Surrender to an Irish Warrior by Michelle Willingham Read Free Book Online Page B

staring at the ceiling. ‘I don’t like bringing you there. I think you should stay here at the abbey.’
    â€˜I’ll be all right. With each day, my strength improves.’
    He didn’t think it was enough. ‘We’ll borrow horses. And if there’s any sign of danger, I’m sending you back.’ He could defend them long enough for her to get to safety, of that he was certain.
    Morren laid back down, and he wondered suddenly why the monks had left them alone in the guest house. In an intimate space such as this, it seemed too close. He could smell the fragrance of Morren’s skin, like crushed rosemary. It intrigued him, and he found himself staring at her. Her features were soft, with clear blue eyes and fair hair that fell below her shoulders, as though she’d cut it a few years back. Her nose had a slight tilt, an imperfection that drew his attention to her mouth.
    He forced his gaze away, rising from the pallet and stalking towards the fire. He added more peat, regaining control of his errant thoughts. What was the matter with him? He supposed his response was because he hadn’t been with anyone sinceCiara. He wasn’t a damned monk, able to shut out his body’s instincts.
    â€˜Are you all right?’ Morren asked, sitting up again.
    â€˜Yes.’ He poked at the fire, though it needed no tending. ‘I wanted to ensure that the fire would last for the night.’
    He returned to the pallet, rolling onto his stomach. He did his best to shut her out, but he sensed she was still awake.
    â€˜I’d ask you to tell me more of your story,’ she murmured, ‘but I can see that you’re tired.’
    Sleep was the furthest thing from his mind. ‘In the morning, perhaps.’ He could easily have continued the tale of Eithne and Dagda, but telling stories would only intensify the connection with her. And the truth was, he didn’t want her watching him with those blue eyes. Though he had no intention of laying a finger upon her, he couldn’t deny that she was beautiful.
    â€˜It was a sword,’ she said softly.
    â€˜What was?’
    â€˜Ciara. You asked me how she died, and I promised to tell you if you helped my sister.’
    His fingers dug into the pallet, his lungs tight. He couldn’t speak, feeling as though a stone were crushing him. But the need to know was greater than his desire for secrets.
    â€˜She was cut down by one of their swordsmen,’ Morren said. ‘I don’t think he meant to strike her, but she was fleeing behind the man when he swung his weapon.’
    â€˜Did she suffer?’ He couldn’t stop the question, though he feared the answer.
    â€˜It was quick.’
    The words granted him a slight reprieve, but he didn’t release his tight grip upon the pallet. Though he’d give anything in his power to have Ciara back, if she’d had to die, at least she hadn’t lingered.
    â€˜Thank you,’ he said. And meant it. He’d tormented himself with images of her death, wishing to God he knew whathad happened. Hearing the truth made it somewhat easier to bear.
    â€˜She was a friend,’ Morren added. ‘And you gave her happiness. She often spoke of how much she loved you.’
    The invisible grip around his heart squeezed tighter. A thickness rose in his throat, and he felt the need to leave.
    Without a word of explanation, Trahern threw open the door and strode outside. He stumbled through the darkness, the night enfolding him. A lonely cross rested upon the hillside, shadowed in the moonlight.
    He fell to his knees before it, the pain of loss suffocating him. He might die tomorrow, killing the bastards who’d taken her life. And God help him, he didn’t care.
    Whether minutes or an hour passed, he didn’t know. But he sensed Morren’s presence standing behind him. Her hand settled upon his shoulder in a gesture of comfort. He knew what it cost her, to