Seamus frowned, but did not voice an opinion. He walked alongside him to the door. ‘What will you do if Flynn Ó Banníon comes to theaenach?’
‘Thebrehonscan pass whatever judgement they wish in the courts.’ A dark smile tilted at his mouth. ‘My own form of justice shall come later.’
‘Are you ready?’ Aileen asked. The days had passed, and it was now time to remove Connor’s bandages.
He held his hands out to her, and Aileen unwound the bandages slowly. Upon his face, she read the doubts. One by one, she eased the splints free. At last, she revealed his hands.
Although the skin still held a waxen grey colour, the fingers of his left hand were aligned. She bent each knuckle to check the movement. ‘Does it hurt?’ she asked.
‘They are stiff.’
She curved his hand into a fist, brightening when she saw that the fingers lay parallel to one another, just as they should.
The right hand looked far worse. The fingers were not of the correct length, and she knew it was due to the massive crushing of the fingers.
Connor attempted to flex his wrists. The left hand moved freely, while the right wrist moved only a little. ‘It will improve in time,’ she reassured him.
Beneath his expression she saw a grim fury. ‘How long?’
She shook her head. ‘That, I cannot know. It depends on many things.’
He moved his fingers, struggling to push them back into their former flexibility. The right hand had little motion, and his frustration worsened.
‘I cannot fight like this.’ He reached for a wooden cup, his fingers refusing to curl around the vessel. ‘I’d not be able to hold a sword, much less wield it.’
‘As I’ve told you, it will take time.’
‘I do not have time, Aileen. Nearly two moons of my life I’ve wasted while Flynn Ó Banníon grows fat and content.’
‘You cannot think to fight him.’
‘I intend to sink my sword into his heart for what he has done.’
‘And when you do, you believe you will win? You haven’t the strength for such a fight.’
‘Then that is your fault.’
‘Mine?’ She could not believe he dared to accuse her. ‘I was not the one to harm you. I saved your hands.’
‘If you had more experience as a healer, perhaps I’d be able to hold a sword again.’
‘More experience?’ His arrogance infuriated her. Kyna had trained her in healing since she was a young girl. She remained confident in her skills, no matter what the villagers claimed. And this warrior dared question her? ‘Any other healer would have cut your hands off. You would have bled to death.’
‘I’d have been better off dead than to live like this.’ He strode outside, shoving the door open. The wood crashed behind him, rocking against the door frame.
Aileen’s anger made her tremble. She picked up the wooden drinking cup and hurled it at the wall. The satisfying thunk made her wish she could have struck his head. Connor had no idea how badly he’d been wounded.
Her wrath increased as she picked up the bandages and splints, casting them into the fire. As the flames took hold and burned, she tore a length of cloth into strips for bandages. The act of destruction gave her a means to release her anger.
Connor was an impatient man. He could not understand what he’d been given. All he could see was his loss.
The twisted fingers of his right hand would for ever remind him of his deformity. He could not see past it. His vanity would not allow it.
Tears stung her eyes. Somehow, she had believed there was more to Connor MacEgan than a handsome warrior. It seemed she was wrong.
Chapter 8
Connor returned to the forest grove, the afternoon sun warm upon his face. He reached down and lifted a thick fallen branch with his left hand. With effort, he managed to hold it, though his wrist ached. He rotated his wrist in slow motions, gritting his teeth against the pain.
