Surrender to an Irish Warrior. Michelle Willingham

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      Before she could ride forward, Trahern rested his hand upon her horse. ‘Stay close to me. I don’t want you endangering yourself. If you see one of the raiders, tell me. I’ll take care of him.’

      He shielded her as he took the lead, riding inside. Though it was brutally cold, he was numb to the elements. Vengeance warmed his blood as he thought of the men who had murdered Ciara and violated Morren. They would answer for their crimes with their lives.

      When they reached the first outer wall, armed men held their spears aloft in a silent threat. Trahern met their guarded gazes with his own. But when they spied Morren, there was hesitation in their stance.

      He stopped at the first gate, knowing that word would spread of their arrival. He kept his hand firmly upon his sword, waiting quietly. The enemy guards never broke eye contact, and neither did he.

      Nearly a quarter of an hour passed before he spied Gunnar striding towards them. The Viking kept one hand upon his sword, seemingly unconcerned that he was on foot while Trahern and Morren had the advantage of being on horseback.

      ‘I see you decided to join us,’ he greeted them. With a glance at Morren, he added, ‘Your sister awaits you within my brother’s house.’

      Morren’s mouth tightened in a line, as though she wanted to run Gunnar through with a weapon of her own. ‘I want to see Jilleen now.’

      ‘Follow me,’ Gunnar bade them. He gestured to two older boys, ordering them to come and take the horses.

      Trahern dismounted and reached over to help Morren down. He didn’t keep his hands at her waist any longer than was necessary, and Morren’s face showed relief when he released her from his touch.

      She kept his cloak tightly wrapped around her, as though she could shut out all the bad memories. Not once did she look at him.

      Trahern didn’t like seeing any woman retreat inside herself this way, and it renewed his anger. He remained beside Morren, ignoring the silent stares of those they passed. No one else spoke to them, and tension coloured their arrival.

      ‘Morren.’ A young man approached, nodding his head in greeting. It was one of the Ó Reillys, Trahern guessed.

      Morren started at his voice, her face flooding with embarrassment. She kept her gaze averted, as though afraid of what else he might say to her.

      Trahern led her away, following Gunnar deeper into the longphort. Other clan members spoke to Morren as she passed, and most appeared surprised to see her. Did they know what had happened to her on the night of the attack? It didn’t seem so.

      Trahern planned to speak with the survivors in private, to determine why they had come to dwell among the Vikings. The lack of fear or anxiety among the people was startling. They behaved as though they were among family and friends, not the enemy.

      He couldn’t understand it. Distrust curled up inside him, and he stared at the Ó Reillys, wondering what had led them here, of all places.

      When they reached one of the longhouses within the centre of the longphort, Gunnar led them inside. A fire warmed the interior while the yeasty scent of bread emanated from a covered pan. Two other men were engaged in conversation, and an older woman sat with Jilleen, her watchful gaze unmistakable.

      When Morren saw her sister, she ran forward, embracing her tightly. Jilleen held still at first, but then gripped Morren hard. Silent tears streamed down her face.

      ‘Are you all right?’ Morren demanded. ‘Have they taken care of you?’ Jilleen nodded, her face pale.

      Trahern moved closer, keeping a close watch on the older woman. ‘What happened?’

      ‘Gunnar found her wandering around Glen Omrigh,’ the older woman interrupted. Her eyes flashed with anger. ‘How could you have let a young girl go off traveling alone? Don’t you know what might have happened to her?’

      He knew the risk, but there had been no choice. Morren would have bled to death, had he left her alone. He had no intention of justifying himself to a Lochlannach, however, and he bit back his own retort. ‘Who are you?’

      ‘I am Katla Dalrata,’ the woman answered. Fine lines etched her eyes, and he guessed she was slightly older than himself. She reached out to touch Jilleen’s shoulder. ‘You should be thankful that we found her.’

      He recognised the scolding for what it was—concern over Jilleen’s welfare. For that reason, he took no offence and refused to respond to the chastisement.

      ‘I’m sorry, Morren.’ More tears welled up in Jilleen’s eyes. ‘They wouldn’t let me leave.’

      ‘Hush. It’s all right. I’m fine now.’ Morren pulled her sister back into a hug, soothing her. ‘Trahern took care of me.’

      Her gaze met his in a silent plea not to say anything more. He wasn’t about to make a thirteen-year-old girl feel any guiltier than she already did. With a slight nod of his head, he gave Morren his promise.

      The fierce loyalty she felt towards Jilleen was something he understood. The bond between family was unbreakable. But even as Morren murmured to her sister, stroking her back in comfort, her eyes didn’t leave his.

      There was thankfulness there, a softness he hadn’t seen before, lining the curve of her jaw. Without meaning to, he found himself studying her mouth. The barest flush of rose tinted the skin, her lips unremarkable, yet they drew his attention.

      He snapped his attention back to Gunnar, feeling his own cheeks grow warm. ‘Why did the Ó Reillys come here? I can’t imagine that they would want anything to do with the Lochlannach.’

      Gunnar’s stance turned defensive. ‘We offered to help them rebuild after we learned what had happened. Most of their homes were destroyed by fire, and we gave them a place to stay.’

      Trahern didn’t for a moment believe that was true. ‘I saw you at the cashel yesterday. You set the remaining homes on fire, didn’t you?’

      The Viking didn’t deny it. ‘It’s easier to rebuild when the old wood is gone. Our chief ordered us to burn the remains in order to clear out the rest.’

      It seemed entirely too convenient. ‘If that were true, why wouldn’t you have done it months ago? Why wait until now to rebuild?’ There was no conceivable reason to wait.

      Gunnar’s expression tightened. ‘There weren’t enough of the Ó Reillys at first. Only three, before the other survivors joined us.’ He looked angry at having to explain himself. ‘We’ve gone back every day, and more of them are returning.’

      ‘How many Ó Reillys are there now?’

      ‘About a dozen.’ Gunnar’s gaze turned hard. ‘Whether or not you believe our intentions doesn’t matter. The Ó Reillys are here, and we’ve chosen to help them.’

      ‘They could have gone to the abbey,’ Trahern argued.

      ‘True enough,’ Gunnar acceded, ‘but they chose not to. They preferred not to be indebted to the abbot.’

      ‘Why?’

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