Surrender to an Irish Warrior

by Michelle Willingham

  All around them, she saw men and women together. Trahern’s eyes faltered upon the handfasted couple. Though he said nothing, she sensed something in his gaze. Was it envy?

  Confusion tangled up her thoughts, for she saw that her refusal had indeed bothered him. She’d struck down his pride, believing that he’d wanted only to use her in the arranged marriage.

  But perhaps that wasn’t it at all. In his grey eyes, she saw the loneliness of his life. He’d been a traveller, moving from place to place while his brothers had their own homes and families. Now, he’d lost the only stability he had, without the MacEgan name to call his own.

  She ached for his loss, and in that moment, she realised how much she cared about him. Just as he made her feel safe, she wanted to offer him the comfort of her own embrace.

  His marriage proposal had been awkward and clumsy. But she sensed that he would have honoured the vows spoken, treating her like a cherished bride. Though it might be an arrangement at first, perhaps it could become something more.

  Did she want that? To fall asleep with his arms around her and awaken beside him each morning? The very thought opened up a longing deep within her. She wondered if it were even possible, to push away the darkness of her past and learn what it meant to feel desire.

  It was growing late, and she ate the remainder of her food, realising that most of the men and women had retired for the night. She was about to ask Trahern to walk back to the castle with her, when she suddenly heard a noise.

  Frowning, she listened, trying to identify what it was. There was a rhythmic, panting sound, coupled with a female moan. A man grunted, and she recognised what she was hearing.

  A flash of panic came over her, and Trahern saw it. Images poured through her, and she set down her bread, clenching her knees to her chest.

  Just get up and leave, she told herself. You don’t have to listen. And yet, her feet wouldn’t move.

  Trahern took her hand, saying, ‘He’s not hurting her, Morren. Don’t be afraid.’

  Throaty moans came from the couple, and she threw herself into Trahern’s arms, trying to block out the sound. More harsh memories battered at her, threatening to drown her. But through it all, he held her.

  He’d become her stronghold, her shelter from the darkness. In his arms, she had what she needed most—a man who understood her pain.

  She knelt on the ground with her arms around his neck. Trahern murmured words of reassurance, his wide palms smoothing down her spine. Like a healing touch, she warmed to it.

  And in that moment, she realised she needed him, this strong man who had lost so much. In spite of everything, he’d always been there for her. Could she do less for him?

  His eyes were intensely focused upon her, as though no one else existed. She brought his arms to her waist, reaching up to his shoulders. Behind him came the satisfied moans of the lovers; after a time, their voices fell into silence.

  Her mind drifted back to the handfasted couple she’d seen earlier. A year and a day wasn’t so very long to ask. It was enough time to learn whether the arrangement could become a lasting union. Her one hesitation was the prospect of the marriage bed.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, releasing her from his embrace.

  She nodded, taking a breath. Best to speak her mind and be honest with him about the thoughts troubling her. ‘Trahern, if I were to agree to your marriage proposal, I don’t want you to despise me.’ Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment. ‘I can’t be…like most women.’ When her gaze shifted in the direction of the lovers, he seemed to understand her meaning.

  ‘Do you trust me?’ he prompted.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then know that I would never hurt you, nor despise you. No matter what happens.’

  She lifted her face until her mouth was a breath away from his. So badly she wanted to believe it. And though it went against her instincts, she found herself saying, ‘I’ll marry you, Trahern. Until after we’ve settled the matter of the Lochlannach.’

  He nodded, but there was no sense of anticipation or joy in his face. She hid her disappointment, wishing there was the hope of something more.

  The following afternoon, Trahern found himself pacing. He hadn’t seen Morren, not since she’d voiced her desire to handfast. Though he’d behaved as though it were nothing of importance, that wasn’t true at all. When she’d agreed to marry him, he’d felt a sense of relief. Not simply because he would gain Patrick’s support, but also for his own reasons. He wanted to be close to Morren, even if it would only be for a short time.

  Last night, when she’d taken refuge in his arms, he’d wanted to shield her from the world. When she’d clung to him, it was as if she’d become a physical part of him, one he couldn’t let go, even though he had to.

