Michelle Willingham - Surrender to an Irish Warrior

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?’

‘More tithes,’ was all Gunnar would say. His hand moved to the battle-axe slung at his waist. ‘Enough questions. You’ve found the girl, and if that’s what you wanted, you can take her and leave.’

‘What I want is to find the men who attacked and bring them to justice.’ Trahern let his own hand drift down to his waist, settling upon the hilt of his sword. ‘If they are among your kinsmen, be assured, I’ll find them.’

Or Morren would. Inwardly, he tensed at the thought of her having to face her attackers. She shouldn’t have to.

‘Our men were not responsible,’ Gunnar insisted. ‘And we’ve already sent men to investigate the settlements nearby.’

‘Why would you? If what you say is true, it’s not your affair.’

‘It is, when my kinsmen are accused of trying to annihilate an Irish clan. The peace between us is fragile enough.’

‘With reason.’

Gunnar shook his head in disgust and pushed the door open. ‘The Ó Reillys trust us to help them. You should do the same.’

He wouldn’t trust a Lochlannach with a dog, but Trahern didn’t say so. As it was, he intended to take Morren and her sister away from this place as soon as possible.

‘I’m beginning to wonder if Gunnar was telling the truth,’ Morren whispered to Trahern, as they shared a meal that night among the other Lochlannach. ‘I haven’t seen any of the men who were there on the night of the attack.’

She’d studied each of the Vikings, but none of the men had the faces that haunted her dreams. The survivors of her clan appeared unconcerned, which reassured her. Enough of her people had seen the raiders with their own eyes, and it was doubtful that the enemy was here.

Even so, she found it hard to relax. She kept searching the unfamiliar faces, the hard knot of fear tight within her stomach, mingled with hunger.

Trahern had hardly touched any of his food. He eyed the Vikings as though expecting them to attack at any moment. ‘I don’t trust them.’

He picked at a bit of fish with his dagger, but his grip remained tight on the weapon. ‘This is the closest Lochlannach settlement, Morren. Someone here was involved.’

His dark insistence sent a chill over her, for a part of her wanted to believe that she might be safe here, with her people.

‘I hope you’re wrong.’ She turned her attention back to the food, his black mood shadowing her own. To distract herself, she finished the remainder of the fish and drank the sweetly fermented mead.

Jilleen sat beside her, hardly speaking at all. Though they had spent several hours together, her sister had remained quiet and had withdrawn inside herself, like a shadow.

Not once did Jilleen make eye contact with anyone, and

Morren realised she’d been wrong to hide with her sister. By isolating both of them, she’d made it even harder for her sister to rejoin the Ó Reilly survivors.

Regrets filled her up inside, but she couldn’t dwell upon them. She had to look after Jilleen and give both of them the best possible life. Their parents were dead, so it fell upon her shoulders to plan their futures.

The very thought was overwhelming. To distract herself, Morren reached for a honey cake that was topped with dried apple slices. The flaky crust melted on her tongue, the apples mingling with the sweetness of the honey. She closed her eyes, licking her fingertips and savouring the intense flavours. It had been so long since they’d had good food.

When Morren opened her eyes, Trahern’s expression had transformed suddenly. His mouth formed a tight line, his grey eyes hooded. He gripped the edge of the low table, and an unexpected flush crossed over her. ‘What is it?’

‘Nothing.’ He turned away, and anger lined his face again.

Morren supposed it was his bad mood tainting his enjoyment of the meal. She glanced around at the people and she saw Katla watching her. Though the Norse woman had been infuriated with Trahern earlier, she offered a warm smile, her grey eyes softened with friendliness. She wore a crimson gown with a fawn-coloured apron fastened with golden brooches at the shoulders. A grey shawl hung across her arms.