Connor jerked out of the way.

‘Have you lost all your skills, then?’ his brother chided. ‘Or do you remember anything of your training?’

Connor’s blade struck Patrick’s. ‘I remember that you’re not as quick as I am.’

He became the aggressor, swinging his blade overhead to strike down upon Patrick. Blow after blow, circling and dodging, they sparred.

Then Patrick struck him unawares and Connor’s blade clattered to the wooden floor. He had not anticipated it, and the simple disarming shamed him.

‘You are not ready to face Flynn Ó Banníon.’

‘Not yet,’ Connor acceded. ‘But I will be.’

His brother’s assessing stare brooked no argument. ‘We’ve much to do. Lift your blade, and we’ll begin again.’

‘I won’t come with you,’ Rhiannon argued, as Aileen slowed the horse’s pace. ‘I want to stay with Lianna and Tómas.’

Rhiannon’s reaction was not one she had anticipated. She had thought her daughter would enjoy the prospect of a journey, particularly one so far away.

They had stayed with her brother Cillian for a few days, and he’d journeyed with her to the border of the MacEgan lands. Though she had insisted she was fine, she doubted if Cillian had truly gone. Likely he was watching them until they were inside the gates.

Rhiannon had moped and pouted each day about having to leave her foster family. More than once, she’d threatened to run away.

‘Connor MacEgan is your father,’ Aileen said. She had told her daughter the truth before arriving at Laochre, for she knew it would take time for Rhiannon to accept it. ‘And we are going so that you may become better acquainted with him.’

Over a sennight had passed since Connor’s departure. Her heart beat faster at the thought of seeing him again. Each night had been lonely without him. But would he want her there? Or would he turn her away?

‘Eachan was my true father,’ Rhiannon argued.

‘Eachan was my husband, not your father.’

A sullen expression tightened Rhiannon’s mouth into a line. ‘You can’t make me stay here.’

But then the fortress of Laochre appeared upon the horizon. Aileen’s fear turned into panic. She had not sent word that she was coming. She could not read or write, and to send a messenger cost more than she could afford. No, there had been no choice but to come and pray that King Patrick would grant them hospitality.

Rhiannon’s chattering tongue stilled at the sight of the immense stronghold. Even at this distance, Aileen could see the numerous soldiers patrolling the battlements. Her stomach grew queasy with nerves.

At last they reached the gates. She lifted Rhiannon from the horse, and they walked to the entrance.

‘We wish to see Connor MacEgan,’ she said with false courage to one of the guards. ‘Tell him Aileen Ó Duinne and his daughter Rhiannon are here to see him.’

The soldier bade her wait beside him while he sent a servant to inform Connor. With each passing minute, Aileen felt more and more frightened. Had she lost her wits, bringing her daughter across the countryside for a man who might turn them away? And what if the King refused them entrance? Her mind turned over all the problems while she waited.

A familiar face appeared, the young lad called Ewan MacEgan. Tall and skinny, he strode toward them with the arrogance of a boy who thought he was a man.

‘Connor is training,’ Ewan informed them. His gaze fell upon Rhiannon, and surprise flushed his cheeks. ‘Isabel asked me to make you welcome. She is preparing food and drink for you.’

‘Does Connor know I am here?’

Ewan shook his head. ‘I’ll tell him when he and Patrick are finished. Isabel is waiting.’

He led them up a stone staircase into the Great Chamber. Colourful tapestries lined the walls, and sweet rushes covered the floor. Aileen wished that her
léine
were clean, that she had chosen a brighter colour than the soft green. She glimpsed ladies in fine silk gowns, with golden balls tied into their hair. Gold and silver bracelets gleamed upon their wrists.

She swallowed hard when a beautiful woman with long golden hair entered the Chamber. Dressed in a violet overdress and
léine
, her stomach swollen with child, she held out her hands in greeting.

‘I am glad you have come, Aileen Ó Duinne. I am Isabel MacEgan. Patrick is my husband.’

Aileen noticed the Queen’s informal greeting, and she felt awkward at the woman’s kiss of welcome. ‘I apologise for not sending word of my arrival. I was unable—’

‘Do not worry.’ Isabel waved her hand. ‘Trahern and Ewan spoke of you. I had hoped you might come.’ She beckoned to servants to bring forward basins of water. ‘Please sit and they will bathe your feet.’

Then she turned to Rhiannon. ‘And this is your daughter?’

‘Yes.’ Taking a deep breath for courage, she added, ‘She is also Connor’s daughter.’ Unbidden, tears sprang to her eyes. She tried to suppress the sudden rush of emotion, but the exhaustion of the journey and her fears made it impossible.

‘Does he know?’ Isabel asked, her voice hardening in defence.

Aileen nodded. ‘But he will not expect to see us. I wanted him to grow better acquainted with Rhiannon.’

The Queen’s expression softened. ‘Would you like to bathe and partake of food and drink before he sees you?’

‘I would be most grateful.’ Aileen turned to Rhiannon, whose face was tight with rebellion.

Beneath her breath, Rhiannon muttered, ‘I am not staying here. I want to go home.’

‘Do as you are told,
a iníon
,’ Aileen cautioned. ‘I expect good manners from you.’

‘And what of him?’ Rhiannon sent a glare toward Ewan. ‘He isn’t showing good manners. He keeps staring at me.’

‘Perhaps it is because you are fair of face.’

‘But he is a boy, Mother!’ Rhiannon’s reaction of horror made Aileen want to laugh.

‘He is also your uncle,’ Aileen added. Rhiannon did not look reassured.

She scowled. ‘He won’t be telling me what to do.’

Aileen did not comment. After the servants took away the basins and they donned their sandals, she followed Isabel above stairs. Rhiannon trailed behind them, studying the stone fortress with interest.

Outside one of the rooms, she heard the clanging of swords. Aileen sent a questioning look toward Isabel, who nodded.

‘My husband and Connor are inside. Would you like to wait for them?’

Aileen shook her head. ‘Take Rhiannon, if you wouldn’t mind. I will join you in a moment.’

The vicious clanging of swords sounded from inside. Connor could not possibly handle such brutal abuse against his hands. Aileen opened the door quietly, her mind reeling with ways to mend the swelling and pain.

The sword fight moved with deadly force. Connor blocked each strike of his brother’s blade, but Aileen gripped her hands as if she were the one fighting. This was more than a practice sparring.

Patrick MacEgan moved with an uncanny swiftness. Their feet glided, swords meeting one another until they circled near her. Connor’s attention lapsed for a brief second, and his brother exploded with rage.