  A heaviness rested in his spirit, for, despite his promises not to touch her, he wanted Morren. His body seemed to mock him for the thought. Last night, he’d barely been able to keep control over his lust. He’d desired Morren so badly, his hands had been shaking. And when they’d overheard another couple making love, he’d imagined joining with her, sheathing his hard length within her moist depths.

  His mood darkened, for it wasn’t wise to let his thoughts go down that path. Thank the saints, their marriage would only be temporary. Keeping his hands off Morren would likely kill him.

  It bothered him that she hadn’t arrived for the handfasting yet. Queen Isabel and Aileen had gone about their way, saying nothing of the ceremony tonight. Had Morren told them of their plans to wed? Did anyone know?

  From the casual behaviour of his family, he doubted it. Trahern had worn his best clothing, a tunic that was a dark shade of red. His sword hung at his waist, and he’d fastened his cloak with a golden brooch shaped like a serpent. He felt like an anxious lad, about to kiss his first woman. The next group of handfastings would take place at sundown, with Father Brían to bless them. And he didn’t know if Morren would come to him then or not.

  ‘You look nervous, lad,’ came an old woman’s voice. It was Annle.

  He offered her a smile in greeting, and she motioned him closer. ‘I have something for you. I’ve kept it all these years, and it may be that you’ll want to have it.’ Annle pressed a cloth-wrapped packet into his hand. ‘It belonged to her.’

  He didn’t need to ask whom she meant. Without elaborating, the old healer hobbled away to join the children. A small boy hugged her leg, before Annle dropped a kiss upon his forehead.

  Trahern waited until he was alone before unwrapping the packet. Inside, he found an unusual stone. Upon the stone, it seemed that the spirit of a fish had been captured, carved within the rock. A small section of the stone had broken off, but the image of the fish was clear. Someone had bored a hole into the rock, lacing a strip of leather through it to form a necklace.

  He rubbed his thumb over the rough imprint of the fish, wondering what sort of woman his mother had been. Like the stone, it was as though there were a piece missing of himself. A mystery that would never fully resolve.

  And deep inside, he feared that the man who had fathered him was one of the Lochlannach at Gall Tír. Would he find a man who looked like him, among the enemy?

  Lifting the necklace over his head, Trahern tucked it beneath his tunic, where it rested upon his chest. He wished he could have known the woman who had given him life. It felt strange to wear something that had belonged to her.

  ‘Trahern,’ a voice called out. ‘Are you coming to witness the handfastings?’ Connor MacEgan approached, but then stopped short at the sight of Trahern’s finery. A cheeky grin spread over the man’s face. ‘Well, now. You look fetching, don’t you?’

  Trahern only shrugged, studying the crowds of people for a glimpse of Morren. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘What do I want?’ Connor repeated. His face twisted, and he uttered a dramatic sigh. ‘If you really want to know, sleep is what I’m wanting, brother. A full night of sleep.’

  He rubbed at his head, adding, ‘F
inn came running into our chamber last night, claiming he was afraid of the dark. And not a minute later, Dylan joined him.’ Yawning, Connor added, ‘Wait until you’ve children of your own. They’re both a blessing and the curse of your existence.’

  Trahern said nothing, for he couldn’t imagine himself as a father. Not with Morren as his bride, or anyone else. It seemed like an impossible vision, though he wouldn’t have minded having sons.

  ‘Don’t worry, Trahern,’ Connor teased. ‘One day you’ll know what I mean, if Morren agrees to wed you.’

  ‘She—’ Trahern started to answer, but Connor cut him off.

  ‘After all, you’re too tall and not nearly as handsome as the rest of us.’ Connor reached out to rub his head, and Trahern caught the man’s wrist.

  ‘This isn’t a laughing matter, Connor.’ He knew his brother was only trying to break his foul mood by teasing him. But the jest had the reverse effect. All his life Trahern had been teased about his height. Many a time, he’d used it to his advantage, fighting with Bevan or Connor when they’d insulted him.

