Her cheeks were crimson, but she accepted the bucket. Shaking her head, she tightened her lips into a thin line. ‘I tell you, it does not matter.’
The resignation on her face kept him from asking again. Instead, Connor walked beside her while she finished the remainder of her morning chores.
‘Mass will begin soon, along with the opening ceremonies. We must make haste.’ Aileen opened the door to the hut, holding it out to him while she gathered herbrat. She wrapped the warm shawl around her head, crossing it over her shoulders. Connor donned his own mantle, raising it to shield himself from the soft morning rain that had begun to fall.
Aileen handed him a basket, which he accepted, hooking it over his forearm. She had laboured for most of the night and morning preparing honey cakes for theaenach. Connor lifted the corner of the cloth, his mouth watering at the sight. Fragrant steam rose from the basket, of warm pastry and sweet honey.
‘Do not think of stealing one,’ Aileen warned. ‘Unless you wish to have your hands broken once more.’ A note of teasing underscored her remark. Connor preferred it to the wounded look he’d caused. He’d rather see her smile.
‘Am I not a guest in your home?’
‘A burden, more like. For the past few moons I’ve done nothing but wait upon you hand and foot. Feeding you, tending your wounds—’
‘Bathing me.’ He could not resist needling her with the reminder of that night. As soon as he spoke of it, Aileen whirled upon him.
‘What is it you’re about, Connor MacEgan? Are you wanting to take me into your bed?’
She stared hard at him, eyes blazing. Her full lips were reddened, her dark hair contrasting against her pale skin. As soon as the words left her mouth, his body responded. He would not mind taking her into his bed. To feel her soft skin bare against his own, to taste her mouth.
‘And if I said I would?’ He acted upon his desires, kissing her the way he’d been wanting to. Her lush, full lips played against his own, and he moved his hands over the swell of her hips. Even as his body responded, a voice inside warned that he was opening a door he should not. She was the woman who had seen him at his weakest moments. He had chosen to stay with her because she would not entangle him the way other women would.
Aileen trembled in his arms, her kiss tentative and sweet. He tasted the rain against her lips and moved his mouth to her ear. She inhaled sharply. Her palms covered his chest, her thumbs stroking the ridged muscles. The simplicity of the gesture made his body tighten.
Belenus, he wanted her. And though it might be wrong, he sensed that she needed him, too. They could enjoy each other, could they not? He drew back, watching the clouded desire in her eyes. ‘What must I do to earn your trust?’
‘I will not share your bed, Connor MacEgan. I’ve more sense than that.’ She gave him a strong push, and he backed away. Frustration punctuated her stride, and he forced himself to cool his ardour. She was afraid of him. Or possibly her own feelings. He needed to lighten her mood.
‘Set your mind at ease, Aileen. I’ve no plans to seduce you here upon the morning grass.’
She shot him a suspicious look. ‘I would not put it past you.’
‘The dew does tend to make your clothing rather wet,’ he teased. ‘Most uncomfortable.’
She released an exasperated ‘Humph.’
With feigned seriousness, he asked, ‘Where would you prefer that I take you?’
This time, she understood his jest. Pausing in her walk, she tilted her head to one side. ‘Upon a pallet. A soft one with sheets made of woven silk.’
‘Have you never made love outside, then?’ From the way her skin flushed, he guessed not.
‘Have you?’
He only smiled. ‘Should you desire it, you’ve only to ask it of me.’
‘That day will never come, Connor MacEgan. You may find yourself another woman to seduce this eve.’
Strangely, he did not want another woman. He’d rather steal this woman away during the moonlit hours. Men and women of the tribe frequently paired off on nights such as this one, to make love beneath the stars. It harkened back to their pagan forefathers. But Aileen refused to lie with him. Was it because she was afraid? Or did he repulse her? He glanced down at his misshapen hands before hiding them in a fold of his mantle. Stiffening his shoulders, he followed her and wondered what her refusal had truly meant.
When they reached the fairgrounds, Aileen separated from his side to join the women in setting up the vast array of food. Several men had slaughtered both swine and cattle alike, while others worked to dig a roasting pit. The mingled scent of blood and smoke pooled in the air while the men and women worked to clean the meat. The rain had stopped, but the sun hid behind grey clouds.
Twelve large tents stood to provide shelter and a space for gathering. In the distance he saw groups of children seated at the feet of a poet, listening to stories. The light sound of pipes and harp music joined with the throng of voices.
Familiar faces surrounded Connor, wishing him good morn, voices bidding him welcome. But one man cast him a look akin to murder. Riordan approached with a driven purpose upon his countenance.
‘MacEgan,’ he said by way of greeting.
‘Riordan.’ Being of a taller stature, Connor possessed the advantage of height. Riordan did not take well to being looked down upon.
