Surrender to an Irish Warrior

by Michelle Willingham

‘I’m not going to die.’ There was anger in her voice, and she sat up, pulling the coverlet to cover her body.

  ‘You almost died a few months ago,’ he shot back. ‘I was there, remember? I held the body of your son in my hands.’

  She flinched as though he’d struck her. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she sat back to stare at him. ‘Trahern, you’re being unreasonable.’

  ‘Am I? I swore I would never hurt you,’ he said. The vehement words poured out of him, ‘And I won’t. I touched you before, thinking that it was safe. I thought…after your son died, that you could bear no more children.’

  ‘I don’t know if I can or not,’ she admitted.

  ‘I won’t be the cause of your suffering.’ The desolate words were a vow. ‘If it’s a child you want, we can foster Alanna, Genevieve’s daughter, when she’s old enough.’

  ‘And you’ll martyr yourself, having a celibate marriage?’ Anger and sexual frustration laced her tone.

  ‘We can give each other pleasure, without the joining.’

  ‘It’s not the same.’ She drew back from him, lying down and facing the wall.

  He’d hurt her feelings. But damn it all, he’d been there that night, watching her suffer. Nothing could have prepared him for the helplessness, not knowing if she would live or die. He wouldn’t go through it again.

  Trahern ached with longing for her, his shaft stiff and swollen. With one hand, he reached out to touch her silken hip, his fingers sliding toward the cleft between her legs.

  Her hand clamped over his. ‘No, Trahern. I don’t want it. Not without you.’

  Her rejection burned through him, and he rolled over to face the opposite side of the chamber. In his mind, he remembered how it had felt to join their bodies together. It had been far more than consummating a marriage. It was a way of giving to her, and he’d loved watching the way her face would tighten with pleasure.

  But, God forgive him, he couldn’t let her bear a child. He wouldn’t cause her pain and suffering, not when it could be prevented.

  Somehow, he had to make her understand that.

  His brother King Patrick arrived late the following afternoon, despite the snow. Queen Isabel fretted over him, and Trahern asked to meet with him and all of the MacEgan brothers.

  ‘I need to speak with you and our brothers privately,’ he said to the king. ‘Along with Annle, if you can arrange it.’

  ‘I thought we’d finished with the Gall Tír matter,’ Patrick said. ‘Is something else wrong?’

  Although it wasn’t over, Trahern didn’t want to discuss Katla’s involvement. Patrick had done everything he could, and he preferred to handle the rest on his own. ‘That isn’t why I need to see all of you.’

  ‘Is it about Morren?’

  He shook his head. ‘Something else.’

  The mention of his wife made him uneasy, for she hadn’t spoken to him since last night. When he’d tried to make conversation, she’d answered his questions. But there was sadness in her voice, along with regret.

  ‘Within the hour,’ he said. ‘In your chamber.’

  As soon as he made the request, he felt a sense of emptiness. It was the right thing to do, telling them the truth about his birth mother. And yet he was afraid that Annle would be wrong, that his confession would change the way they saw him.

  As he waited, one by one, his brothers arrived. Connor, Ewan, Patrick and Bevan. Each one a warrior, like himself. Patrick, the King of their province, who would put everyone else’s needs before his own. Bevan, a stoic warrior, whose actions often said what words could not. Connor, a teasing man who had lost the use of one hand, but was no less a fighter. And Ewan, the youngest of them, who had struggled to find his own strength, but had proven his own worth time and again.

  They waited for him to speak, their silent glances trying to reassure him that whatever happened, they would stand together. As they always had.

  Annle was the last to arrive. Her wrinkled face was placid, for she knew why he had summoned her here.

  ‘Tell them,’ Trahern urged.

  The old healer sat down, resting her hands upon one knee. And after she’d finished her story, Trahern’s hands tightened into fists. It broke him apart, but the truth had to be spoken.

  ‘I’m not one of you,’ he said at last. ‘Not by blood. I may have been raised a MacEgan, but Duncan and Saraid were not my parents.’

  Patrick’s mouth tightened into a line. ‘You learned of this a few nights ago. And you said nothing until now.’ There was disapproval in his tone, laced with the authority of a king.

