Ewan’s attention centred on his hands. ‘What did they do to you?’
Connor held up his bandaged hands, trying to make light of it. ‘They’re broken, but the rest of me is whole. A few nicks with a dagger, a bash upon the head. That is all.’
‘Did they break your hands or crush them?’ Trahern asked quietly. Connor sensed the edge in his question.
‘Broken or crushed, what does it matter?’ he asked, keeping his tone hopeful. But he met his brother’s grave expression, acknowledging the possibility. They would not speak of it in front of Ewan.
‘How long must you wear the bandages?’ Ewan asked.
‘Another moon, perhaps two.’
Ewan uncurled his own palms, white scars lining the edges. Four years ago, the boy had faced an enemy Norman knight who tortured him for information, carving his dagger into Ewan’s palms. Only a miracle had saved the lad’s hands, for though the cuts were deep, no tendons had been severed.
A pity there was no such miracle for himself, Connor thought.
‘They’ve healed well,’ Connor acknowledged, offering a friendly smile to Ewan. ‘But I’d rather hear of your travels to England,’ he said. ‘You studied swordplay with Genevieve’s father, didn’t you?’
‘I did.’ At the mention of his travels, Ewan hurried into a story about his training. His sister-in-law Genevieve had offered Ewan the opportunity to study with a master swordsman. Ewan had eagerly accepted the invitation, but Connor had his doubts as to whether the boy had improved. His brother’s fighting skills had never been strong. Now, he himself might face the same ridicule.
While Ewan chattered, Trahern caught Connor’s glance. In a lowered voice he asked, ‘What will you do?’
The question was one he had expected. Trahern was not asking about his immediate plans, but rather, what Connor would do if he could never fight again.
‘I do not know.’
‘There are other ways to fight,’ Trahern suggested, ‘ways where a man does not need a sword.’
‘That may be.’ But he had spent years training to gain the skills he possessed. He refused to consider giving it up, not when there was a slight chance of recovery. ‘But you need not have come. I’ll return to Laochre when I have healed.’ The familiar towers of his brother’s fortress had been his home until he’d gone to serve the Ó Banníon chieftain.
‘Is there another reason you wish to stay?’ Trahern asked.
Connor flashed him an easy grin, letting his brother believe what he wanted. ‘There might be. But I’ll have to convince her.’
Ewan’s mouth dropped open. ‘You?There’s a woman in Éireann who has refused you?’
He began to laugh, and Connor wished he could box the boy’s ear. Instead he growled, ‘There is, yes.’
‘You should return to Laochre, brother. It is where you belong,’ Trahern advised.
Would that he could. He had spent a full year away from his family, and he longed to see the familiarrath. And yet, he didn’t want to return as a broken man. ‘Later, perhaps. But in the meantime, I’ll be staying here.’
Before they reached Aileen’s cottage, Connor turned serious. ‘The Ó Banníons took my sword from me. I’ll be needing another.’
Without question, Trahern unstrapped his sword and fastened the scabbard around Connor’s waist. Then he offered a bag of silver pieces. ‘You may need these as well. I’ll put them among your things inside the hut.’
‘I’ll take care of the horses,’ Ewan offered.
‘The gelding will stay with you until you are ready to return,’ Trahern said.
No one could fault the open generosity of his older brother. Whenever there was need, Trahern provided without question. Saint Trahern, his brother was. But Connor did not resent him. Trahern was a good man, and he had earned the respect of others.
Ewan opened the door, and Connor invited his brothers inside the hut. The sumptuous aroma of mutton stew filled the air. Aileen offered a warm smile. Her face glowed from the fire, her hair escaping its braid once more. The russet overdress and cream-colouredléineshe wore accentuated her slight figure and the curve of her breast. At the sight of her, Connor realised that he did find Aileen pleasing to the eye, though her tongue was sharper than he’d have liked.
‘It’s welcome you are,’ she greeted them. ‘I am Aileen Ó Duinne.’
Connor introduced Trahern and Ewan. His younger brother blushed and grinned with appreciation when Aileen offered them a cup of mead. ‘Please, sit and rest.’
They removed their shoes and Aileen offered basins of water for them to bathe their feet. Afterwards, they sat upon the floor, a small low table between them.
