‘No more than you are afraid to lift a blade to an enemy. It’s what I do.’ But she was a warrior of a different nature, one who could not meet her enemy face to face.
‘I had the pox as a child,’ he said. ‘Though I do not remember it, I remember my mother’s tears.’
‘You are not scarred from it,’ Aileen remarked.
His lips lifted slightly. ‘Not in places you can see. Unless you have a better memory than mine.’
At the reminder of seeing him naked, she tensed. She had thrown herself at him last eve. He hadn’t wanted her, told her they should not lie together.
She bit her lip, wondering if she should have admitted the truth. That she’d seduced him once before.
‘It is late,’ Connor said. ‘Would you like to rest? I’ll keep watch.’
She shook her head. ‘I can’t sleep. Not at a time like this.’ Surrendering to sleep would be like offering Death a foothold. She’d not be distracted for a single moment. ‘But if you are weary, you may wish to sleep.’
‘No. If you remain awake, I’ll be here to help you.’
She cast a glance toward Whelon, who slept. Then she closed the distance, taking his face between her hands. ‘Few men would do what you have done for me this day.’
‘I have little to lose,’ he admitted. He pulled her close, stroking her hair. Aileen wanted to weep at the tender gesture. Why did she have to love this man? It tore her apart, knowing that he valued his honour more than his life.
More than her.
She broke the embrace and went to stand by the fire. She filled the pot with more water, wishing she knew what to say. In the end, she said nothing. All she could do was savour the few moments they had left together. He’d be leaving soon.
A few hours before dawn, Whelon began to stir. His eyes brightened when he saw them. Aileen sat beside him, Connor opposite.
‘You’re here,’ he whispered, a soft glow of happiness shining in his eyes. ‘I hoped you’d come.’
Aileen smoothed the hair from his forehead. ‘Would you like some broth or water?’
Whelon shook his head. He regarded Connor solemnly. ‘I thank you for my training.’
Connor shook his head and took the boy’s hand in his. The misshapen fingers covered Whelon’s smaller hand. ‘You still have much to learn.’
The brightness in Whelon’s face swelled. ‘I have learned all that I can.’
‘Bring me the holy water, Aileen,’ Connor ordered. The intensity of the command made her falter.
‘No. He’s not going to die.’ She refused to relinquish her hold upon the boy’s life. ‘I won’t let it happen.’
‘It’s all right, Aileen,’ Whelon said. His cracked lips turned upwards. ‘I’m going to be a true warrior now.’
Tears bled a path down her face. ‘You can be a warrior here.’
‘Not a whole one.’ Whelon lifted his eyes upwards. ‘Let me go, Aileen.’
Connor marked him with the holy water, murmuring the words of Last Rites beneath his breath. Aileen joined him, tasting the salt of her tears.
Pure unrelenting joy shone from the boy’s eyes. Peace descended over his face, and he took Connor’s hand and Aileen’s. With exertion, he placed the two together. Aileen’s fingers interlaced with Connor’s.
And with that, the boy breathed his last.
Chapter 15
Inside Aileen’s hut, glass shattered. Connor stood back, silent while she struck down clay and leather vessels of medicines and herbs. With tears streaming down her face, she curled her fist and smashed against the unyielding wicker frame of the hut. Curses spilled forth as she vented her rage upon the wood.
‘Aileen.’ He used his strength to subdue her, holding her in his arms. ‘Don’t.’
