‘Visitors?’
‘Seamus’s daughters.’ Aileen grimaced. Though the women were friendly enough to her face, she knew exactly why they were here—to coax Connor to the chieftain’s home. This was Riona’s doing. She wondered why Connor’s foster-mother hadn’t come herself. But then, Riona hated her and made no secret about it.
‘What do they want?’
‘To worship at your feet, I would guess. Their arms are filled with cakes, flowers and tokens.’
‘Really?’ A hint of interest darkened his eyes, and he suddenly stared at her with a look that made her knees go wobbly. He’d seen her reaction, and his voice grew deeper. ‘And am I the object of your worship as well?’
‘No,’ she snapped. ‘You most definitely are not.’
Humour creased his eyes. ‘I suppose not. You might soil your gown should you get down upon your knees to worship at my feet.’ Connor leaned back upon his pallet, adding wickedly, ‘Now, if you removed your gown, it wouldn’t be such a problem, would it?’
‘The only thing I will remove is your head, should you continue speaking such nonsense.’
A pounding noise sounded upon the door, and the women’s voices called out greetings. Connor propped himself up on the pallet, while Aileen went to answer the door.
In an instant, the door to the sick hut opened. A pair of women descended upon him like vultures.
‘Oh, Connor, it’s been years since we’ve seen you!’
‘What happened to your hands? Do they hurt?’
‘Your pillow needs adjusting. Here, let me fix it.’
Both were pretty, smelling of fresh spring flowers. He tensed, suddenly realising that Seamus’s daughters were on a quest of their own. He had become their target, a potential husband.
Connor pretended to enjoy their attentions, but, in truth, he watched Aileen slip into the background. She wasn’t as fair as the other women, but her face held his interest.
One of the women offered him a succulent meat pasty. What was her name? He couldn’t remember since she’d been fostered elsewhere. The fair-haired woman slid her fingertip into his lips while she fed it to him. The rich juicy mutton tasted far better than the bland pottage Aileen had served him this morn.
He kissed her fingertip, and she giggled. Aileen rolled her eyes with exasperation. Interesting.
She behaved like a jealous wife. Why should she care? Yet Aileen looked as if she’d rather chase the women from the room with a club than allow them to visit.
The day had suddenly grown more entertaining. Connor cared little for the flirtation of the women; not that he would have acted upon their interest even if he could engage in bed sport. But Aileen’s reaction intrigued him.
The women wore colourful gowns of scarlet and green, while Aileen’s overdress and léine were a serviceable brown. He’d noticed that she rarely wore an overdress that would draw attention to her. Faded wisps of memory made him recall Aileen’s shyness as a young girl, waiting to be noticed by anyone. Browns, greys and the colours of the peasantry were all she donned. She had the right to wear richer colours, from her status as a healer.
In their hair, the women wore golden balls. Bracelets adorned their arms while long earrings hung from their earlobes. Aileen wore no jewellery that he could see, save a simple ring upon her finger.
The one feature that set her apart was her clear, beautiful skin. Not a blemish or wrinkle marred the delicate pale complexion. It made her eyes stand out. He couldn’t quite tell what colour they were. Sometimes grey, sometimes green, depending upon the light. The rigid, intricate braid kept the dark brown curls at bay. He imagined the thick length of her hair surrounding her hips.
A startled smile crept across his face at the thought of Aileen sharing his bed. The earth would burn into ashes before such a thing would happen.
One of the women mistook his smile as an invitation. ‘Have you taken a woman to wife yet, Connor?’ she teased.
He thought her name might be Grainne or Glenna, but he didn’t remember. ‘Not yet, Glenna.’
‘Grania,’ she corrected, smiling broadly. ‘Were there no women to your liking?’
‘There were too many,’ he bantered. ‘I could not take all of them to wife.’
The women laughed, but he noticed the distaste upon Aileen’s face.
Grania emitted a sigh. ‘Oh, Aileen, I nearly forgot.’ Her face became a mask of innocence. ‘My father is on his way here. You are to bring Connor to our dwelling this night.’
‘He is not well enough to walk yet,’ she argued.
