Surrender to an Irish Warrior. Michelle Willingham

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      The corner of his mouth twitched. ‘I’m not brooding.’

      ‘You are. And I’ve no doubt that you’d complain at every moment.’

      He seemed taken aback, but she didn’t apologise for the truth.

      ‘You think I’m behaving like a child.’ Without warning, his mouth curved upwards. It was the first time she’d seen him smile, and it transformed him from an angry warrior into a man.

      A handsome man, if she were honest. She’d never really thought about it, but Trahern MacEgan was a man who had captured the attentions of many women in her clan, not just Ciara. Months ago, he’d worn his hair and beard long, but now, his shaved head and face were a stark contrast to his grey eyes. The smooth skin sharpened his features, like a honed blade.

      And right now, he was staring straight at her with amusement. She didn’t know whether he was silently laughing at her or whether he’d recognised his own faults.

      ‘I promise not to sulk or complain,’ he said, gesturing for her to walk in front of him. ‘But I still won’t trust the Lochlannach.’

      She didn’t doubt that. ‘You have the same purpose, the desire to find those who were responsible for the attack. Despite your suspicions, I know there are men who want to find the raiders, the same as you.’

      ‘They’ll have to prove themselves first.’ When they returned to the longhouse, he pushed open the door, waiting for her to enter. Morren glanced back at him. Although Trahern was no longer smiling, at least he seemed more relaxed and less likely to kill the next man he saw.

      ‘Where will you sleep tonight?’ she asked, before they rejoined the others. She saw her sister seated near the Lochlannach chief, but Jilleen appeared uncomfortable. As she walked to them, Gunnar rose to his feet. The Norseman offered an open smile of interest.

      Trahern’s hand came down on her shoulder in an unmistakable message. She forced herself not to pull away, though she wanted to. ‘I won’t be leaving your side, Morren. Tonight, I’ll sleep wherever you are.’

       Chapter Six

      Jilleen Ó Reilly was a coward. A weak-minded, self-centred coward, and she hated herself for it.

      Though she’d been with the Dalrata people for several days now, she’d allowed them to treat her like a small child. Katla had given her clothes and although she’d brought her among the other girls her age, Jilleen knew she didn’t fit in with them. She was an outsider. Different.

      Already they’d branded her as a stranger, and though they’d said nothing impolite, she sensed their distance. And why would they want to befriend an Irish girl? She wasn’t one of them and never would be. Although there were some ties among the married women, it didn’t matter so much now. After the raid, few of her people lived. Hardly more than a dozen, it seemed.

      The horror of that night washed over her, and her stomach wrenched into twisted knots. She wished she could just close her eyes and shut out every memory. She’d seen what the men had done to her sister, and hatred burned through her veins while she’d watched.

      Not just for what they’d done to Morren, but also hatred at herself. She’d hidden in the trees, instead of going for help. She’d done nothing to stop the men, and that made her the worst coward of all.

      Tonight, seeing Morren among the others, she knew that her sister had changed. Still shy, of course, but Morren no longer smiled. Jilleen couldn’t help but blame herself. If she hadn’t allowed herself to be caught, none of this would have happened.

      She would make up for it somehow. The fervent need to atone for Morren’s suffering overshadowed everything else.

      Jilleen’s gaze settled upon Trahern MacEgan. The giant had frightened her at first, the night she’d found him. But she’d remembered his storytelling, and the kind way about him. From the moment she’d seen him, she’d known he could help Morren with the fever.

      And so he had. He’d protected her, and she saw the way he watched over Morren, even now.

      Though Jilleen had never been much of a matchmaker, if she helped put them together, there was a strong chance that Trahern would take care of Morren.

      Maybe that would make up for her cowardice.

      Maybe.

      ‘We’re going to meet tonight to discuss the attack,’ Gunnar said, when the crowd had begun to dissipate. ‘Áron thought you would want to attend.’

      At the mention of Ciara’s brother, Trahern tensed. He hadn’t seen Áron, hadn’t known that he’d returned. Áron wasn’t among the other Ó Reillys, and it struck him as strange that the man hadn’t greeted them.

      He glanced back at Morren, who answered his unspoken question. ‘Go with Gunnar. I’ll be fine with Jilleen.’

      ‘I don’t want you unguarded.’

      ‘She can stay with Katla,’ Gunnar offered. ‘My brother’s wife will keep her safe.’

      Trahern had no doubt of that. He imagined the Norsewoman would wield a spear against any man who threatened someone under her protection.

      ‘It’s all right, Trahern. You may as well go with them and find the answers you’re seeking.’

      He would have preferred it if Morren came with him, but she was looking pale. It was best if she got some rest. He also wanted the healer to look over her in the morning, to be sure she hadn’t suffered unduly from the miscarriage.

      ‘I’ll be back later tonight,’ he promised.

      ‘I know you will.’ She lifted her eyes to his, and they were a steady, deep blue. Although she didn’t appear confident, she put on the appearance of bravery.

      Without thinking, his hand reached out to her cheek. He touched it with his palm, and she flinched. The reaction was so fast, he dropped his hand away.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. ‘I know you didn’t mean any harm.’

      He mumbled that it didn’t matter, but inwardly it bothered him to think that any unexpected touch would have such an effect upon her. He left without another word, following Gunnar outside the house to another rectangular structure. The air had turned even colder, hinting at a freezing rain or snow.

      The Norseman stopped before the entrance, eyeing him thoughtfully. ‘Have you claimed Morren as your woman?’

      ‘Not in the way you’re suggesting. But I won’t allow you or any other man to bother her. I’ve sworn my protection.’

      ‘Selfish bastard.’ Gunnar pushed open the door. ‘You don’t want her, but you don’t want anyone else to have her.’

      ‘You’re right.’ He offered no excuses, for Morren had endured enough.

      When they reached the interior of the dwelling, Trahern saw five men seated. Ciara’s brother, Áron, was there with a resigned expression. The man looked СКАЧАТЬ