The expression on his face was unreadable, his gray eyes revealing nothing.
“I’ll walk back with you,” he said at last.
Foodanddrinkwerepassed around, and the children were asleep inside the huts. Trahern donned his mask once more, as did Morren. The adults were laughing, enjoying the celebration while old Annle regaled them with stories of her own.
He’d lost his mood of celebration, his mind spinning with discontent. Morren was right. He’d asked her to wed, not because he wanted her as a woman, but as a means of furthering his revenge. He knew he couldn’t present a true show of force against theLochlannachwithout his brother Patrick’s support.
He hadn’t been thinking about the long term of marriage or what she would perceive of his intentions. She had a right to be angry.
What startled him was his disappointment that she’d refused. He hadn’t expected to feel anything about the arrangement. In his mind, he’d envisioned it as a military strategy, a way of accomplishing a goal.
And by thinking of it as such, he wouldn’t be betraying Ciara’s memory. It disquieted him, for he hadn’t been thinking of her quite as much anymore. Already he’d begun replacing her with Morren. He didn’t even know how or when it had happened.
Guilt filled up within him, for Morren had been right. She’d seen right through his poor excuse of a marriage. And yet, he sensed it would have been a good match.
He squeezed Morren’s hand, leading her past a few of the onlookers. Gunnar stood on the outskirts, as though he wanted to join with the MacEgan tribesmen but dared not. Trahern stared hard at the man, suddenly seeing things he hadn’t before. The Norseman’s height towered over the others, and he sat near the others, intent upon a story Annle was telling.
The older woman was speaking of Trahern’s parents and the way his father Duncan had struggled to win the love of his mother Saraid. Trahern moved closer to listen, keeping Morren’s hand in his.
“One night, when Saraid was heavy with her fourth child,” Annle began, “she discovered a foreign woman wandering outside the ringfort. Like herself, the woman was expecting a babe, and so Saraid invited the woman to stay with them.
“Not a word did the woman speak,” Annle continued, her ancient voice holding them captive. “And all wondered who she was. Did she come from the land of Tír na nÓg? Was she a faery in disguise?”
Gunnar moved forward through the crowd without warning, his attention locked upon Annle. “What did she look like?”
His question broke through the spell, and a few of the MacEgans were irritated by his interruption.
But Annle only motioned him to sit with the others. Trahern found himself gripping Morren’s hand tightly.
It’s just a story, he told himself.Like the thousands of others you’ve told.
And yet, it wasn’t. He sensed it, and couldn’t bring himself to walk away.
“The woman looked like you,” Annle admitted to Gunnar. “She had long golden hair that she wore in a thick braid down to her waist. We thought she had wandered from the settlement at Gall Tír.” She waited for a slight pause, adding, “But we were wrong.”
Reaching for a drink of mead, Annle waited before continuing her tale. “It is said that those who offer hospitality to strangers, receive the blessings of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Saraid knew this, and she befriended the woman. And when the time came, the woman bore her child.” She paused, raising her eyes to meet the crowd. “At the first light of dawn, both mother and child disappeared. Whether they were mortal or not, no one knows. But after that, the MacEgans were blessed with prosperity.”
The applause from the crowd made the old woman smile as she took the hand of a young man, letting him escort her back to her home.
Trahern didn’t move. He saw the thoughtful look upon Gunnar’s face, and then the man turned to stare at him. There was speculation on his face, as though he were trying to discern an uncertain truth.
A sickening portent took root in Trahern’s stomach. Against his better judgment, he excused himself from Morren’s side and followed Annle.
Her steps were slow, and she leaned upon the young man for balance. Trahern caught up to them and offered, “I’ll walk with her.”
Annle smiled and took his arm. “And how are you, Trahern? You seem better than the last time we saw you. The children spoke of your stories and how much they enjoyed them.”
He murmured his thanks for the compliment, but slowed his pace. “Annle, about your story . . .”
“You want to know if it’s true.” Her voice grew hushed, and she stopped walking. The ancient blue eyes seemed to reach inside him. “What does it matter, Trahern?”
“You know what happened to the woman, don’t you?”
Annle began walking again, and he was forced to remain at her side. “I do.” She gestured for him to open the door to her hut. He did and saw that someone had already brought in hot stones to warm the interior for her. As the oldest woman in the tribe, Annle was beloved by all.
“I don’t look like my brothers,” he said, when they were inside. “I always thought I looked like my grandfather. But there’s more, isn’t there?”
“You’ve seen the one who does look like you.” She leaned heavily upon him as he helped her sit down. “And it troubles you.”
