by Mia Pride
Perhaps she owed Flynn an apology. He had kept his vow and not touched her. She had to admit that she never thought to be so close to an aroused man, so close that she could see the aroused flesh pointing straight at her, and have him control his need to force her. Flynn had stayed calm, covered himself, and kept his hands at his side. Mayhap he was a different sort of man than her papa, or Gregory, the husband of her sister Paulene. Gregory had misused and eventually killed Paulene. Elwynna had been misused by her own father and many of his men. It seemed hard to fathom that Flynn could be so different, and yet, mayhap he was.
“I need to concentrate,” she scolded herself aloud, and she pulled the hood of her cloak over her hair for protection from the frosty morning chill. Her breath came out in tendrils and she had fled so quickly, she had not brought a basket or anything to collect flowers with. She would simply have to hold as much as she could in her hands. She was in no hurry to go back to the wee hut, even though she had left without feeding Flynn a morning meal. Her fears were affecting her skills as a healer, and she could not abide it. He was injured. He would not be able to hurt her, she reminded herself.
After about an hour of walking around the stream collecting more dandelions and finding some nettle, she felt refreshed. The chill had cooled both her cheeks and her nerves. Poor Flynn must be famished, so she decided to go back to the hut. Her hands were full anyway. She would simply have to return another time with a basket.
Making a promise to herself to be strong and brave, she carefully opened the door to the hut, not wanting to disturb Flynn if he had gone back to sleep.
“Maggie,” she heard him whisper from the bed. She looked over and saw him trying to prop up on his side, but he winced and crashed back down onto his back.
Putting the flowers down on the table near the hearth, she walked over to him with a frown. “Are you in pain, Flynn? I can give you more poppy juice?”
He shook his head and grimaced. “Nay. I am not in much pain unless I try to sit up. I only wanted to say… I am sorry. I did not mean to make you feel frightened of me. It was an… unfortunate surprise.”
Maggie’s eyes widened when she realized he was apologizing to her about his arousal. She was most uncomfortable discussing this with him, but she supposed it was worth discussing and moving past it if they were to stay here alone together.
“I should be apologizing to you,” she murmured. “I was walking around in my underdress. ‘Tis nay wonder that happened. I provoked you. I deserve to be… punished.”
“What?” Flynn tried to sit up again and this time he did not relent. If he was in pain, he showed no sign of it. “That is absurd, Maggie. How is it your fault that I am attracted to you? Why would I punish you for my own feelings for you?”
Heart beating wildly in her chest, she clutched her cloak tighter to her body. He was not going to blame or punish her? Her brow furrowed. “You find me attractive? You have feelings for me?” No man had ever had feelings for her. It caused a strange fluttering sensation within her stomach. Still, she could do nothing about it in the end. That life was for other lassies. Less damaged lassies. She was not destined for anything resembling a family and so ‘twas best to push that fluttering in her stomach away from her mind.
“Who told you a woman should be punished for a man’s desire for her?” His abrupt change in demeanor startled her. He seemed angry. She also noticed he intentionally avoided any more talk of his feelings for her. It was just as well. As soon as he healed, he would be off on another mission and she would go home to Elwynna and Àdhamh.
“’Tis just the way it is, Flynn,” she responded with exasperation, and put up her hands. “’Tis a lassie’s fault if she makes a man… aroused. And she deserves the punishment for her mistake.”
“I cannot believe what I am hearing you say, Maggie. Does Àdhamh know you feel this way?”
“What does my brother have to do with it? He did not witness my father’s rages nor my mother’s punishments for his desire. He knew of it later, but never while they happened.”
Flynn took a deep breath and shifted in the bed. “It makes more sense to me now. Maggie, did you father hurt you and your mama?”
Hysteria was bubbling to the surface, as were old wounds, insults, and fears. She had never discussed these things with anyone and could not understand why she was so compelled to speak of them now with Flynn. He would see how damaged she was and be disgusted by her. Mayhap that was best. If he knew she was the unloved daughter of a violent man who had broken her spirit a long time ago, perhaps he would leave her be.
She nodded slowly at Flynn’s question and looked away. “Och, Maggie.” She could hear the pain in his voice and her gaze went to his. His piercing green eyes were brighter than the grass on the hills just outside the hut and they shimmered with what looked like unshed tears. “’Tis a foul thing to do to a woman and a child.”
“We deserved it for angering him,” she persisted. “I was not smart enough, fast enough, or useful enough, and Mama could not give him more babes. It was our fault. Even Mama said so.”
Swallowing audibly, Flynn shook his head and crinkled his brow, as if every word out of her mouth was worse than the last. “Listen to me, Maggie. A man is responsible for his own actions. Only a coward blames his anger on a woman and a child. Men may be larger, but that only means ‘tis our responsibility to protect others, not use our size to force women or hurt children.”
What he said made sense and, in a perfect world, it would be correct. However, the world was far from perfect. “Elwynna was used by her papa’s men. My sister Paulene was killed by her husband. My mama was… killed by my papa,” she trailed off as images of that night flashed in her mind. She had hid under the bed to avoid her father, but she had seen him lift her mother’s dress, pull down his trousers and force his manhood into her mama until she sobbed and cried in pain. Then he cut her throat and left her to bleed to death on the floor of their home.
