‘The women,’ he began. ‘I know they wish to visit me—’
‘You mean they wish to offer themselves to you upon a platter.’
A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, but he did not respond to her jibe. ‘Could you keep them away, at least until my wounds have healed?’
‘Do you not wish them to feed you sweetmeats with their lips? Or rub your shoulders?’
He didn’t like her mockery. ‘I do not require such. But should you wish to do so, I’d not complain.’
Aileen let out a huff and turned to leave. ‘That will never happen, MacEgan.’
He hid his smile as the door closed behind her. It was no secret he liked women. He enjoyed their company, their softness. His brothers had oft times teased him that a woman could murder him and he’d thank her for it. He’d been blessed with the ability to charm most women into whatever he wanted.
He saw no harm in it, as most wanted to flirt. Sometimes he took advantage of a night in a willingcailín’s arms, but more often he slept alone. With little land to speak of, a marriage to him was not attractive to the noblewomen of his tribe. They wanted a bold Irish warrior in their beds, but not in their homes.
He refused to allow a woman to use him in such a way.
In his mind, he imagined a fortress of his own, a stonerathspanning a hillside across lands rich with grain. A son who would drag a wooden sword across the training field, struggling to follow in his footsteps. A wife, welcoming him into her bed when darkness fell.
Despite his damaged hands, he would not let the Ó Banníons destroy him.
The next morn, Connor awakened with less pain. He eased himself to a seated position and then stood up. Though his limbs were stiff, walking caused him no pain. With slow steps, he eased towards the sunlight. He squinted at the light and saw a smaller thatched hut. Aileen’s dwelling, he realised.
Standing before the hide-covered door, he tapped it lightly with his foot. Silence. When he entered the dim hut, no one was inside. For a moment he stood at the threshold, studying the interior.
Though he could cross the length of the hut in four strides, Aileen had everything organised. Her herbs hung to dry on one end, while other vials contained potions and other healing salves. A small trunk held her personal belongings, and during the day her pallet was stored in another part of the room.
Upon the hearth he saw a cauldron of bubbling oat pottage. He winced, wishing for anything but the pasty gruel. Perhaps her cooking was his penance for previous sins.
The door opened slightly, interrupting his thoughts. He saw Riordan, and vaguely he recalled Aileen saying that the man had helped bring him back.
‘MacEgan,’ Riordan said in acknowledgement. Though his words offered a polite greeting, Connor knew Riordan held no friendship towards him. As lads growing up, Riordan had been overprotective of his sister Lianna. He had never approved of Connor and made no secret of his animosity. ‘Where is Aileen?’
‘She is not here,’ Connor said, not wanting to prolong the visit. He kept his bandaged hands hidden behind his back, meeting Riordan’s gaze evenly.
‘I came to see you. Your brothers have been sighted and should be here within an hour.’ The fact pleased Riordan from the thin smile upon the man’s face.
Connor showed no reaction to the news. Instead, he took a step forward, openly challenging Riordan. ‘I do not intend to go back with them,’ he said. ‘I am remaining here until my hands have healed.’
‘Aileen does not want you here.’
‘We have an arrangement. It does not concern you.’
Riordan’s fist balled up, and Connor kept his eyes trained upon the man, showing no fear. He didn’t trust him. The invisible lines of confrontation were drawn.
‘Always arrogant, you were, Connor. I have offered to wed her. As her future husband and provider, I demand that you leave.’
‘Has she accepted your offer, then?’
‘It is too soon.’
Connor hid his satisfaction. Aileen deserved better than a hot-headed man such as Riordan. ‘So you say.’
The man’s jealousy darkened. ‘Stay away from Aileen.’
Wounded or not, Connor had no intention of letting the man intimidate him. He held his ground, meeting the open threat with an even expression. Riordan’s temper held by the thinnest strands of self-control, his fists curling up.
The door swung open, and Aileen entered, carrying her basket. It brimmed over with handfuls of fresh clover and lavender.
