He shook his head. “Not yet. I want to speak with my brother Patrick first. As King of Laochre, he’ll know the best way to seek justice.”
After seeing the fortified settlement, he’d had second thoughts about his plans. Though it was a blended tribe of both Irish and Norse, Gall Tír was heavily guarded with trained fighters to defend it. Despite his need for vengeance, to see the men punished, Trahern couldn’t risk his family’s safety by causing a war. It was best to visit them again with his brother, the king, at his side.
A large granite rock stood in the garden, coated lightly in moss. Trahern sat down on the ground beside Morren, resting his back against the stone. Morren had neglected to bring herbrat, so he gave her his cloak to wrap around herself.
She huddled within it and moved beside him. “Share it with me. We’ll both keep warm.”
He opened his arms and pulled her next to him, draping the cloak around them. “I would take you inside, but I’d rather not disturb the others or have listening ears around us.”
She shivered, and he did his best to warm her. “Do you still want to go to the settlement?”
“Yes.”
But her voice was hardly a whisper, and he sensed more that she wasn’t telling him. “If you feel uncertain about it, you don’t have to go. I wouldn’t ask that of you.”
Morren rested her head against his chest. “I’m going with you, Trahern. Tomorrow, if you want.”
“Not until the king returns. And we need to plan this carefully.” He gathered her onto his lap, pulling her close. The softness of her hair tickled his nose, and he breathed in her scent. It felt right, holding her like this.
Her hand moved in slow circles over his chest, and the gentle caress brought him a peace he hadn’t known in a long time.
“Morren,” he murmured, catching her hand. He drew her back to face him, and in the faint moonlight, her face was shadowed. “I should tell you . . . that when I want these men punished . . . it’s not only for Ciara. It’s for you.”
Morren didn’t speak, but moved her palm to touch his cheek. The bristles of his growing beard abraded her hand, and she moved it across the new growth of hair. A faint smile tilted her mouth, and he inwardly vowed not to shave it again.
The softness of her fingertips held him captive. Did she know that she’d brought him back from the edge, transforming the beast into a man once more? She’d taken away the emptiness, making him feel emotions again.
“You loved Ciara, I know.” Her voice remained quiet, but her hand was stoking another kind of warmth. He wanted to taste her mouth again, to forget the empty months of loneliness.
“I did.”
“Do you miss her?”
Ciara’s presence wouldn’t easily be forgotten. But there was a goodness in the bond between himself and Morren. Something that was soothing the raw scars, healing the pain of loss.
“Aye. But it’s not as bad as it was.” He drew his hand down to her nape, bringing her closer until her forehead touched his. “You bring me solace.”
There was a slight hitch in her breath, and her trembling no longer seemed to be from the cold.
“Every moment I spend with you, it gets a little easier.” His mouth moved so close to hers, it was almost a kiss. Against her lips, he murmured, “I’m thankful for it.”
When he took a kiss from her, she opened to him. Like a seedling, thirsting for water, she drank from his lips. And though he longed to deepen the kiss, he didn’t push her, keeping it as nothing more than an offering of himself.
“Once this is over, I’m returning home,” she said, breaking away from him.
She was poised as if ready to flee. Her fear was written upon her face, and she turned her face to his shoulder.
“I know. But is there harm in wanting to be with you? To see what happens?” He rested his palm upon her back. “Unless you’d rather I left you alone.”
She reached up to his cheek. “Trahern, I held Genevieve’s babe in my arms today.” Her voice held the weight of unshed tears. “It made me think of my son.”
His answer was to pull her into his embrace, holding her. Her arms wound around his neck, and it consoled him to know that she wasn’t pushing him away.
He kept his voice steady. “I wish I could have saved him.”
“It’s just that—you were meant to be a father one day. I can see how much you love your nieces and nephews. And I can’t give you that.”
“Don’t think about what might or might not happen in the future,” he said, running his hand down the length of her hair. “One moment at a time.”