It was too much. Tears ran down Maggie’s cheeks as the memory stabbed at her heart again and again. Her mama did not deserve that, but it had happened. Hands shaking, a sob wrenched from her chest and she crumpled to the floor. Her weak, shaking legs could no longer support her heavy heart. Men were cruel and used women to take their pleasure. ‘Twas the way of it. Flynn told her this was not true, but it was.
“Maggie…” Flynn struggled to a sitting position, but she signaled for him to stay away by putting out her hands.
“Nay, do not get up. You will hurt yourself.” Sniffling, she took a deep breath and scrambled back onto her feet, adjusting her blue dress. It was the only dress she had with her and she needed to take care not to soil it more than necessary. “I am all right,” she reassured him, while she swiped imaginary dirt from her sleeves.
The look on Flynn’s face told her he did not believe she was all right at all, and he was correct, but she would never tell him so.
“What if…” Flynn’s voice broke as he swallowed back some emotion. “What if, once I am able to move about, I teach you to defend yourself.”
“What?” Her gaze snapped to his and she wiped her damp cheeks with the long sleeve of her dress. “You would do that for me? Why?”
He took a deep breath and sighed. “You have been through more than any lass should in one lifetime. I can see you are afraid of men, but would not life be a bit easier for you if you could use a dagger? And mayhap a bow? I have mine. Never leave home without it.”
A bow and dagger? Just like Aislin. She had admired Aislin for so long. She was fearless and allowed no man to frighten her. Mayhap being stuck in the middle of nowhere with Flynn was her fate, after all. She would take care of his needs for the next several days and use her downtime to search for herbs. Once he was able to get out of bed, he could use their time to teach her self-defense until Brennain came back for them. It was something she had never thought to learn until recently. Àdhamh had spent the last several years protecting her with his body, but he was a marri
ed man now and it was time for Maggie to put old demons behind her and learn to protect herself.
The task required her to trust a man enough to be close to him, allow him to guide her. It meant she would be all alone in the woods with an armed man. If he chose to break his vow, he could do precisely what her father had done to her mama… but nay. Looking at the genuine concern on his face and hearing the true kindness of his voice, she suddenly knew, without a doubt, that she could trust Flynn with her life. He truly wished to help her and if she did not take his offer, she may never again find another man she trusted enough to teach her.
“If you truly wish to teach me, I will accept your offer.” She squared her shoulders and wiped her wet eyes with her fingertips. She vowed that the tears clinging to her lashes would be the last tears she cried over her past. This was a new start. She would learn to be independent and protect herself. She would no longer live in the shadows of her fear. She felt lighter than she ever had in her life. This man, Flynn Mac Greine, was truly the kindest man she had ever met. He was handsome, strong, and gentle, a combination she never thought to find in her life.
The fluttering in her stomach began again, and she realized with a start that she was developing feelings for him that she never thought possible. She looked forward to being near him, and something about that thought excited and frightened her all at once. He was a traveling warrior. She must learn from him, then learn to live without him. For after these days in the hut, it would all just be a memory. Still, she would leave here a new woman.
“You trust me, Maggie?” Flynn’s voice called to her and she snapped out of her thoughts.
With a smile that came from her heart, she realized that she truly did. “Aye, Flynn. I find that I do.”
He smiled and the impenetrable wall she had erected around her heart crumbled just a little more. He had a smile that could light up a room. If she was a wise woman, she would make certain no more of that wall fell for the next few sennights.
* * * *
The next sennight passed slowly, but Flynn did not mind, for he had the company of the most beautiful lass in Ériu. He had always been drawn to her light, but learning of her abusive past gave him a greater insight into who she was and why she was so timid. A lass who could live through so much loss and still dedicate her life to healing people, especially wounded warriors whom she truly feared, was a special lass, indeed. He longed to help her any way he could. His recovery was slow, but they fell into an easy rhythm within days.
Maggie tended his wound in the morning, changing the dressing and applying the salve. He noticed that she avoided looking anywhere beyond his waist and he found it endearing that she flushed every time she tended him. He wondered if she thought about that moment as often as he did. Though he had been embarrassed and ashamed at the time, he had not meant for her to see his arousal and he could not apologize for being attracted to her. He only regretted that it had frightened her. Knowing all she had witnessed in life, he made an effort to keep his thoughts clean whenever she was near, which was all the time. Though he found it impossible to keep his eyes or mind from wandering, he had done a fair job hiding his feelings toward her.
He wanted so much more from Maggie than to just teach her to protect herself. He wanted to be the one with her always, protecting her as her man. That thought shook him to the core. When had his thoughts begun to run toward the future? He could not entertain such ideas. He had a mission to finish and many more in the future, he was certain. Even if he could settle down and take a wife, Maggie was not at all interested in such an arrangement, so it was best to remove all thoughts of a future with her from his mind.
