Surrender to an Irish Warrior. Michelle Willingham

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СКАЧАТЬ and he strode outside, slamming the door behind him. When he’d gone, Morren drew her knees up. The pain had abated, though the dizziness remained. She reached for another piece of meat, forcing herself to choke it down.

      You have to live, she told herself. For Jilleen.

      Her hands moved to her midsection once more, and the soft, sunken skin bruised her spirits. After the massive bleeding, she didn’t know if she would ever be able to bear another child.

      It didn’t matter. No man would want her, after what had happened, and she had no wish to let anyone touch her.

      Slowly, Morren eased her feet to the side of the bed, wondering if she had the strength to stand. She set both hands on the edge, gingerly easing her feet down.

      The door opened, and Trahern stopped short. ‘Don’t even consider it. You’re too weak.’

      He moved towards her, and out of instinct, Morren shrank from him, pulling her legs back onto the bed.

      ‘I won’t hurt you,’ he swore. ‘But you’ll never make it back to Glen Omrigh if you exert yourself too soon.’

      He moved over by the hearth, adding more wood to the fire. His shoulders flexed with hardly any effort at all as he arranged the oak logs into a small stack.

      ‘It’s just a fever,’ she said. ‘It will go away in a few days.’

      He crouched by the hearth, eyeing her. ‘You said your mother was a healer. What would she have done for you?’

      ‘Raspberry-leaf tea, I suppose. Or willow bark, if the fever got too hot.’

      He shrugged. ‘I saw neither when I was out getting water. I’m sorry.’

      ‘It doesn’t matter.’ She would find them herself, if the bleeding continued. It seemed to be lessening.

      Trahern stopped arranging the wood for a moment. The firelight gleamed against his head, and she wondered why he’d shaved his hair and beard. The clothing he wore was hardly more than a slave would wear, as though he cared nothing for his appearance.

      He grieved for Ciara, she realised. He’d loved her.

      Morren studied him, not understanding how such a fierce, hot-tempered man could stay at her side all night telling stories. Amidst the smothering fever, she’d heard his deep voice. It had reached within her, giving her something to hold on to. She let her gaze fall over his face, noticing the worn lines and exhaustion. He hadn’t slept at all, using the captivating tale to ease her pain. And something within her was grateful for it.

      ‘Where are the others?’ he asked. ‘Your kinsmen?’

      ‘Jilleen and I have no one else. Our parents are both dead.’

      He returned to her bedside, holding out the food once more. ‘How long have you been living here?’

      She took one of the apples, with no true intent of eating it. ‘Since the attack happened, in early summer.’

      ‘And you’ve been here alone since then?’

      ‘Yes.’ Morren’s gaze fixed upon his. ‘I don’t know how many of the Ó Reillys are left.’ The only person she’d wanted near her, after that night, was Jilleen. She hadn’t returned to the cashel after they’d fled, nor to St Michael’s Abbey. She hadn’t wanted anyone to know of her shame.

      ‘After we find your sister, you should stay at Glen Omrigh,’ Trahern said quietly. ‘It isn’t right for the two of you to be alone.’

      She rolled the apple between her palms, not wanting to think about the future. Enduring each hour at a time was all she could manage. ‘I’ll find a place for us. Somewhere.’

      He studied her, as if trying to ascertain her worth. ‘Do you know enough of your mother’s healing? Your skill would hold great value with another clan.’

      She shook her head. ‘I know the plants and trees and their uses. But I’m not a healer.’ More often than not, her kinsmen had asked for her guidance when the crops were failing. Her talent lay in making things grow.

      Outside, the wind shifted through the trees. Morren huddled beneath the coverlet, sensing what was to come. A change in the weather was imminent.

      ‘You should put on your cloak,’ she advised. ‘It’s going to rain.’

      As if in answer to her prediction, she heard the soft spattering of droplets. Minutes later, the thatched roof began leaking, the water puddling upon the earthen floor, transforming it into mud. Trahern grimaced and lifted up his cloak to shield his head from the water. The rain felt cool upon her face, easing the fever.

      ‘Take the other end of this,’ Trahern said, holding out his cloak. ‘We’ll share the shelter until it stops.’

      She made no move to take it. ‘I don’t mind the wetness.’

      ‘It’s not good for you. You’ll catch a chill and get even weaker than you already are.’ He sat down beside her on the bed, offering her the other end.

      Morren scooted far away from him. Trahern’s head towered over her, making her feel uncomfortable.

      ‘I’m not planning to touch you,’ he said gruffly. ‘There’s no harm in both of us using the cloak for shelter.’

      Without waiting for her argument, he tossed the end over her head. She lifted the wool from her face, shielding her head from the rain.

      The heavy cloak held his scent, masculine and safe. She could feel the heat of his body within the cloth, and her cheeks warmed from more than the fever.

      Trahern wasn’t looking at her, but he stared at the fire sputtering on the hearth. Rain dampened his face, and she saw the light stubble of beard upon his face.

      She’d thought him handsome before, when his dark hair had touched his shoulders, his beard masking his features.

      Now, he’d stripped away all traces of that man. Cold and hardened, he wasn’t the same at all. And yet, he’d stayed up all night at her side. He hadn’t abandoned her, not once. It wasn’t the demeanour of a monster, but of a man she didn’t understand.

      Morren shivered, thinking of his devotion to Ciara. It was as if no other woman in the world had existed. Certainly, he hadn’t noticed her.

      ‘I remember when you first came to our cashel last year,’ she said. ‘You stayed up all night, telling your stories.’

      He sobered, and she wondered if she shouldn’t have spoken. ‘I used to be a bard, yes.’

      ‘And you stayed with us all winter long. Because of Ciara?’

      He gave a nod. Drawing his knees up, he discarded the cloak and sat up. She noticed his bare feet and wondered what had happened to his shoes.

      ‘Get some sleep, Morren. If you’re well enough, we’ll find Jilleen in the morning.’ Trahern laid down again, drawing the cloak over both of them. In his eyes, she saw his own exhaustion. He hadn’t slept in СКАЧАТЬ