Last night, when she’d taken refuge in his arms, he’d wanted to shield her from the world. When she’d clung to him, it was as if she’d become a physical part of him, one he couldn’t let go, even though he had to.
A heaviness rested in his spirit, for, despite his promises not to touch her, he wanted Morren. His body seemed to mock him for the thought. Last night, he’d barely been able to keep control over his lust. He’d desired Morren so badly, his hands were shaking. And when they’d overheard another couple making love, he’d imagined joining with her, sheathing his hard length within her moist depths.
His mood darkened, for it wasn’t wise to let his thoughts go down that path. Thank the saints, their marriage would only be temporary. Keeping his hands off Morren would likely kill him.
It bothered him that she hadn’t arrived for the handfasting yet. Queen Isabel and Aileen had gone about their way, saying nothing of the ceremony tonight. Had Morren had told them of their plans to wed? Did anyone know?
From the casual behavior of his family, he doubted it. Trahern had worn his best clothing, a tunic that was a dark shade of red. His sword hung at his waist, and he’d fastened his cloak with a golden brooch shaped like a serpent. He felt like an anxious lad, about to kiss his first woman. The next group of handfastings would take place at sundown, with Father Brían to bless them. And he didn’t know if Morren would come to him then or not.
“You look nervous, lad,” came an old woman’s voice. It was Annle.
He offered her a smile in greeting, and she motioned him closer. “I have something for you. I’ve kept it all these years, and it may be that you’ll want to have it.” Annle pressed a cloth-wrapped packet into his hand. “It belonged to her.”
He didn’t need to ask whom she meant. Without elaborating, the old healer hobbled away to join the children. A small boy hugged her leg, before Annle dropped a kiss upon his forehead.
Trahern waited until he was alone before unwrapping the packet. Inside, he found an unusual stone. Upon the stone, it seemed that the spirit of a fish had been captured, carved within the rock. A small section of the stone had broken off, but the image of the fish was clear. Someone had bored a hole into the rock, lacing a strip of leather through it to form a necklace.
He rubbed his thumb over the rough imprint of the fish, wondering what sort of woman his mother had been. Like the stone, it was as though there were a piece missing of himself. A mystery that would never fully resolve.
And deep inside, he feared that the man who had fathered him was one of theLochlannachat Gall Tír. Would he find a man who looked like him, among the enemy?
Lifting the necklace over his head, Trahern tucked it beneath his tunic, where it rested upon his chest. He wished he could have known the woman who had given him life. It felt strange to wear something that had belonged to her.
“Trahern,” a voice called out. “Are you coming to witness the handfastings?” Connor MacEgan approached, but then stopped short at the sight of Trahern’s finery. A cheeky grin spread over the man’s face. “Well, now. You look fetching, don’t you?”
Trahern only shrugged, studying the crowds of people for a glimpse of Morren. “What do you want?”
“What do I want?” Connor repeated. His face twisted, and he uttered a dramatic sigh. “If you really want to know, sleep is what I’m wanting, brother. A full night of sleep.”
He rubbed at his head, adding, “Finn came running into our chamber last night, claiming he was afraid of the dark. And not a minute later, Dylan joined him.” Yawning, Connor added, “Wait until you’ve children of your own. They’re both a blessing and the curse of your existence.”
Trahern said nothing, for he couldn’t imagine himself as a father. Not with Morren as his bride, or anyone else. It seemed like an impossible vision, though he wouldn’t have minded having sons.
“Don’t worry, Trahern,” Connor teased. “One day you’ll know what I mean, if Morren agrees to wed you.”
“She—“ Trahern started to answer, but Connor cut him off.
“After all, you’re too tall and not nearly as handsome as the rest of us.” Connor reached out to rub his head, and Trahern caught the man’s wrist.
“This isn’t a laughing matter, Connor.” He knew his brother was only trying to break his foul mood by teasing him. But the jest had the reverse effect. All his life Trahern had been teased about his height. Many a time, he’d used it to his advantage, fighting with Trahern or Connor when they’d insulted him.
But today, it only reminded him that they weren’t his true family. There was a reason why they looked nothing alike. It sobered him, making him feel like more of an outsider. He almost wished he’d never heard the truth from Annle. Beneath his tunic, the shell necklace felt harsh upon his skin.
“Have you seen Morren?” he asked Connor.
“She’s with the women. She went to speak with Aileen earlier, but that’s all I know.” His brother’s eyes gleamed. “Did she agree to the marriage? You did ask her, didn’t you?”
“I did ask,” he said tightly, “and I think she might.”
Connor’s face transformed from surprise into happiness. He slapped him on the back adding, “Good. It’s about time you opened your eyes and saw what was in front of you.”
“And what do you mean by that?”
“She’s good for you, Trahern,” Connor said. “You’re happier with her.” His brother’s face turned serious. “I know this past season has been hard on you. When we saw you at Midsummer’s Eve, I’d never seen you like that before.”
“Like what?”
“Enraged,” Connor admitted. “You looked like you would have taken a dagger to your own throat. Like you cared about nothing any more. Not even us.”
