Aileen closed her eyes, trying to block out the boy’s screams from her memory. The men had held him down, and with every move of the blade, it was as though she were cutting her own limb off. By the gods, never did she want to perform such a task again.
‘Whelon wishes to become a soldier,’ Connor revealed. ‘He asked me to train him.’
A fragile smile touched her mouth at the thought of strong-willed Whelon. ‘That has been his dream for a long time.’
‘You should not encourage him,’ Connor warned. He held his hands toward her. Only a thin edge caged his fury.
Aileen set down her knife and faced him. ‘There is always hope.’
‘No. Not for him. And not for me.’
‘Your hands are not as bad as you believe. Broken bones require time to heal.’
‘I won’t become a burden upon my family.’ There was anger and despondency in his voice, though he attempted to keep his tone neutral. ‘Or to you.’
‘You are not a burden.’ She reached out and took his forearms in her palms. ‘If you have needs, ask and I will do what I can to help you.’ But already she could see the resignation upon his face. If he gave up on himself, never would his wounds heal. A grain of despair filled her at the thought.
Connor moved closer until it became impossible to concentrate on the vegetables. She laid down the knife, wondering what he wanted.
Icy grey eyes bore into her. His newly bandaged hands rested on the surface of the table. ‘I do have needs, Aileen. But not ones you can fulfil.’
The accusation in his deep voice was meant to intimidate her. Instead, the rich sound seduced her, making her notice every detail of his handsome face. His mouth tempted her, firm and yet soft. He wore his dark gold hair pulled back with a leather thong, but there were no war braids plaited at his temples. More Viking than Irish, she’d always thought. A small scar rested at the base of his chin, where beard stubble could not grow.
‘If you do not ask for my help, I cannot know what your needs are,’ she said gently. ‘There is no shame in asking.’
He looked away and she saw the pride in his stance. He would not ask, she realised.
‘Why would you try to convince a crippled child that he could be a soldier? Or tell a man with broken hands that one day he will fight again?’
‘I have faith,’ she argued. ‘My healing herbs can do much to help others. And yet there are still miracles I cannot explain.’
Aileen lifted his damaged hands into her own palms. ‘I have held a child born two moons too early in the palm of my hand. He should have died. Instead he grew up to be Lorcan, the boy who found you in the fields.’
Gently she touched the bandages, as if her skin’s warmth could provoke healing. ‘I have seen men live from battle wounds that should have killed them instantly. I believe in a greater power than my own.’
‘Pagan gods?’
She read the doubt upon his face. ‘Both the gods of our ancestors and the Christian God have given hope to many. I’ll not grow into a bitter old woman by crushing the hopes of those I heal.’
‘And what are your hopes, sensible Aileen? Wealth beyond your dreams? Marriage to a king?’
She braved a laugh. ‘I am not that foolish.’
‘What do you want, then?’
‘I want to be a healer again,’ she said. ‘I want them to stop blaming me for what happened.’
‘And what did happen? Why won’t Seamus allow you to heal?’
Her own grief of loss smothered her. She lifted her eyes to his. ‘Whelon is Seamus’s son.’
‘I thought he only had daughters.’ Connor frowned. ‘I suppose he was born after I left?’
She nodded. ‘Whelon was one of his favourites. It has been two years since I removed his leg.’ She expelled a hurt laugh. ‘Seamus blames me for the poison.’
He moved to stand beside her. The remark gave her comfort for it meant he did not side with Seamus. ‘Is that why he does not permit you to treat anyone else?’
She shook her head. ‘It was not until three moons ago that he forbade me to touch another tribe member. His wife Riona bore him twin infant sons. But it was too soon for them to be born.’ Aileen didn’t try to hide the tears that slid down her cheeks. ‘They died a few days later. Seamus believes it was my fault.’