  But today, it only reminded him that they weren’t his true family. There was a reason why they looked nothing alike. It sobered him, making him feel like more of an outsider. He almost wished he’d never heard the truth from Annle. Beneath his tunic, the shell necklace felt harsh upon his skin.

  ‘Have you seen Morren?’ he asked Connor.

  ‘She’s with the women. She went to speak with Aileen earlier, but that’s all I know.’ His brother’s eyes gleamed. ‘Did she agree to the marriage? You did ask her, didn’t you?’

  ‘I did ask,’ he said tightly, ‘and I think she might.’

  Connor’s face transformed from surprise into happiness. He slapped him on the back, adding, ‘Good. It’s about time you opened your eyes and saw what was in front of you.’

  ‘And what do you mean by that?’

  ‘She’s good for you, Trahern,’ Connor said. ‘You’re happier with her.’ His brother’s face turned serious. ‘I know this past season has been hard on you. When we saw you at Midsummer’s Eve, I’d never seen you like that before.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Enraged,’ Connor admitted. ‘You looked like you would have taken a dagger to your own throat. Like you cared about nothing any more. Not even us.’

  Trahern stared into his brother’s face. He’d been so caught up in his grief and his need for revenge that he’d kept everyone away. ‘I wanted to die,’ he admitted. ‘Every time I saw you with Aileen or Patrick with Isabel, I was eaten up with jealousy. All I could think of was what I’d lost with Ciara.’

  ‘It was terrible, seeing you like that.’ Connor rested his scarred hand upon Trahern’s shoulder. ‘We’re family, Trahern. And whether you know it or not, your pain was ours.’ His dark expression softened. ‘If Morren is the cause of bringing you back to us, I can only be grateful to her.’

  As they walked toward the inner bailey, Connor’s words forced his spirits even lower. For they weren’t truly family, were they? His brothers believed that they shared the same parents, when there was no blood between them. All they had were memories.

  He held his tongue, not wanting to lose that. Though Morren had claimed his brothers would stand by him, even knowing the truth, he couldn’t bring himself to admit it. Not yet, for he didn’t want to relinquish the MacEgan name.

  In the small courtyard, several couples waited with the priest. Among them, he saw his youngest brother Ewan holding the hand of his new wife, Honora.

  Though the pair had been married only a few weeks ago, there was no dimming their happiness. Honora rushed forward and hugged him. ‘Ewan told me you were here, Trahern. I’m so glad to see you.’ She reached up and rubbed his head, smiling at the new growth of hair. ‘You’re looking more handsome, I must say.’

  He ignored her comment and voiced the question, ‘Why is it that women are fascinated with touching my head?’

  ‘Enjoy it,’ Ewan urged. ‘If women would come up and rub my head, I’d shave it every day.’

  ‘And I’d run them through with a blade,’ Honora retorted. ‘Watch yourself, MacEgan.’

  Ewan kissed his wife. ‘You can rub my head whenever you want, a stór. Or other things.’

  Honora’s face turned crimson. ‘I can’t believe you said that out loud.’

  His brother’s teasing made him laugh, and with his humour restored, Trahern joined them to watch the handfastings. Couple after couple spoke their promises, and Father Brían blessed the marriages, combining pagan and Christian traditions. It was the way of their family, remembering the past, along with the present.

  When the last marriage was completed, he ignored the emptiness of disappointment. Morren hadn’t come. He wondered if she’d changed her mind again. Grimacing, he turned away, ignoring the platters of steaming food that were brought forth from the kitchen.

  ‘Trahern,’ came a voice. It was Connor’s wife, Aileen. Her face was pale, but she took him aside from the others. ‘I spoke with Morren this afternoon.’

  The devastated expression on her face made him wary. ‘Is she all right?’

  Aileen’s nod was hesitant. ‘She told me…everything.’ Tears filled up the healer’s eyes, and she reached out to take his hands. ‘I understand now why you’re so protective of her.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘She’s coming to join you and Father Brían now.’ Aileen reached out and touched his cheek. ‘But you should know something, Trahern. Though her body may have fully healed, there are some injuries that haven’t. And I doubt if she’ll have children.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he responded. It was the truth. He didn’t own his own land, and he had no need for heirs.

