Morren kept guard over her sister, but he suspected she yearned to be back in the fields from the way she kept casting glances outside the cashel.
“Do you want to go and cut the rest of the barley?” he asked her. It would take a few hours, but they could finish. “We could get a few of the others to join us.”
“I don’t want to leave Jilleen,” she admitted, glancing at her sister.
“I’m not a child, Morren,” Jilleen insisted. “You don’t need to watch over me.” Morren’s face showed her doubts, but her sister waved her on. “I’ll be fine. And I’d rather work here with the others than be out in a muddy field. Go with him, if that’s what you want.”
Jilleen’s words did little to convince her, and it was only Katla’s faint nod of reassurance that made Morren change her mind. “All right. But only for a short while.”
She lifted herbratover her head to shield her from the wind. Trahern picked up the scythes when he accompanied her and tried to encourage a few of the clan members to help. Not Adham, however. He couldn’t bring himself to invite the man, not after the coward had abandoned Morren.
Despite asking several of the folk, none of the clan members wanted to venture forth into the fields, since there was so much labor to be done within the cashel. Were it not for Morren’s fear that the grain would rot, he’d have been tempted to let it be.
But this was important to her. There was a connection between Morren and the land, one he couldn’t deny. Upon her face, he’d seen the dismay at the burned grain. And the faint hope when they’d saved some of the barley yesterday.
As they walked together outside the cashel, he wondered if it was a mistake to be alone with her once more. The kiss last night had startled him. He’d dreamed of her that night, of her soft mouth and the taste of innocence. Despite the horror she’d known, Morren was a beautiful, desirable woman. And he wanted her far more than he should.
When they passed beyond the boundaries of the cashel, the ground was less treacherous with grass to help them keep their footing. They chose a place near the remainder of the grain, cutting on opposite sides.
“Thank you,” Morren said suddenly. “For letting me see Jilleen.”
“She’s going to be all right,” he reassured her. “The others are looking after her. Even Katla treats her like a daughter.”
Morren sent him a soft smile. “I know Katla lost her own daughter. I think taking care of Jilleen has given her a new purpose. It’s as if my sister has a foster mother and a home once again.”
“And you? Do you think you’ve found a home once more?”
Her smile faded away. “No.” She reached for a handful of barley, slicing it low. “Not really. They think I’m the same woman I used to be. But I’m not.” She set aside the grain and reached for another handful.
“You’re stronger than that woman,” he said, “because you survived.”
Her blue eyes met his. “Sometimes, I think a part of me did die that night.”
He leaned upon his scythe, studying her. She was struggling, not really seeing herself as he did. He searched for the right way to explain himself, wanting to help her overcome the past. “Did I frighten you last night, when I kissed you?”
She stilled, and the grain fell from her hands. “A little.”
“Did you believe I would force myself on you?”
She shook her head silently.
“Because you know I wouldn’t. And when a man comes along who cares for you—“ He reached out and rested his hand upon her shoulder. ”—you’ll know there’s nothing to fear. When love is there, it’s about offering yourself. Not taking.”
Her palm covered his hand, the sudden warmth permeating his own skin. His desire to hold her, to feel the comfort of a woman’s touch, was making itself known again.
He drew back slowly, so as not to give her the wrong impression. Suddenly, his feet slipped out from beneath him, and he landed hard on his backside.
“Damned mud.” He regained his footing, not missing Morren’s stifled laugh. “Watch yourself, or you’ll end up—“
Morren skidded forward, laughing as she landed facedown in the grain. She rolled over, her arms and cheek covered with the slimy mud. “Oh, this is terrible. We look like we’ve been bathing in it.” She wiped her face on the sleeve of her gown, wincing at the mess.
“It’s slick.” He reached down, bracing himself to help her up. “Be careful.”
“My hands are covered with muck.” But there was a light in her eyes, a humor at what had happened.
“I’m not certain today is the best day for cutting grain,” he said. “I think we’ve gotten most of it, anyhow.” He realized that this part of the field was sparser, unprotected from the mud.
“Weakling.” Morren took a careful step, reaching for her scythe. “You’re afraid of getting your clothes dirty, aren’t you?”
