I would have loved you, she thought.In spite of everything.
She buried her face into the sheet, suddenly realizing that she was naked beneath the covers, except for the linen between her legs.
Humiliation burned her cheeks. “What have you done?” she demanded. “I want my clothing.”
“It was covered in blood. I had to remove it, to help you.” His voice was heavy, as though weighted down by stones. “I’m sorry I could not save your child.”
The words cut through her, and she wept for the loss. A warm hand came down upon her hair as she hid her face from him. Though she supposed he’d meant to comfort her, she couldn’t bear anyone touching her.
“Don’t.” She shrank back from Trahern, binding the covers tightly to her skin.
He lifted his hands to show he meant no harm. “I’ve sent your sister for help.” Studying her, he continued, “Until she returns, I’ll find something for you to wear.”
He rummaged through her belongings, and though Morren wanted to protest, she held her tongue. Another cramp rolled through her, and she couldn’t stop the gasp. The room tipped, and she lowered her head again, fighting the dizziness.
“I’ve seen you before, but I don’t remember your name,” he admitted, finding a cream-coloredléinewithin the bundle. He tossed it to her, turning his back while she pulled the gown over her head. “I am Trahern MacEgan.”
It disappointed Morren to realize that he didn’t recognize her at all. But then, his attentions had been focused on Ciara and hardly anyone else.
“Morren Ó Reilly is my name,” she answered at last.
He didn’t show any sign that it meant anything to him, and she accepted it. Another dull cramp gripped her, and the pain threatened to sweep her under again.
“Is your husband alive?” he asked, a moment later. He’d phrased the question carefully, as though he already knew the answer.
“I have no husband.” And never would, God willing. Her sister Jilleen was the only family she had left. The only family she needed.
Trahern’s gaze met hers, but he offered no judgment. “When did you eat last?”
“I don’t remember.” Food was the very last thing she’d thought of when the pains had come upon her. The idea of eating anything made her stomach wrench. “I’m not hungry.”
“It might help.”
“No.” She buried her face on the ragged cloak her sister had used as a sheet. “Just leave me. My sister will return.”
He dragged a stool nearby and sat beside the bed. “I can see that you’re hurting,” he said. “Tell me what I can do for you.”
“Nothing.” She bit her lip, wishing he would go so she could release the tight control she held over the pain.
Trahern crossed his arms over his chest. “I sent your sister to find the healer. She will return with her soon.”
“No, she won’t.” Morren couldn’t stop the gasp when another wave of pain struck her. “Our mother was the healer. She died last winter.”
Trahern leaned in, frustration lined upon his face. “Then she will go to the abbey and bring someone back.”
“I don’t think anyone will come,” Morren answered honestly. The monks at St. Michael’s would tend anyone brought to their abbey, but she doubted if any of the elderly brethren could make the journey here.
Trahern’s gray eyes were nearly black, his mouth taut with anger. Morren had never seen him this furious, and she tried to retreat as far away from him as possible. She closed her eyes, focusing on enduring one breath at a time.
“Don’t blame Jilleen,” Morren insisted. “She might still bring back someone to help.”
But even as she spoke the words, she suspected they were untrue. Her sister had gone, and there was no way of knowing if she would return. Ever since the night of the attack, Jilleen had not been the same.
Neither had she.
Morren gripped her arms tightly, not wanting to think of it again.Let it go, she told herself.The sacrifice was necessary.
“Are there many survivors left at Glen Omrigh?” Trahern asked.
