She lifted his tunic away, grazing his skin with her thumbs. Battle scars marred his torso, and he inhaled when she traced her fingers down his chest. The touch of her hands inflamed him.
Aileen stepped out of the basin, and Connor knelt to dry her feet. Though he struggled to control his hands, he could not caress her beautiful long legs in the manner he wanted to. Instead, he used his mouth to kiss a path up her shapely calves, up to the smooth skin of her thighs. She trembled at his touch. Though she was a widow and a mother, she reminded him of a young maiden with her shyness.
Truth be told, she reminded him of the first time he’d made love to a woman. On the night of Bealtaine, he had touched breasts as soft and firm as these.
‘Is it true,’ he murmured, ‘that you were in love with me once?’
A startled look crossed her face. ‘No.’
‘Not even a little?’
‘Not even that much,’ she said.
‘You’re hurting my feelings, Aileen Ó Duinne,’ he teased, kissing the curve of her breast.
‘You have no feelings, Connor MacEgan. Any woman is good enough for you,’ she teased. Her voice sounded brittle, and he drew back to look at her.
‘Not just any woman.’ He didn’t like the way she made him sound. He might flirt with women, but he didn’t tumble them. Others teased him, but he’d never before cared about what they said.
This woman made him care. It bothered him that she saw him like this. Weakened, like a broken fragment of a man. She had bathed him, fed him, as though he were a little child. He’d rather die than cower behind her skirts, facing his enemy’s sword.
The next time he saw Aileen Ó Duinne, she would see the warrior he’d always been. But for this moment, he wanted to show her just how much he craved the taste of her.
He took possession of her mouth, his kiss more demanding. He captured her nape with the curve of his arm and the sweet scent of crushed rosemary emanated from her hair.
He had to know, from her own lips, that she desired him. He needed to touch her, to watch her body rise with pleasure.
But instead of opening her arms to him, she shivered. Gone was the pleasure he’d kindled in her eyes. In its place, he saw wariness.
‘What do you fear?’ A dark suspicion rained down upon him. ‘Did Eachan ever harm you?’
‘No, never.’ She pulled the sleeves of herléineover her shoulders. With her body covered, she swiped at the tears. ‘But I cannot lie with you. Nothing has changed.’
‘I don’t understand. Tell me.’ In her eyes, a deep sadness lurked. Her pain did not extinguish his need, but he refused to let the matter go. ‘Why is it wrong? We hurt no one by enjoying each other.’
‘It would hurt me.’ She swiped at her cheeks and turned away. ‘I can’t be with you, Connor. I thought I could let go of the past, but I can’t.’
Before he could summon a reply, she opened the door to her hut. The night air breezed inside, causing the hearth to flicker. ‘I need you to leave.’
He didn’t argue. After collecting his tunic, he strode outside. Her words had slashed his pride, and he found it difficult to look at her. It was the first time a woman had turned him away.
It bothered him more than he’d thought it would. Somehow she had placed him in the same regard as Riordan. He didn’t like it, not at all. But why?
Had he repulsed her with his hands? He stared at the deformity that had once been his right hand. The bruising had faded, but the bones would ever remain twisted. He struggled to make a fist, but the fingers would not line up straight. The motion burned, straining tendons and flesh into a position that was no longer natural.
Of course she would look upon him with disgust. How could she tolerate making love to a man who could not touch her? It stung in a way he didn’t want to admit. Losing his ability to fight was one matter. But losing the desire of a woman was another.
Fumbling with the ties of his tunic, he slipped the garment over his head. He didn’t bother trying to fix the laces. It wouldn’t do any good.
Poised at the entrance to the sick hut, he waited. His hands pressed against the hard stone while the familiar scent of thatch mingled with the night air. Had he imagined her response to him?
She had kissed him, allowed him to remove herléine. For long moments she’d endured his touch before at last the tears escaped. He felt a fierce need to assuage her pain, to drive out the demons of her past.
The question was, had he become a demon himself? Was he now a man no woman would want?
Aileen sank before the hearth, the tears flowing freely down her cheeks. He didn’t understand, couldn’t know the vicious aching inside her.
She did want him. More than anything else, she had wanted to welcome Connor into her arms. But what had that gained her the last time, save a broken heart? And a child.
