“Use both of them. You need to stay warm more than I do.” When she was about to protest, Trahern picked up the garment and tossed it to her. If he had to fasten it himself, he’d make her wear it.
“St. Michael’s Abbey lies a few miles to the west,” he continued. “We’ll stop there to rest.”
“There’s no need to stop on my behalf.” Morren eased to the end of the bed and stood. The woolen clothing hung against her thin body, and Trahern knew in his gut that she would never make it to Glen Omrigh without collapsing.
He suspected she would push herself beyond all endurance to help her sister. He couldn’t blame her for it. For his own brothers, he’d do the same. It didn’t matter how far or how weakened he was. If a family member needed him, he’d drag his body halfway across Éireann.
“I’ll arrange to borrow horses from the monks,” he said, concealing his irritation about losing his own mount, Barra. With luck, he’d get the horse back. “That will make it easier on you.”
She seemed to accept it, and started towards the door. Trahern stopped her by offering her a cup of water and food. “You’re not leaving until you’ve finished this.” Though the dried meat wasn’t appetizing in the least, the fare was better than nothing. After today, he’d have to hunt for more.
Morren drank and nibbled at the venison. Though she didn’t eat enough, in his opinion, at least it was a start. When they’d finished, he walked alongside her. “If you start to feel weak, tell me. We’ll stop and you can rest.”
“I’ll be fine,” Morren insisted.
Trahern wanted to take her hand, to offer her support, but he knew she’d refuse. They traveled downhill, and he could see her breath in the cold autumn air. Morren stepped carefully through the fallen leaves, grasping at tree trunks for balance.
Her pallor matched the gray sky, and more than once, she stumbled. When they reached the edge of the forest, where he’d made his camp two nights earlier, she looked ready to collapse.
“Do you want to go on?” he asked.
“I’ve no choice.”
Her answer didn’t suit him at all. Without asking, he lifted her into his arms. “Pretend you’re walking.”
She looked panicked and struggled to get away from him. “Put me down.”
“If I do, you’ll faint. And we’ll be at St. Michael’s within an hour.” Already he’d abandoned the idea of traveling to Glen Omrigh. There was no chance Morren could make the journey.
He stopped walking when he saw the tension in her body. “I know you don’t want me to carry you. But if you can endure this for another hour, we’ll be at the abbey.”
Her gaze wouldn’t meet his, but she didn’t protest again. Fear was etched within her posture, in the way she tried to distance herself.
She weighed hardly anything, and Trahern found that it was no hardship at all to carry her. How any man could attack a woman as vulnerable as Morren was beyond his comprehension.
She had a face that most men wouldn’t notice at first. Soft, with unremarkable features. But her blue eyes surprised him. Although they were weary, there was strength and determination in them, despite her physical weakness.
“Was the abbey attacked by theLochlannach?“ he asked. If there were other threats lingering, he needed to know of them.
“As far as I know, our cashel was the only victim.” Morren turned her gaze to the horizon where the rolling hills merged into the mountains. “I still don’t understand why we were attacked. We’ve lived in peace among theLochlannachfor so long. Some of our women married among them.”
Trahern walked through the tall grasses, holding Morren close. She couldn’t seem to relax, though he’d done nothing to threaten her.
“Tell me the rest of the story,” she asked quietly. “About Dagda and Eithne.”
It was natural to slip into the tale, spinning a distraction that both of them needed. Trahern continued where he’d left off, and in the midst of his storytelling, the strained tension in her body seemed to relax.
“The god Dagda wanted to grant his son a piece of land when Oengus grew to manhood. But the land that Dagda wished to offer was held by a man named Elcmar. Oengus did not want to kill Elcmar, and so it was that he and his men attacked during the celebration of Samhain.
“When Oengus conquered Elcmar, he asked to rule the land, for one day and a single night. Afterwards, both would go to Dagda and ask who should rightfully possess the land.”
Though Morren remained silent, he saw her face softening as he wove the story. Her lips tilted upwards, when he spoke of Oengus’s trickery.
“When both men came to Dagda, the god proclaimed that it now rightfully belonged to Oengus. For Samhain is a feast where time holds no meaning. And ruling it for a day and a night during that time of celebration is to rule it for eternity.”
When he’d finished the story, the stone walls of St. Michael’s emerged over the horizon, less than a mile away. Trahern set Morren down, asking, “Do you want to walk the rest of the distance, or shall I carry you?” He doubted she’d want to appear like an invalid in front of the monks, but if she lacked the strength, it was no hardship to continue the rest of the way.
“I’ll walk,” she answered.