  Trahern eyed each one of them. ‘I could have remained silent about it. Unless Annle had spoken, you wouldn’t have known differently. But there has always been honesty between us. And trust.’

  Bevan looked as though he wanted to speak, but he closed his mouth again. The scars lining each of his cheeks tightened, and he glanced over at Ewan.

  ‘What do you want us to say?’ his youngest brother demanded. ‘Do you want us to cast you out? Pretend that all the years don’t matter?’

  ‘I don’t know what matters to you. All I know is that the life I knew was a lie. I believed that Saraid was my mother.’

  ‘She was,’ Annle interrupted. ‘In every way, she was. She loved you no differently from any of the others.’

  ‘She might have loved you a little more,’ Patrick said. He rubbed at his chin, and Trahern noticed the slight traces of grey in his brother’s hair. ‘Whenever you scraped a knee or got a bruise, she coddled you. There was more than one time that I wanted to drown you for it.’

  An unexpected laugh broke forth. ‘You tried.’

  ‘All of us tried to kill each other,’ Bevan added. ‘Have you forgotten when Liam convinced us that we could fly, if only we concentrated hard enough?’

  ‘I was seven,’ Trahern remembered. ‘It was Midsummer’s Eve, when I was home visiting from fostering.’ He’d been so glad to see his family again, he’d spent all day playing with his brothers.

  ‘We climbed the highest tree we could manage.’ A pang caught him, as he thought of the eldest MacEgan brother, Liam, who had died in battle years ago. ‘Liam told me to close my eyes and flap my arms as hard as I could.’

  Bevan grinned. ‘You realised he was lying when you hit the third branch. Da beat Liam senseless, and our mother fed him naught but gruel for a week after. I thought she wasn’t going to forgive him for it.’

  ‘I nearly didn’t forgive him.’ He couldn’t stop his smile, as he studied each of his brothers. ‘I broke my arm that summer.’

  Bevan smirked. ‘It was funny at the time, watching you flap your arms. Until you got hurt.’

  ‘I thought it was rather funny, too,’ Connor admitted with a chagrined look. ‘I was glad you jumped first, for I changed my mind about flying after I saw you fall.’

  Hundreds of stories and memories bound them together, Trahern realised. And through it all, was the unbreakable bond of brotherhood.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Trahern,’ Patrick said quietly. ‘Blood or not, you’ve been my brother, all my life. And always will be.’

  It was then that Annle slipped quietly from the room, a faint smile upon her mouth. She’d known. Keeping his birth a secret wasn’t meant to deceive others. His parents had known the truth, but it hadn’t mattered. Saraid had never once treated him any differently from the others. He’d believed he was a MacEgan, because he was raised as one.

  ‘I don’t know what to call myself any more,’ Trahern admitted. ‘MacEgan or Dalrata.’

  ‘You know the answer to that,’ Patrick said. ‘Do you believe we’d turn our back on you, after all these years?’

  ‘No.’ He understood then, that to take any other name was an insult to them. ‘You wouldn’t.’

  ‘Good. That’s settled.’ Ewan stood up and walked to the door. ‘There’s a good deal of snow on the ground. I’m thinking we should make use of it.’

  They left the chamber, and it was as if they were bo
ys again, planning to make fools of themselves in the snow. Before he could join them, Patrick stopped him. ‘Are you taking Morren back to her home, or will you remain here?’

  He sobered. ‘I have to go back with her. And after that, I don’t know.’

  The remnants of the disagreement he’d had with his wife hung over him. He couldn’t think about it now, not when he didn’t know what to do about her desire for a child.

  ‘You might want to spend time with the Dalratas over the winter,’ Patrick advised. ‘It may be wise to get acquainted with your other family.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Trahern started down the stairs. ‘But first, I think Ewan needs a lesson in humility.’

  The Queen was coming up the stairs with her maid and overheard their conversation. ‘You’re not planning to get my husband all wet with snow, are you?’

  ‘Him and the others, yes.’ Trahern shrugged at Isabel. ‘We’ll have a fight in the snow. And when I’ve finished, you can take the wet clothes off him.’