  ‘I bid you happiness,’ Aileen said, stepping away. Within moments, he saw Morren arriving to speak with the priest. Her hair was crowned with heather, and she wore a gown he’d never seen before. The forest-green silk was trimmed with fur, the cloth vibrant in colour.

  ‘It’s the gown you meant for Morren to have,’ Aileen murmured. ‘Isabel arranged to purchase the silk, after you sent that lad off with a handful of coins the other morning.’

  ‘It wasn’t enough for silk,’ he argued.

  ‘No, but Isabel contributed some. She thought there would come an occasion when Morren would need a finer gown. And I see she was right.’

  It pleased him to know that he’d contributed to the gown, though he’d only intended to offer Morren something better to wear than her travelling clothes.

  ‘We spent most of the day sewing,’ Aileen continued. She rubbed at her fingers. ‘Morren looks beautiful, don’t you think?’

  Trahern took a step forward, then another. His bride’s hair was intertwined with tiny golden balls, which accentuated the fair colour of the strands. ‘She does.’

  He walked past Aileen to join Morren. He took her hands in his, feeling spellbound by her appearance. ‘The gown looks well on you.’

  Her cheeks grew pink, and she gave his hands a faint squeeze. ‘Thank you.’

  Then they turned to the priest, and Trahern grew aware that all of his brothers and wives had come close to hear their vows. As he spoke the words that bound him to Morren, he didn’t miss the way Patrick drew Isabel closer. Or the way each of his brothers held his wife, as if to echo the promises made. He was glad for their presence, though the burden of his past weighed down upon him.

  Morren’s hand squeezed his, her blue eyes soft. Though she appeared uncomfortable with everyone watching them, her lips curved in a faint smile. Whether she meant to reassure him or herself, he didn’t know. But when he looked into her eyes, he was startled at the contentment of having her at his side.

  Only a few weeks ago, she couldn’t have endured the touch of his hand in hers. So much had changed between them. Within her expression, he saw faith and trust. His fingers tightened over hers in a silent promise to take care of her.

  When the three cords were wrapped around his wrist and
Morren’s, the MacEgans applauded with cheers and encouragement to kiss her. Trahern didn’t ask permission, but touched his lips to Morren’s. They were hesitant, but she accepted his kiss of peace.

  ‘Kiss her longer than that!’ Ewan called out.

  Trahern started to refuse, not wanting to embarrass his bride. But Morren had already risen up on her tiptoes. Though she was flustered, he saw amusement on her face.

  This time when he kissed her, he tilted her face to meet his. He hardly heard the voices around them or the teasing when her unbound hand went around his neck.

  When their lips touched, he gave her the kiss a new husband ought to give his wife. Hungry and heated, he captured her mouth, coaxing her to surrender.

  Morren rested her hand upon his face, then broke free of the kiss to the sound of loud cheers. Her face was crimson, and Trahern held her waist close.

  The remainder of the evening had blurred, and he hardly remembered any of it, though they had shared food and drink. He couldn’t take his eyes off of his bride, and at one moment, Morren cast him a smile.

  ‘I’m not going to leave you, Trahern. Our hands are bound together,’ she reminded him. ‘I couldn’t if I wanted to.’

  And yet, beneath her words, he sensed a sudden edge, as though something bothered her. He lowered his voice to murmur, ‘You seem frightened. What troubles you?’

  From the glance she cast towards Aileen, he sensed he knew what it was. ‘Let them believe what they want,’ he said softly. ‘I won’t touch you.’

  Morren tried to muster a smile, though her face had gone pale. Trahern led her away from the others so they could speak alone about whatever it was.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about what happened between us last night,’ she admitted. ‘I turned it over in my mind so many times, I could hardly sleep at all.’

  He waited for her to continue, and she lowered her chin. ‘You told me what it would be like, if you gave in to your desires.’ A faint shiver rocked through her. ‘And though it terrifies me, I want to rid myself of the unwanted memories.’