They approached the cashel, and Morren was gratified to see that the fields had been ploughed 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 was 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 in the midst of 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 reached the interior, 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 was she, 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 inside, the meaty scent of mutton stew filled the small hut. Though it should have been enticing, the heavy odour 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 are the coins we found in the souterrain, used to pay the raiders.’
Katla moved back to the pot of stew, stirring it, though it likely needed none of her attentions.
‘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.
‘You hired them to destroy the Ó Reilly tribe. Isn’t that right?’ Trahern stood and walked towards her, using his height to intimidate her. ‘Their homes burned, lives lost. The woman I intended to marry was killed. Because of you.’
Katla covered her face, sobbing now. ‘I never wanted this to happen.’
‘Then what did you intend?’ Trahern’s face was stony, his tone unforgiving.
‘They acted of their own accord. I never hired them for that,’ she insisted.
Her hysteria was so strong, Morren almost believed her. She tried a different tack. ‘How would you have even met those men?’ she asked. ‘They live so far away.’
‘They came here to trade last spring,’ Katla said, her voice breaking on a sob.
‘Did Dagmar—?’ Trahern began, but Morren cut him off.
‘No.’ She stared at Trahern, shaking her head. ‘Let her finish.’
An unexpected memory came to her, one she’d put aside for so many months. ‘You had a daughter, didn’t you? She was about Jilleen’s age?’
Katla’s face tightened into sobbing. She nodded once, then buried her face in her hands.
‘Our chief spoke with her a time or two,’ Morren remembered. ‘I remember when a few of you came to see us. He seemed fond of her.’ Understanding pushed past her own fury, for she realised what Katla had done.
‘Our chief was too old for her, wasn’t he?’ Morren whispered. ‘He gave her more attention than he should.’
‘He hurt her,’ Katla wept. ‘My daughter, who had never done anything wrong. She was just back from fostering, and we’d had so little time together. That bastard took her innocence, and he threatened to kill her if she ever told anyone. But she did. She told me, her mother, knowing that I would make it right.’
Katla’s hands clenched into fists. ‘I found her body lying in the field a few days later. And I swore I would kill him for what he did to my child.’ Her eyes glittered with wildness, and Morren reached for Trahern’s hand. His steady palm granted her comfort.
‘After Dagmar met with the raiders, I came to them in secret with coins I took from my grandfather’s hoard. I begged them to kill the chief. I told them they would find the rest of the coins in the Ó Reilly souterrain when they completed their task.’ Her sobs caught in her throat. ‘That way, they would have to go there. But I never thought they would kill innocent people. They acted of their own will, burning the homes and taking other lives.’ She sat down, resting her head between her hands.
‘I thought about ending my own life, after I learned what they’d done. But then, who would look after Hoskuld and our other children?’ She raised reddened eyes to look at each one of them. ‘All I can do is atone for it. I can’t ever forgive myself. And I won’t ask you to.’
Morren reached out for her sister, Jilleen, and hugged her tightly. Then she glanced at Trahern, whose face was unreadable.
‘I believe you,’ he said at last. ‘It does not release you from your guilt, but I understand why.’
‘I don’t want to be exiled,’ Katla said. ‘But I always knew I would have to meet my punishment.’
Hoskuld returned at that moment. At the sight of her husband, Katla paled. Gunnar relayed the tale, explaining to his brother what had happened.
‘Why didn’t you tell me any of this?’ Hoskuld demanded. ‘You knew who had harmed her, and you didn’t trust me to avenge our own daughter?’
‘I wanted to protect you,’ she cried. ‘You might have started a war if you went after their chief. I believed I could escape notice and the raiders would take the blame if they ever found out.’ She tried to throw herself into her husband’s arms, but Hoskuld stood with his arms at his side, his anger palpable.
Morren looked up at Trahern, trying to sense his own reaction. There was uncertainty on his face.
‘What you did was wrong,’ Trahern said to Katla finally. ‘And I want to speak to Gunnar and Hoskuld with the chief, before any decision is made.’
Morren studied Katla’s reddened face. It was not the face of a murderer. She was a grieving mother, who’d wanted to avenge her daughter’s death. And she would have to live with that guilt for the rest of her days.
‘I believe her,’ Morren said to Trahern. ‘It was the raiders’ fault.’ Morren said to Trahern. ‘The destruction they wrought was their decision, and they have paid for it with their lives. I don’t believe Katla should suffer the same.’
Trahern gave a nod. Glancing at the other men, he said, ‘Send for Dagmar.’
