The Warrior's Touch (7 page)

Connor reached out, as if to take her hands in his. But he glanced down at his bandaged hands, realizing he couldn’t. He lowered them.

‘Is that the curse they speak of?’

She shrugged. ‘I know not if I am cursed. Some days it feels as though I am.’ She wiped her tears away, using the corner of her shawl. ‘My father wants me to marry again. Perhaps the gossip about the curse will disappear if I do.’

‘Whom would you wed?’

She shook her head. ‘Few men would have me, save Riordan.’

‘I don’t see why that would be so. You’ve a pretty face and you’d make a man a good wife.’

Her face reddened at the mention of her face. ‘Don’t tease me. I know I am not comely.’

‘Yes, you are,’ he said. Drawing closer, she could smell the musky scent of forest and man. His eyes turned smoky. ‘And aside from your cooking, any man would be lucky to bring you into his home.’

‘My cooking?’

‘Completely inedible. One would think that a woman with your herbal skills would know what to do with meat.’

‘There is nothing wrong with my cooking!’ She couldn’t believe he would insult her so. ‘You were not well enough to eat anything, save pottage.’

‘The mutton you cooked for my brothers was not bad, that I will grant you. But the fish soup was enough to make me want to crawl into a grave.’

She swatted him with the drying cloth. ‘You are a wicked man, Connor MacEgan.’

‘Prove yourself to me, then. Cook a sumptuous feast.’

Her lips curved. ‘I might.’

Aileen noticed that Connor ate every morsel of the
craibechan
, though he teased her by pretending to choke. She had to feed him the mixture, but he’d refused the spoon.

‘Why?’ she demanded. ‘Do you wish to eat like a barbarian?’

‘I learned my lesson the last time,’ he said softly. ‘You burned my mouth when you fed me with a spoon. If you use your hands, then you can’t burn me, can you?’

Her cheeks flushed. She’d been angry the last time, while they dined with his brothers. ‘I won’t burn you.’

‘Use your hands,’ he directed again.

‘So be it. But I warn you, it will be messy.’

‘You can bathe me afterwards.’

A flush of desire sparked at his words. She fed him a small bit of the meat and carrots. The touch of his lips against her fingertips sent a shiver through her.

The predatory shadow of a beard lined his cheeks, and his mouth was firm and sensual. She tried to eat as well, but her appetite had gone. With each morsel of food she gave him, her traitorous body reacted.

By the gods, this man tempted her. She wanted to lean forward, to kiss him the way he’d claimed her mouth years ago. Never had she forgotten the way he’d made her feel, the way her body surrendered beneath his as he’d filled her.

When she fed him the last bite, she jumped to her feet, furious with her own lack of control. She cleaned up the dishes, and reached for her broom to sweep the hearth. Though the floor was already clean, she swept it to clear her mind free of him.

‘Aileen?’ The rough edge to his voice pulled her sensibilities into pieces. ‘I would like that bath now.’

‘Of course.’ She hung the heavy cauldron above the fire and went outside to fetch water. The cool breeze eased her flaming cheeks while the sky held clouds of moisture. It would rain this night. She took deep breaths, calming the storm of anticipation. Connor did not want her. He stayed only for her healing skills. To think that he might desire her was naught but foolish longings better suited to a young maiden.

She carried two wooden buckets to the stream, wishing she could plunge into the icy water to calm her feelings, so long had it been since she’d lain with a man. Time had not lessened her desire for Connor. Now that he was here, it only grew stronger.

She made several trips to fill the cauldron, then stoked the flames to bring the water to a boil.

‘What is that for?’ Connor asked.

‘You asked for a bath. I am heating the water, unless you would prefer it cold.’

‘I like it warm.’ His voice was low, dark with the same desire she felt.

‘Very well.’ She tried to behave as though it didn’t matter.

‘And you? Will you bathe as well?’

Her skin broke out in goose flesh, her legs weakening at the thought of him watching her bathe.

‘I will. After you have finished.’ She pulled out the small wooden tub, dragging it to the centre of the room. It was only large enough to sit in, with knees drawn up to the chest.

Connor pictured Aileen’s naked body, rivulets of water spilling over her breasts. A strange awareness seized him. He hadn’t thought of her in that way before, cloaked as she was in her
léine
and woolen
brat
about her shoulders. Now she unbound her dark curling hair, combing it before the fire. The flames crackled upon the hearth, warming her skin.

Suddenly a cold stream sounded far more welcome. She was acting nervous around him, and for some reason it pleased him. When she’d fed him the
craibechan
, he’d seen her blush. But Aileen was no virgin. She had known the pleasures of a husband, and desire roared through him at the thought of sharing her bed. He wanted her, wanted to touch the smooth porcelain skin and kiss the sadness from her face.

