He couldn’t have stopped the reaction if he’d tried to stop breathing. The light scent of her hair, the fragile air about her, made him want to pull her close.
What in the name of God was wrong with him? Was he so desperate for a woman that he’d consider touching Morren? He loathed himself for the betraying thoughts that desecrated Ciara’s memory.
He jerked away from Morren and stood. “Go to sleep. We’ll leave in the morning.” Without a word of explanation, he moved as far away from her as he dared.
But as he tried to force sleep, all he could think about was her.
Atdawn,Morrenfollowedthe men on horseback toward Glen Omrigh. Trahern had sent two of the Norsemen back to the monastery to return the aging horses they’d borrowed. Now that he was riding his own mount once again, he appeared more relaxed.
And yet, not once had he spoken. His cool demeanor unnerved her. Last night, he’d treated her like a vial of poison after she’d mistakenly touched the ties of his foot coverings. She’d done it without thinking, the way she would adjust a child’s laces.
But Trahern had been behaving strangely ever since. He’d not spoken to her this morn, nor had he met her gaze. If it weren’t for his protective presence, she’d have thought he was avoiding her.
He must have thought she was reaching out to him, wanting him in the way a woman desired a man. That wasn’t true at all. Her cheeks flushed red. But even if it were, he’d treated her like discarded goods, a woman contaminated.
It cut through her, reaching down to the pain she’d tucked away, flaring the anger back.It wasn’t my fault. I’m not to blame for it.She knew that, in her heart, but she forced her emotions back, burying them deep.Don’t think of it.
She clenched the reins of her horse, fighting back tears that she refused to shed. Although Trahern had saved her life, she suspected he viewed her as a burden.
And why? Had she ever demanded anything of him? The more she thought of it, the more resentful she grew. He treated her like a younger sister or a child he felt responsible for. But she was a grown woman, more than capable of surviving on her own.
She closed her eyes, willing herself to be strong. She would be no man’s inconvenience, nor would she let her fear transform her into a shadow. She had to think of Jilleen.
As she continued on the journey, she found herself staring at the small group of Ó Reilly survivors. One familiar face caught her eye. It was Adham, a man who had once shown interest in her.
He’d spoken to her when she’d first arrived at the longphort. She hadn’t replied, not wanting to face him. Silently she’d hoped that he would abandon his courtship efforts. She didn’t want to be noticed by any man at all. Not anymore.
Steeling her posture, she rode at Trahern’s side. It was strange to be surrounded by so many people, and yet, she’d never felt more alone.
The morning was cool, with low clouds shifting around the skirts of the hills. They rode northeast for over an hour before they passed the abbey, tucked high upon the hillside. After riding north for another half an hour, they reached the ruined cashel of Glen Omrigh.
The acrid scent of smoke struck her as they neared, the odor clinging to the ashen remains. Morren sobered at the destruction, but her gaze was drawn to the blackened fields, rather than the burned fortress. The raiders had set fire to the grain that night. The green barley shouldn’t have burned so easily, but they’d been fighting a drought. Within minutes, the parched stalks had caught fire and burned brightly.
She doubted if any of the grain could be saved now. Their homes could be rebuilt, but it would take more time to heal the scarred land.
The men were already dismounting, and Morren led her horse to the creek that swelled around the edges of the cashel, dismounting and letting the animal drink.
She wouldn’t let herself look at the far exterior of the fortress, where the men had attacked her. The blunt memories were too raw to bear. Instead, she stared at the ground, forcing herself to concentrate on the land.
When the others went inside, she remained behind. Trahern accompanied Jilleen to the outer gate before he stopped, waiting for Morren to join them.
Though she knew it was foolish, she needed a few more moments outside. She signaled for him to go on, but Trahern didn’t move. Instead, he watched over her like a silent sentinel.
She walked through the blackened barley field, kneeling down as she examined the damage. Somehow, amid all the destruction, some of the stalks had survived. The golden color contrasted against the ashes, offering a glimmer of hope. With nothing but the rain and the sun to nourish it, the barley had fought to live, in spite of being abandoned.
She lost track of time, but eventually, a movement caught her attention. Trahern now stood at the edge of the field, though he hadn’t spoken to her. He watched over her, his hand resting upon his sword hilt.
The wind caught at his cloak, the dark mantle shrouding his form. Morren forced herself to leave the charred grain behind, walking toward him. When she stopped a few feet away, he held out his hand.
She hesitated, remembering how she’d held his palm last night. It had been a simple gesture, but one that still made her uneasy. The physical touch of his hand had sent a shiver of awareness within her. Not threatening, not forceful. But the warmth of his fingers closing over hers had been like an embrace, a reassurance that he would be there for her.
But that wasn’t true, was it? Their paths were separate, and nothing would change that.
Trahern saw her discomfort, and he lowered his hand. She was afraid she’d offended him, but he shielded his thoughts and emotions.
“Come,” he said gruffly. “There’s something I want you to see.”
Chapter Seven