When she was not tending his wound, she often walked around the woods and collected plants of various types until her basket was filled to the brim. Her cheeks would be flushed with both the cold and excitement when she arrived back at the hut. Though he would never admit that he missed her presence while she was away, her return was the highlight of his day. She would sit down beside him on the bed, pulling different plants from the basket and explaining to him how each could be used to aid a fever, heal the skin, or cleanse the blood. When she was healing, she was in her element and exuded a confidence he wished she could carry with her always.
Slowly, against her better advice, Flynn began to get out of the bed and walk around the hut for exercise. He was a man of action, and his back had been aching while he lay in bed all day long. Sitting around watching while Maggie lit the hearth fire and made his meals, or cut and dried her herbs was weighing down on his soul, patience, and pride. He found his wound ached, but Maggie had been correct in her assessment that he had been incredibly fortunate and that the shooter had been a great distance away. Most arrow wounds were fatal, yet he was healing remarkably well. He was certain he had Maggie to thank for that. How he wanted to thank her, however, was not an option.
At nightfall, they would eat their simple meals of whatever Maggie had cleverly managed to create, usually consisting of some of the wild berries she had found a few days before, some carrots from the garden that someone had once spent a great deal of time tending before abandoning the home, and some dried meat he had brought along in his satchel. Maggie had successfully caught a hare in one of the nets Brennain taught her to use and Flynn was so proud of her, thrilled by the confidence she felt when she cooked it for him herself, though he had talked her through the process of preparing it.
Maggie had come a long way in just a sennight. She spoke to him openly and laughed frequently. Her level of trust for him seemed to grow more and more with every dawn. And by dusk, they sat together and told stories of their childhood, or pondered the family who had once lived in this hut. He learned so much about where Maggie came from and how hard her childhood had been. She was a stronger lass than she realized, and he made sure to tell her so at every opportunity. His feelings for Maggie had already been enough to distract him, but now he felt as if he may explode from the intense emotions welling up inside him for this wee woman. Aye, she was beautiful, but she was so much more than that. Still, he battled those emotions. Nothing good could come from expressing how he felt. He had a life that could not involve a wife, and she made no indication of wanting a husband, or even any form of physical relationship. She was beginning to truly trust him and he did not want to do anything to ruin that.
“’Tis been just over a sennight and I am done with lying about in this bed,” Flynn declared, and he slowly came to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Maggie put down the wooden spoon she had been using to stir the cauldron of boiling carrots and meat for a stew.
“Let me look at your wound,” she said, as she came over to his side. “Do not over-exert yourself.” Her warm hands skimmed his chest as they always did when she removed his dressing. He should have been used to it by now, but the sensation always gave him gooseflesh up his arms. Her hands went around to his back as she unwrapped the linen, and he could smell the natural sweetness in her hair. He inhaled deeply, knowing one of these days would be his last chance to be near her, and he wished to remember every detail. The smell of her hair, the freckles dotting her nose, the way her wavy blonde locks framed her face like a feral goddess every morning. She was pure perfection and much too good for a man who would never be around to appreciate her.
“All right, Flynn. I will have to leave the decision up to you. Your wound is healing well on the outside and you have been walking around carefully in the hut. If you feel up to gentle mobility, I shall leave it to you.”
“I long for some fresh air. I am a man used to the elements, not a bed covered in furs.”
She nodded and regarded him for a moment as he stood and gently stretched to test the wound. It ached still and he knew he must be careful, but he could tolerate the pain if it meant he was free to wander about.
“You will need to dress if you are to go outside. Your cough has gone away completely and I would like it to stay away.” Grabbing his tunic that had been folded and unused durin
g his entire stay at the hut, Maggie gathered the fabric in her hand and came close to him. On her tiptoes, she lifted her arms up and slipped the tunic over his head. He hunched over slightly to make the task easier for her. She stood at least two heads shorter than him, but he could not bend much lower and she could not reach much higher.
As the tunic slipped over his face, their eyes were almost level and they locked for the briefest of moments before she shifted her blue eyes back to the tunic around his neck. He read something in her eyes. He was not certain what it was, but it had felt like more than interest. Still, he disregarded any notion that the lass was attracted to him. She simply had to dress him so he could walk outside.
But then her small fingers grazed his shoulders and biceps just before helping him to slip his arms into the garment, and he felt a trail of fire burning in her wake. Her touch was innocent, yet he would do aught to feel it again. He realized that once his time with her was over, he would miss everything about her. He would teach her to be confident and to protect herself, then she would eventually marry a man who could be present in her life.
The thought made him scowl. He did not wish to think of her with another man, but she was not, and never would be, his. Maggie’s eyes widened when she saw the sour look on his face and she frowned. “Did I hurt you?” she asked, and stepped back. He already missed her proximity.
Aye, she hurt him simply by being the woman he never knew he needed or wanted. “Nay. My wound is aching, ‘tis all.” She accepted his explanation with a nod and then fetched his cloak. Once again on her tiptoes, she clasped the cloak around his neck with the small, golden circular brooch his mama had gifted to him years before. The urge to rest his hands on her hips was strong, but he resisted. She was not his to touch and he would do well to remember it.