  A flush rose in Isabel’s cheeks. ‘Well, hurry up, then.’ She sent a seductive smile to her husband. ‘I’ll be waiting for you.’

  Patrick eyed her with his own wicked smile. ‘And when is the last time you played in the snow, a stór?’

  She gave a delighted laugh. ‘I’ll join you.’

  Morren stood in the shadows of the castle, watching the men throwing balls of snow at one another. The swirling storm was beautiful, and when she saw Trahern among his brothers, a wistful smile crossed over her face.

  ‘Come with us,’ came Aileen’s voice from behind her. The healer had bundled herself in a warm woollen gown, her brat wound over her head. ‘I’m planning to.’

  Honora and Isabel were already among the others, laughing and ducking when snow came their way.

  ‘I don’t know if he would want me to join them.’ After the way Trahern had turned from her, Morren couldn’t seem to let go of the hurt. He’d rejected her, and she hadn’t known she could feel so humiliated. Though he’d claimed it was because he didn’t want to risk her life, all she could think about was how empty it had felt, with him sleeping on the opposite side of the bed.

  ‘You’re his wife,’ Aileen countered. ‘Of course you should come.’ The dark-haired healer reached up and lifted Morren’s brat around her head and shoulders. ‘It will be fun.’

  ‘He’s angry with me right now,’ Morren confessed.

  ‘And how many times have Connor and I fought?’ Aileen retorted. ‘We’ve been married for five years now, and I can’t even name all the arguments we’ve had. He can be as pig-headed as the next man, believing he’s right. But you can convince him of your own way, sure enough.’

  Morren found herself following Aileen outside. ‘He’s afraid I’ll bear another child.’

  Aileen stopped walking. ‘Oh. So that’s it, then.’ She nodded towards them. ‘I won’t lie to you and say it wouldn’t be dangerous. But there’s always hope.’ The healer offered a warm smile. ‘And I think it would do you some good to release your anger in a good snow fight. Knock some sense into Trahern.’

  ‘I don’t think it would work.’ She eyed the men, who were covered in splattered snow.

  ‘If he’s denying you in bed, I’d say you have more than a few reasons to knock him about.’ Aileen reached down and formed a tight ball of snow. ‘You’re a woman. The best form of revenge is to drive him wild with wanting you.’

  ‘But I don’t know how.’ The very idea of trying to seduce Trahern, though it fascinated her, made her feel like an awkward girl of thirteen. Was she supposed to strip off her clothing? Throw herself at him?

  ‘Deny him,’ Aileen said. ‘Use your body to tell him that he can look, but he can’t touch. Believe me, it won’t take more than a few hours to convince him to be with you. MacEgan men are hot-blooded. I know that, well enough.’ She handed Morren the snow ball. ‘Go and teach him a lesson.’

  Morren sent Aileen a hopeful smile. ‘I just might.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A slushy shower of snow struck him on the back of the neck. Trahern spun, ready to fire his own packed ball. When he saw Morren standing behind him, he was taken aback.

  ‘Did you just—?’ His words were cut off when she hurled another ball at him, striking at his shoulder. ‘Now that was a mistake, Morren.’ He strode forward, hurling the ball at her shoulder. It exploded on impact, dousing her with wet snow.

  ‘I’m not a bit sorry for it.’ Her mouth curved upwards, and he realised that she was using the snow fight as a means of releasing her anger and frustration.

  When another snowball struck him, he whirled and saw Ewan was the guilty party. Before he could return the blow, Morren had struck Ewan across the face with another snowball.

  ‘Good shot,’ he murmured.

  She sent him a conspiratorial smile. As the fight continued with his brothers, Morren proved that her arm was as good as she’d boasted. Even when his brothers ran to try to avoid her, she managed to nick them with the snow.

  Gunnar joined them, and his Lochlannach brother proved to have as strong an aim as Morren. The three of them allied together against Connor, Aileen, Patrick and Isabel. Ewan and Honora kept switching sides.

  After nearly an hour, all of them were soaked, and freezing.

  ‘Lucky bastard,’ Gunnar muttered. ‘At least you’ve a woman to warm your bed tonight. I’ll be sleeping in the Great Chamber on the floor with nothing but the dogs.’

