Connor ignored the taunt. He refused to think of Aileen allowing Riordan to share her bed, or worse, wedding the man. Riordan’s attack had spurred something primitive within him. Aileen evoked his raw need to protect.
In the hour that passed, Connor’s thoughts grew heated. He imagined removing the gown from her shoulders, sliding the wool across her bared skin. Would her breasts pucker in the cool night air? Would her breath shatter when he touched her? Or would she allow him to touch her at all?
As a group of actors performed a play, he found her among the audience. She laughed at a humourous part of the story.
‘Aileen,’ he said in a low voice.
Her face turned toward him, but she did not smile.
‘I am returning to the cottage.’ Hunkering down, he reached out to take her hand. ‘If you’ve time later, I need you to tend one of my wounds.’
Her brow crinkled with confusion. ‘What do you mean? I thought—’
‘Someone punched me in the shoulder tonight.’ He fingered the spot where her fist had connected with the hardened muscle. ‘I believe there might be a bruise.’ He teased her, the corner of his mouth twitching with a laugh. ‘I’ll wait for you.’
‘You’ll be waiting quite a long time,’ she rebuked. Even so, he caught the flash of interest in her eyes.
For Aileen Ó Duinne, he decided the wait would be worth it.
‘Aileen.’ A child’s hand tugged at her skirts. She turned and saw a young girl’s worried face. Zaira, Aileen remembered, one of her cousin Bridget’s foster-children.
‘What is it? Is someone hurt?’
‘No, it is Bridget. She does not look well.’
‘Is it time for the babe to be born? Her time is near.’
Zaira shook her head. ‘I do not know. But I fear for her.’
‘Where is she?’
‘Near the women’s tents. She spent all day at the women’s council, and now she is with the storytellers.’
Aileen walked with the young girl toward the assembly of women. Children played in front of the tents while another boy fed a dog scraps from the feast.
She wondered if anyone had thought to summon Illona, the new healer. Even the thought deepened her resentment. She had delivered babes for tribeswomen over the past few seasons. She needed no one’s help for that.
But the quiet memory of the chieftain’s two children invaded. She had held the tiny bodies in her hands, weeping over the loss of Seamus’s twin sons. Though she had done all she could, the boys had not lived more than a few days.
And what if there was a problem with Bridget’s child? It was not right to shoulder the responsibility alone. Though she hated the thought of another woman interfering, the compulsion to protect the newborn infant was stronger.
Zaira gripped Aileen’s hand to pull her forward. When they entered the tent, Aileen searched until she saw her cousin.
Bridget held a hand to her swollen belly, and tell-tale signs of tension creased her eyes. Aileen watched closely until she was certain. Bridget looked to be having pains, despite her storytelling.
When the story was over, Aileen stepped past the young children and took Bridget’s arm. ‘When did they start?’
‘A few hours ago. It may be some time yet before the babe is born. Have you sent for Illona?’
‘Not yet.’ Aileen turned her attention back to the young girl Zaira. ‘Can you find Illona and send her back to us?’
‘I don’t know where she is.’
‘Then ask. Tell her she is needed to help with the delivery.’
Bridget gripped Zaira’s arm. ‘I want to birth this child in my own hut. Not here. Tell Illona to meet us there.’
‘There may not be time,’ Aileen protested. ‘We should—’
