“A hunting shelter,” she answered. “Morren found it years ago.”
Inside, the hearth was cold, the interior dark. Then, he heard the unmistakable moans of a woman. “Build a fire,” he ordered the girl, handing her the torch.
Then he leaned down to examine the woman lying upon the bed. She was wracked with shivers, clutching the bedcovers to her chest. Her legs jerked with pain, and when he touched her forehead, she was burning up with fever.
Trahern let out a curse, for he wasn’t a healer. He could tend sword wounds or bruises, but he knew nothing about illnesses that ravaged from inside the body. The woman was in a great deal of pain, and he didn’t have any idea what to do for her.
He eyed the young girl who was busy with the fire. “Your sister needs a healer.”
“We don’t have one.” She shook her head.
Trahern sat down and removed his shoes. Though they would never fit the girl, it was better than nothing. “Put these on. Tie them if you have to.” She hesitated, and he gentled his tone. “Go back to my camp and take my horse. If you ride hard for the next few hours, you can reach Glen Omrigh. Take the torch with you.”
Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t even consider sending a young girl out by herself in the dark. But between the two of them, he had a greater chance of sustaining the wounded woman’s life until help arrived. Trahern had no doubt that the Ó Reilly men would accompany the girl back with the healer, once she made it there safely.
“If you can’t make it that far, seek help at St. Michael’s Abbey.”
The girl started to refuse, but Trahern leveled a dark stare at her. “I can’t save her alone.”
He wondered what had become of their kin. Had they been killed during the raid? Since the girl had not mentioned anyone, Trahern suspected they were alone.
Reluctance colored her face, but at last the girl nodded. “I’ll find someone.” She tied his shoes on, using strips of linen. Without another word, she seized the branch he’d used as a torch and left them alone.
It would be hours before the girl returned, and he hoped to God she wouldn’t abandon them. Trahern struggled to remember what his sister-in-law Aileen would have done when healing a wounded person. He recalled how she examined the wounded person from head to toe.Sometimes, you’ll find an injury where you least expect it,the healer had said.
Trahern moved beside the woman. Her eyes were closed, and she shuddered when he touched her hand, as though his fingers were freezing cold.
“It’s all right,” he said softly. “You’ll be safe now.” He studied her closely. Though her face was thin from hunger, her lips were full. Long fair hair lay matted against her cheek. He sensed a strength beneath the delicate features, and although the fever was attacking her body, she fought it back.
She wore a raggedléinethat covered her torso, and the thin fabric was hardly enough to keep anyone warm. Trahern brought his hands gently down her face, to her throat. Down her arms, he touched, searching for whatever had caused the fever.
“Don’t,” she whimpered, her hands trying to push him away. Her eyes remained closed, and he couldn’t tell if his touch was causing her pain. He stopped, waiting to see if she would regain consciousness.
When she didn’t awaken, he continued onward, pulling back the coverlet. It was then that he saw the reason for her agony. Blood darkened her gown below the waist. Her stomach was barely rounded from early pregnancy, and she tightened her knees together, as if struggling to stop the miscarriage.
Jesu. He murmured a silent prayer, for it was clear that he’d arrived too late. Not only was she going to lose this child, but she might also lose her life.
You have to help her,his conscience chided. He couldn’t be a coward now, simply because of his own ignorance. Nothing he did would be any worse than the pain she was already suffering.
Reluctantly, he eased up herléine, wishing he could protect her modesty somehow. “It’s going to be all right,a chara. I’ll do what I can to help you.”
MorrenÓReillyopenedher eyes and screamed.
Not just from the vicious cramping that tore her apart, but because of the man seated beside her, his hand holding hers.
Trahern MacEgan. During the months he’d spent living among her clan, she’d listened to countless stories he’d told. It wasn’t often that a bard could captivate an audience, weaving a spell with nothing but words, but Trahern was a master.
Panic cut off her breath, seizing her with fear. She wrenched her hand away from him, and thankfully, he let go. The fever still clouded her mind, and she had no memory of what had happened during the past day.
Mary, Mother of God, what was he doing here? Not a trace of softness did she see in his face. Though he was still the tallest man she’d ever seen, his appearance had completely changed in the past few months. He’d shaved his head and beard, which made his features stark and cold. Stone gray eyes stared down at her, yet there was emptiness in his gaze, not fury.
Beneath his tunic, tight muscles strained against the sleeves, revealing the massive strength of a warrior. Morren’s heartbeat quaked, and she dug her hands into the mattress, wondering if Jilleen had brought him. She saw no sign of her sister.
“The worst is over,” he said. His voice was low, emotionless.
But it wasn’t. Not by half. Morren curled her body into a ball, the dull pain sweeping over her. Her rounded stomach was now sunken and flat. From the pile of bloodstained rags nearby, she suspected the babe was gone.
It was her punishment for all that had happened. Hot tears gathered in her eyes. No, she hadn’t wanted the child, not a permanent reminder of that awful night. But now that it was gone, she felt emptiness. A sense of loss for the innocent life who had never asked to be born from a moment of such savagery.