  Trahern knocked him on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, brother. If you kiss them sweetly, the right dog might snuggle up to you.’

  Gunnar swore at him in the Lochlannach tongue, but his meaning was more than clear.

  Morren started to walk up the stairs, but Trahern shadowed her. Though it seemed that she was less angry with him, he didn’t know what else to say to her. He tried to think up arguments that would make sense to her, rational ways of explaining why they should not be intimate with each other.

  But every last word fled his brain when he saw her stand on the far side of the room, removing her gown. She moved slowly, peeling off the damp wool and lifting it away. The léine underdress was next to go, baring her long legs and taut bottom.

  His mouth went dry when he saw her naked. She ran her hands through her long golden hair, squeezing water from the ends. And when she turned to face him, the damp locks framed her tight nipples.

  Sweet Jesu. Was she trying to kill him, then?

  Yes. Yes, she was. With slow, sure steps, she walked to wards the bed and got beneath the coverlet. Trahern gritted his teeth and removed his own wet clothing, laying it out to dry. His teeth chattered as he slid into the bed beside her. The raw need to touch, to be with Morren, coursed through him. His shaft was rigid with desire, his hands clenching the mattress.

  Abruptly, she turned to face him. Though she huddled beneath the coverlet, she offered a faint smile. ‘That was fun.’

  It had been, but he could think of more fun things they could be doing right now. He gave a nod. ‘It was.’

  ‘Patrick said it would be clear enough that we can leave tomorrow for Glen Omrigh.’

  ‘Yes.’ He could hardly trust himself to speak more than a word or two. It was tormenting him, knowing that her smooth naked skin was just inches away from his touch.

  ‘I’m a little cold,’ she said suddenly. Before he could say another word, she turned her back to him and nestled her bottom against his erection. She brought his arms around her, and his fingertips brushed against the curve of her breasts. ‘You don’t mind keeping me warm, do you?’

  He bit his tongue to keep from growling when she nudged her bottom higher, bringing his manhood against the seam of her legs. If she opened to him, it would be effortless to slide within her.

  ‘I know what you’re doing,’ he said. ‘It’s not going to work.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said. ‘You yourself said that there was nothing wrong with giving each other pleasure in other ways.’ H
er hand reached around, her fingers closing around his heated length.

  With one firm stroke, she took apart all the reasons for not touching her. He forced her to turn, and took her mouth. Her leg lifted around his hip, in wordless invitation. The kiss drowned out his protests, the warmth of her skin pushing away all thoughts of self-control.

  He needed her, this woman who had become such a part of his life. Tonight, when she’d thrown snowballs at him, he’d forgotten about their disagreements. He’d seen only the breathtaking woman, with the infectious smile. The woman who meant everything to him. The woman he loved.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Morren whispered, breaking the kiss. ‘I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.’ She reached down to touch him again, and he couldn’t stop the groan that escaped him. ‘If you’d rather just…touch each other, I suppose that’s all right.’ Her mouth moved to his throat, kissing the skin while her hand moved in rhythm upon his erection.

  Though the pleasure coursing through him was undeniable, he wanted her to feel the same. He reached around to the hooded fold of her womanhood, stoking the fire of her own release. Her breathing grew heavier, and her hand moved faster upon him. Trahern shuddered, and when she suddenly arched against him, her body breaking free with racking tremors, his own seed came spurting forth.

  He held her afterwards, his heart pounding. She was right. It wasn’t the same at all.

  The uncertainty and feeling of loneliness overshadowed the satisfying release. There was something more fulfilling about being inside her, feeling her legs tangled up in his.

  But God help him, how could he risk her life? He couldn’t, plain and simple. To join with her was a selfish act, and he refused to endanger her in any way.

  No matter how much he wanted her.

  It took over a fortnight to reach Glen Omrigh. Storms and the winter cold made travelling nearly impossible, and they’d had to stop numerous times with neighbouring clans.

  Morren had braved the journey as best she could, but in the past few days, she’d worried about Jilleen to the point where the mere thought of home made her physically nauseous. Her stomach lurched, and she picked at her food, terrified of what could have happened to her sister.