When Dagmar arrived the following day, the chief listened to Katla’s confession. A mixture of fury and
embarrassment crossed his face. After several hours of deliberation, they made a quiet decision. Katla would be allowed to live, but she would dwell among the Ó Reillys, so that she would never forget what she’d done. They would tell no one of her involvement, so long as she paid restitution every day for the rest of her life.
‘You will work alongside them,’ Dagmar pronounced. ‘You will dedicate yourself to rebuilding what was lost. And you may not return to live among us.’ To Hoskuld, he added, ‘I hold you responsible for ensuring that your wife obeys.’
It was an exile, but not a death sentence. Trahern felt that the penalty was a fair one, and his respect for Dagmar increased. Though it still felt strange to think that these men were his kinsmen, his former antipathy had lessened.
After he and Gunnar left the chief’s dwelling, his brother turned to him. ‘The Ó Reillys need a new leader. Have you thought about joining them as their chief?’
He stared at his brother. ‘I’m not an Ó Reilly.’
‘No, but we are merging many of the Dalrata with them. A man who can call himself both Irish and Lochlannach would be a strong representative. Unless you think yourself unable to lead?’
Gunnar’s goading challenge wasn’t lost on him. Trahern had never considered leading a clan of his own, for he’d always thought of himself as a MacEgan. But he was also Dalrata, by birth. It was strange, to realise that he had two families now. He was possibly the only man who could bridge the two sides, bringing them together.
‘If the Dalrata and the Ó Reillys can accept me, I’ll stay.’ Though he wasn’t certain he wanted the responsibility of becoming the new chief, he didn’t doubt that he could lead the people, if they chose him.
‘Will you tell Hoskuld that we’re brothers?’ Trahern asked. He hadn’t spoken a word of his heritage to the man, not knowing how it would be received.
Gunnar nodded. ‘He’ll want to know. It might give him some consolation, after all that Katla has done.’
It was time to lay bare the truth. When Trahern faced Gunnar, eye to eye, he saw the image of himself. But this time, it no longer bothered him. Instead, he found acceptance in his blood family. ‘Brothers should stand together,’ he said at last.
‘They should.’ Gunnar gripped Trahern’s forearm in support. With a nod towards Morren, he added, ‘And I think it would please your wife, knowing she can remain here with her sister.’
Apprehensive thoughts clouded Trahern’s mind, for his marriage had weakened over the past few weeks. The celibacy was beginning to wear down on both of them. Though he’d slept with Morren, occasionally touching her, there was an emptiness that cast its shadow.
‘I’ll see what Morren thinks.’ He released his brother’s hand, walking alongside him. ‘What about you? Where will you go?’
Gunnar flashed him a wicked grin. ‘I’ll build a hut of my own here and fill it with beautiful women.’ His brother gave him a slight shove. ‘And speaking of women, I think you should tend to your own.’
Morren had been walking towards them when she stopped and rested her hand on one of the huts, her face blanching. In seconds, Trahern was at her side. ‘What is it, a stór?’
She rested her hands over her midsection. ‘It hurts, Trahern.’ Pale and terrified, she stared into his eyes. ‘Like before.’ Abruptly, she doubled over, in such pain, her meaning suddenly crystallised.
‘When did you have your last woman’s flow?’ he demanded. Oh Jesu, please, not this. Not again.
She shook her head. ‘I haven’t. Not since before our handfasting.’
And he knew. God help him, she was carrying his child. Possibly she might lose the babe, if he didn’t do something to help her.
No words could express the fear he felt right now.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Trahern lifted her into his arms, taking long strides to the nearest hut. Morren struggled against the cramping pain, and she voiced silent prayers for the life of their child.
Be well, she pleaded. Don’t leave us.
Trahern set her down upon a pallet, and once she laid down, some of the pain started to clear. She kept her knees raised, and took a steadying breath. It was better, a little more bearable. And it didn’t seem that she’d been bleeding.
Her husband, however, looked as though he were going to faint. His dark hair had filled in, along with the traces of a beard. Like a fierce angel, he watched over her.
‘It’s not so bad now,’ she admitted. ‘The pain caught me without any warning.’
‘How long have you known?’ His voice sounded leaden, as though he expected her to die.
‘I didn’t know, truly. I’ve only missed one flow, and that can happen.’ She reached out for his hand, needing his touch. ‘But it’s a blessing I could only dream of.’
‘I am never touching you again,’ he swore. ‘This is my fault.’
He looked so serious, she realised he meant it. ‘Trahern, this is everything I wanted. To bear a child for the man I—’ She broke off, her face reddening. They had endured so much together. He’d been at her side, during the most heart-wrenching moments and in the better times. She couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.
