‘There were two of them,’ she argued. ‘You were outnumbered.’
He expelled a sigh. ‘Half a season ago, they would both be lying on the grass, their life blood spent. It would have taken me only seconds to run my blade through their hearts. They would never have touched you.’
‘I don’t believe it.’
He raised his injured hand to her face. ‘These hands are no longer whole, Aileen. I’m not the man you deserve.’
He kissed her again, but she recognised it as a kiss of farewell. ‘I am going to return home to my brothers, to finish my training. Riordan can protect you the way I can’t. And he cares for you.’
Hurt rage bubbled forth. ‘I’m not going to wed Riordan. He isn’t the man I want.’ She held him, but he did not return the embrace.
‘I cannot be the man you want either, Aileen.’ He took her hand and led her to the door. ‘Go.’
With her heart beaten and broken, she closed the door behind her.
‘You did not have to cut me,’ the stranger argued, hissing as he tended the wound upon his arm.
‘Then your reflexes are slow,’ Riordan remarked. ‘You should have raised your sword quicker.’
He tossed a bag of silver at their feet. ‘There is your payment. Do not show your face in these lands again.’
The man pocketed the pieces, grinning. ‘A good wage. Pity I couldn’t have touched the lass a little more. A pretty bit, she was.’
Riordan swung a fist, but the man ducked. He’d spent a great deal on these two, but it was worth it. Connor MacEgan hadn’t been able to rescue Aileen. She now knew how weak the warrior was, how unworthy MacEgan was of her affections.
In her eyes, Riordan knew he’d become a hero. Hadn’t she embraced him? Hadn’t she agreed to walk with him? His mind filled with thoughts of her loving him.
And best of all, he imagined Connor MacEgan falling beneath Ó Banníon’s sword. How he would love to be there to see it when it happened.
Chapter 14
The next morning, Connor was gone before sunup. Aileen saw his belongings were still in place, and she breathed a little easier. He hadn’t gone yet.
She packed her basket of healing herbs and walked toward the cluster of cottages. She did not know how the villagers would react, though Seamus had granted her permission to visit them. A fist of apprehension curled inside her stomach, worry that they would not want to see her.
The noise of wailing caught her unawares. A woman stumbled forth from one of the wicker huts, her long black hair hanging against her shoulders. Her voice cried out in grief.
Aileen recognised the woman as Maive, and she rushed forward. ‘What is it?’ As soon as she touched Maive, she felt the burning signs of fever. ‘Come and lie down.’ She guided the woman back into the hut, but Maive struggled.
‘He’s dead.’ She pointed toward the bed where her fosterson Padraig lay.
The boy’s eyes were glazed, his body lying upon a straw pallet. Aileen knelt beside him, and saw a multitude of red spots covering the boy’s torso. An invisible wall of fear cut off her breath. Her worst fears had come to pass. The pox was here. Though she had memorised every word Kyna had taught her, she had never seen the illness herself. Cold fear sliced at her confidence. Would Seamus hold her responsible for Padraig’s death?
She closed off the thought. It was too late to worry about that now. She could not abandon Maive in her time of need. Though she could not save the boy, she could still help the mother. Repressing her instincts to flee, she took a step back from the child. ‘How long has it been since he died?’
‘A few hours.’ Maive’s hands shook, and she began to sob. ‘He had the fever for two days. Then he complained that his head hurt, and I sent him to bed. This morn, he was covered in the pox, and he did not rise.’
Aileen led the woman to her own pallet. ‘Lie down and let me look after you.’
‘I’m going to die.’ Maive wept, letting Aileen ease her down. ‘What is the use?’
‘Not everyone dies from the pox,’ Aileen reassured her.
She dampened a linen cloth and wiped Maive’s forehead. ‘I’ll make you something to ease your pain. Try to rest.’
Maive turned her face toward Padraig. Aileen saw the direction of her gaze and she picked up a woolenbrat. Without speaking, she drew the shawl over the boy’s body.
‘I will pray for him,’ she said.
