‘Our daughter is stubborn,’ Póla replied, her gaze focusing in the distance. ‘She may ask Connor to leave.’
‘Then we will find a way to keep them together.’ And Graeme Ó Duinne sealed the promise with a kiss.
Chapter 6
‘You are Connor MacEgan,’ a young boy said, and beckoned for Connor to come closer. The child sat outside one of the cottages, picking weeds from a small garden.
With cinnamon hair and deep green eyes, a ready smile creased the boy’s face. His young arms had a light tan from the sunlight and strong muscles that had seen a great deal of use. From the waist up, he was no different from any other boy. But his right leg was gone, leaving only a stump above his knee.
‘What is your name?’ Connor asked, keeping his gaze away from the boy’s missing leg.
‘My name is Whelon Ó Duinne. And you are one of the great warriors.’ The child’s face lit up with eagerness.
Connor held up his bandaged hands, feeling uneasy beneath Whelon’s excitement. ‘I was once.’
‘Can you train me?’
Connor avoided the answer he did not wish to give. ‘Why do you want to be a soldier?’
‘To fight the Norman enemy, of course.’
‘Not every Norman is an enemy,’ Connor said, thinking of his brothers’ wives, Genevieve and Isabel. ‘Many are men and women like us.’
‘Then I would only fight the wicked men.’ The boy flexed his muscles, and Connor hid a smile.
‘There will be time enough for that later,’ he said, evading the issue.
Whelon’s face strained, and he shook his head. ‘I must begin now. It takes me longer than the other boys to learn a skill. If I am to be a warrior, I have no choice.’
The intensity of the boy’s vow made it clear that Whelon would not be dissuaded.
‘You did not answer my question,’ Whelon remarked. ‘Will you train me?’
‘That is the task of youraite,’ Connor answered.
‘My foster-father does not believe I will ever fight.’ Whelon’s face darkened. ‘He believes that without my leg, I can do nothing.’ Small hands tightened into fists. ‘I shall prove him wrong. Aileen has said so.’
Connor cleared his throat, disliking the direction of the boy’s thoughts. Without a limb, a man was useless on the battlefield. No one would rely upon him. If he had no men at his side, no one to help defend him, he might as well bare his chest before the enemy’s blade.
‘Were I you, I would choose another path.’ Though he tried to keep kindness in his voice, Connor saw the hurt upon the child’s face. He turned away, walking toward the meadow.
Why had Aileen given the child false hopes? She knew nothing of fighting, nor the ways of a soldier. A warrior had to remain dispassionate when he sank his blade into a man’s heart. A single misstep, a fraction of hesitation, brought death. Connor knew, for he had felt the razor’s edge of a sword cutting into his own skin. The scars remained. And if this young lad tried to become a soldier, he would die.
Connor passed through the open meadow, moving toward the forest. Whelon’s request reminded him that he had allowed his body to grow soft in the weeks he’d spent with Aileen.
The need to train, to stretch his limbs and regain his strength, burgeoned within him. He started to run, his weakened legs flexing with the effort. There were ways he could maintain his physical abilities, even before he could hold a sword. He increased the pace, running toward the secluded forest grove.
Deep in the shadowed trees, he found an area where the trees did not grow close together. He took a moment to calm his breathing, then he extended his arm as though he held a sword. Across the ground he moved, visualising the slashes in his mind, lunging with an imaginary weapon he could not grasp. Over and over he went through the familiar motions, until his body reacted through instinct and his mind drifted.
Sweat dripped from his brow, his legs burning as he feinted right, then left. He could not let the injury defeat him. If it meant compensating with his legs, so be it. In time, he would use the sword Trahern had loaned him.
Thoughts of Whelon invaded his concentration. The child had his own form of compensation for his leg. Whelon’s sculpted arms revealed a great deal of strength, far beyond that of an ordinary lad. Could he not learn to fight? His memory shifted to warriors he’d known, men who had lost limbs and returned to battle.
But then, these were seasoned men, accustomed to pain and loss. They knew the risks and could adapt. Whelon was only a child. He could not train in the same manner as one who had known fighting all his life.
Even as Connor’s feet moved with the swiftness of experience, the aching of unused muscles crept forth. At long last, he sank to the ground to rest, his lungs constricted.
Connor stared at the bandaged splints. They hid his injuries, and though at times the skin itched, he rarely felt the aching pain any more. Although Aileen had promised to remove the bandages soon, the urge overcame him to see how his hands had healed.