‘For the man I love,’ she finished.
Trahern sat down beside her, taking her hand. ‘Morren, I would give anything to spare you this pain.’ The fear upon his face made it clear that he did care about her.
She eased to a seated position, leaning against him. ‘I know you would. But if it’s true, that I have a second chance at being a mother, I want it.’
He moved beside her, supporting her in his arms. In his eyes, she saw the fear of losing her. She ventured a smile. ‘You gave me this precious gift, Trahern. I’m grateful for it.’
He held her so tightly, as though she would disappear from his embrace. ‘No matter what happens, I won’t leave you.’ His hand stroked her shoulder, his mouth brushing against her temple. ‘I’ll never leave you, even if the worst happens again. I love you, Morren.’
She drew back, her blue eyes meeting his. The fear of losing this child was a bond they shared, but she held fast to hope.
‘I’m going to be all right, Trahern. I believe that.’ The cramping was no longer the same as her earlier miscarriage. This was more like the onset of her monthly discomfort.
‘I pray you’re right.’ He kept her in his arms, holding her near. ‘Is there anything I can do to help you? Summon the healer, perhaps?’
She shook her head. ‘The only thing I want right now is to have our marriage back the way it was. I won’t live like this any more. It’s hurting both of us.’
The truth was, she could see the strain it wrought upon him, trying to stay away from her. Each night in his arms, she could feel his desire, and she sensed his pain. She knew why he was withholding himself, and it bothered her, knowing she was the cause.
He remained silent, and she pressed further, touching her forehead to his. ‘I need you. Not just in spirit, but also in body.’
Trahern’s face was haggard, torn with the need to touch her and the conflicting need to keep her safe. She raised her mouth to his, kissing him. ‘I love you, Trahern. And I know you’ll take care of both of us.’
‘You mean everything to me.’ He kissed her as though he were afraid she’d shatter in his arms. As though he loved her with every part of himself.
And it was enough.
The seasons passed, winter turning into spring. As the seedlings began to rise from the fertile ground, so too did Morren blossom. Trahern watched over her with a vigilance that never failed. Her rounded stomach grew with each month, and somehow, she held on to the babe she wanted so badly.
He hardly slept any more, the worry building up inside of him. Later that summer, he sent for Aileen, Connor’s wife. If anyone could help Morren survive the birth, it was she.
‘You look terrible,’ Connor remarked, grimacing at the sight. ‘Has it been that bad, being chieftain of the Ó Reillys?’
‘It’s not as dif
ficult as I thought it would be.’ He’d accepted his new place without much thought. The Ó Reilly survivors and several of the Dalrata Vikings had merged together, forming a new clan that was a blend of traditions. ‘Hoskuld and Gunnar have helped.’ He’d found that his new brothers had no lack of advice to share, and they frequently offered their opinions—whether he’d wanted them or not.
Trahern hid a smile at the thought.
‘Did you have enough supplies to endure the winter?’ Connor asked.
‘We did.’ Trahern pointed toward a section of the fields. ‘We found a hoard of coins buried there, a fortnight ago.’ He walked alongside his brother to the cashel entrance. ‘It seems that the former Ó Reilly chief was the cause of all the unrest with St Michael’s Abbey. He was collecting tithes from his kinsmen, blaming the abbot for greed, when he was the one stealing from his own people.’
Trahern grimaced and shook his head in disgust, ‘He told the abbot that the Dalrata people stole the tithes.’
‘Leaving him free to take everything,’ Connor predicted.
‘Aye. But at least we found the coins. We were able to buy more grain, and it made it easier to rebuild.’ They entered the gates, and the familiar sounds of activity surrounded them. ‘It’s like taking care of a large family,’ Trahern admitted. ‘Handling disputes and ensuring that everyone has what they need.’
‘Like being a father,’ Connor suggested, a slight hint of amusement on his face. ‘And I believe you’ll be a good one.’
Trahern had tried not to think of the child. For now, he merely wanted his wife to survive the birth. ‘How do you stand it?’ he asked suddenly. ‘I think about Morren giving birth, and I’d cut off my arm to take the pain away from her.’
‘I won’t lie to you,’ Connor said, ‘there’s nothing in the world that makes me more tense than watching Aileen in labour. You think of all the things that could happen to them. And somehow, when you hold your child in your arms, you forget about all else.’ A soft smile crossed his brother’s face. ‘It’s like holding a piece of the love you share. You see yourself and her in the child’s face.’
Surrender to an Irish Warrior Page 25