But the truth was, it did. She couldn’t stop thinking about his promise to share her tent. Her mind filled up with thoughts of his kiss. Though he’d conquered her mouth, there was nothing forceful about it. Despite the dizzying sensations he wrought inside of her, beneath it all, she sensed his restraint.
I would die before hurting you.
She believed it. And his intensity, his protective nature, seemed to draw her closer. Would he sleep beside her tonight, letting her draw comfort from his presence? Or would he turn back, as though she disgusted him?
Her heart turned cold at the thought. Though he’d insisted that she could leave her past behind, she didn’t really believe him. After being broken and violated, there was hardly anything left of the woman she’d been.
Yet, when she was with Trahern, he made her feel safe. When he’d kissed her, she’d forgotten about everything else.
She turned away, suddenly aware of what she was doing. There was no chance that a man like Trahern would heal her invisible wounds. He had his own cross to carry, of Ciara’s death.
And perhaps that would never change.
Disappointment cloaked her as they stopped for the night. Morren sat beside him while they ate, but he didn’t look at her. She was like a shadow, hardly noticed by anyone.
The men discussed their plans to travel to Laochre, a castle belonging to Trahern’s brother King Patrick. “You can stay with my brother and his wife and lend your testimony if we bring the men to face a trial,” Trahern said.
In other words, she would not go to the Norse settlement. Gunnar seemed to guess her dissatisfaction. While Trahern continued to speak of their plans, he drew closer and sat on the opposite side of her. Trahern frowned, but he was busy drawing a map of the region in the dirt.
“I know you have a reason for coming with us,” Gunnar murmured to her, beneath his breath. “I suspect you were a victim, weren’t you?”
Her words froze up in her mouth, and she couldn’t bring herself to admit anything.
“Don’t worry, Morren,” Gunnar said. “We all have our secrets to bear. And I have my own reasons for going to Gall Tír.” A dark look crossed his face. “Reasons that have nothing to do with the raiders.”
He was prevented from offering any further explanation when Trahern strode across and took Morren by the hand. “Go to our tent, Morren. It’s late.”
He might as well have growled at Gunnar like a dog. But she was weary of listening to battle plans and had intended to sleep anyhow.
As soon as she reached the tent flap, she glanced back at Trahern. His expression softened in a silent apology, and she understood that his disgruntled mood was aimed at Gunnar and not herself. He didn’t seem to trust the man, even now.
After hearing Gunnar’s remark about having his own reasons for traveling with them, she was beginning to wonder if Trahern was right.
Inside the darkened space of the tent, she found a pallet and a fur that he’d brought. She took off her shoes and laid down upon the pallet, pulling the fur over her. It was only a few minutes before the tent flap opened, and Trahern ducked inside.
“Good night,” he mumbled, rolling as far away from her as he could. He had no coverlet, and he was resting on the cold ground.
“Take this,” she offered, handing him the fur. “It will keep you warm.”
He didn’t move, and she felt foolish holding it. Finally, she let it fall onto the ground in front of him. “Trahern, what is it? What’s troubling you?” She sat up facing him.
“This was a mistake.” He held out the fur again. “I shouldn’t have agreed to share a tent with you.”
His frustration seemed to fill up the tiny space in the tent. She couldn’t understand his reluctance. Was she that abhorrent to him?
“I’m sorry. If we stop somewhere on the morrow, I’ll try to trade for another tent,” she said. Rolling over, she huddled in a ball to try and keep warm. It also hid her embarrassment, for how could she have known he would behave like this? “I didn’t realize it would bother you to be near me.”
“Morren,” he said quietly. “You misunderstand me.” He reached out and touched her shoulder. She found him stretched out on his side, propping his head on one hand as he regarded her. “It’s nothing you’ve done wrong.”
“Then what is it?” She sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees, as if trying to retreat within herself. “I don’t understand.”
A faint smile cracked across his mouth. “If anything, it’s my own fault.” He reached out and touched a lock of hair that had fallen across her shoulders. He lifted it to his face, breathing it in.
“You look upon me, as if you believe I could slay dragons.” His hand moved down her cheek. “I’m no saint, Morren.”
Neither was she.
A strange prickle of longing tugged at her. She wanted to go to him, to feel his arms around her once more. But a moment later, he rolled away from her, facing the opposite side. It hurt to see it.
