He needed her, this woman who had become such a part of his life. Tonight, when she’d thrown snowballs at him, he’d forgotten about their disagreements. He’d seen only the breathtaking woman with the infectious smile. The woman who meant everything to him. The woman he loved.
“I’m sorry,” Morren whispered, breaking the kiss. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” She reached down to touch him again, and he couldn’t stop the groan that escaped him. “If you’d rather just . . . touch each other, I suppose that’s all right.” Her mouth moved to his throat, kissing the skin while her hand moved in rhythm upon his erection.
Though the pleasure coursing through him was undeniable, he wanted her to feel the same. He reached around to the hooded fold of her womanhood, stoking the fire of her own release. Her breathing grew heavier, and her hand moved faster upon him. Trahern shuddered, and when she suddenly arched against him, her body breaking free with wracking tremors, his own seed came spurting forth.
He held her afterwards, his heart pounding. She was right. It wasn’t the same at all.
The uncertainty and feeling of loneliness overshadowed the satisfying release. There was something more fulfilling about being inside her, feeling her legs tangled up in his.
But God help him, how could he risk her life? He couldn’t, plain and simple. To join with her was a selfish act, and he refused to endanger her in any way.
No matter how much he wanted her.
Ittookoverafortnight to reach Glen Omrigh. Storms and the winter cold made traveling nearly impossible, and they’d had to stop numerous times with neighboring clans.
Morren had braved the journey as best she could, but in the past few days, she’d worried about Jilleen to the point where the mere thought of home made her physically nauseous. Her stomach lurched, and she picked at her food, terrified of what could have happened to her sister.
They approached the cashel, and Morren was gratified to see that the fields had been plowed and prepared for planting next spring. If they could get enough grain, they might be able to slowly build back their supplies.
Once they arrived within Glen Omrigh, she saw that the cashel had been completely rebuilt. The comforting smoke of peat fires rose from the stone cottages, with freshly thatched roofs. The palisade wall was built of stone, and she saw the familiar faces of friends waiting.
Her mouth was sour with fear, but Trahern rode alongside her. His presence brought her comfort amid her inner turmoil. Though not once had he made love to her since their time at Laochre, he’d slept with her in his arms. It was something, though not at all what she’d wanted. She prayed that time would wear down his resolve.
When they rode inside the cashel, she found Jilleen outside, talking with a group of girls. As soon as her sister caught sight of them, she raced forward, her face beaming with excitement.
Morren dismounted and caught Jilleen in her arms. She wanted to cry, so grateful she was to see her sister unharmed. “I’m glad to see you.”
Behind them, she saw Gunnar and Trahern. Both stood observing the cashel, their faces guarded. “Where is Katla?” she asked Jilleen.
“She’s inside with Hoskuld. I was helping her make soup just now.” Jilleen added, “Do you and . . . the others . . . want to come inside?” She glanced over at Trahern and Gunnar, her face curious.
Morren motioned to the two men, and she admitted, “Trahern is my husband now.”
A delighted smile spread over her sister’s face. “I’m so happy for you. I had hoped that he might take care of you.”
Jilleen took Morren’s hand and led her inside. Trahern and Gunnar followed, and once they were within the shelter, the meaty scent of mutton stew filled the small hut. Though it should have been enticing, the heavy odor made Morren feel even more sick.
“Why, Morren!” Katla exclaimed, wiping her hands upon her apron. “I never thought to see you so soon. Come in, come in!”
The woman’s warm welcome didn’t appear false, and she shut the door behind Gunnar and Trahern. “Hoskuld is visiting with Dagmar this morn, but he should return soon. Sit, all of you, and you can have some of this stew. I’ve enough for everyone, thankfully.”
Trahern exchanged a glance with Gunnar and withdrew a pouch at his waist. “We came to speak with you about this.” He poured a small handful of the foreign coins into his palm, showing them to Katla.
The woman’s face faltered, and she paled as she set bowls before them. “I’ve never seen coins like that before.”
Her tone was too hurried, but her eyes spoke of guilt. Morren left her bowl of stew untouched.
Jilleen stared at Katla. “Those were the coins we found in the souterrain, used to pay the raiders. Blood money.”
Katla moved back to the pot of stew, stirring it faster, though it likely needed none of her attention.
“He knew your name,” Morren said softly. “Egill Hardrata spoke of you.”
Katla didn’t move. The spoon clattered against the iron edge of the pot, and she didn’t face them.
“Why, damn you?” Gunnar demanded, striding forward and grasping her arm. “Tell me why he would know your name!”
“What would you have me say?” she whispered. Katla’s head turned back, and tears streamed down her face.