‘Do you miss Eachan?’ he asked suddenly.

She nodded. ‘He loved me. I only wish I could have borne him a—’ Her words broke off, and she looked stricken, as though she wanted to take back the words. ‘I wish I could have borne him another child,’ she managed. ‘Rhiannon was our only daughter.’

Aileen’s face turned crimson and she turned toward the cauldron. She dipped buckets of hot water, pouring them into the tub. Steam rose from the water, and she added a scattering of green herbs.

‘Am I to be boiled and seasoned like a roasted fowl?’ Connor teased.

‘It is only mint and a few other herbs for healing. Do not bathe your hands,’ she warned. ‘After the bandages come off, you may wash them.’

When the tub was filled with water, Connor eyed it with suspicion. ‘I cannot fit into such a small space.’

‘You can if you kneel.’

Connor had his doubts, but he saw no alternative, save standing before her naked. A concern rose in his mind. ‘Will others think less of you, if I stay here?’

Aileen shook her head, regarding him with a frank appraisal. ‘They already think less of me as a healer. I cannot see how their opinion matters any more. And I am not a young maiden who has never seen an unclothed man.’

Her reminder shot another blade of desire into his groin. Eachan had lain with Aileen, touching the softness of her skin. He had cupped those heavy breasts within his hands, running his thumbs over the nipples. Connor shifted in his seat, uncomfortably aware that it had been many months since he’d last been with a woman.

Aileen allowed her
brat
to fall from her shoulders and lifted her earth-coloured overdress off. She wore only a thin cream-coloured
léine
that clung to her slender waist.

‘Are you planning to join me in the water?’ he asked lightly.

She smiled and shook her head. ‘There would not be room for me, and well you know it.’

‘You could sit upon my lap.’ Though he meant the words as nothing but flirtation, his imagination conjured up a sexual vision of Aileen straddling him, her womanhood pressed against his rigid length.

‘It is warm in here,’ Aileen said. ‘And I’ve no wish to get my overdress wet.’ She came closer and began unlacing his tunic.

The soft touch of her hands moving across his chest inflamed his lust. The knowledge that he could not touch her with his injured hands made it worse. It was torment, having a woman’s hands upon him and not being able to act upon his own desires.

‘What of Riordan?’ Connor asked, trying to dispel his need. He lifted his arms, realising that if Riordan knew of this arrangement he would be furious.

‘Riordan holds no claim over my decisions. He is not my husband.’ Aileen reached for his trews, but Connor stopped her.

‘And what if he becomes your husband?’

She stopped. ‘I am a healer, bathing a man who cannot do it himself. There is no shame in it.’

At the touch of her palms upon his hips, his erection grew even harder. Her fragrance of fresh herbs and femininity undid him. He suppressed a groan, stopping her from lowering his trews. ‘If you wish, I can—’

‘You can remove your own trews?’ she asked mildly.

Though her words were not a taunt, it reminded him of the unwanted weakness. Aileen stripped him of his clothing, averting her gaze from his manhood.

Connor stepped into the bathing tub, kneeling down to hide himself from her. Though she behaved with the appropriate courtesy, her ministrations bothered him. He should have been able to enjoy the hot water, the hands scrubbing away the dirt.

And yet, her palms moved with sensuality over his skin, with a startling familiarity. He had the oddest sensation that she’d touched him intimately before, though he knew it was impossible.

He was grateful that the tub hid the remainder of his body, for he could not shield his reaction to her.

A curl of her hair fell against his shoulder, a silken strand that teased him. He had the urge to thread his hands through her hair, pulling her down for a kiss.

And yet, he could not touch her. The Ó Banníons had wrought a fitting punishment upon him, unjust though it was. He could no longer caress a woman’s skin.

‘You may stand now,’ Aileen said softly.

Connor remained motionless. Her fingertips rested upon his shoulders, drops of water sliding down his arms. She held the cloth against him, and the temptation of her touch made him want her more.

‘I want to kiss you,’ he said huskily. Her lips opened in a startled reaction. The invitation hung between them, but she did not move away.

Connor closed the distance. She tasted of strawberries, a tart sweetness that tantalised him. She held herself so very still, not turning him away, but not kissing him back either. There was a soft innocence about her, and yet she had been another man’s wife.

Connor tried to coax her mouth to open, to let him slide his tongue within, but she pulled back. Her shoulders rose, her breathing unsteady. She desired him, too. Her mouth beckoned for another kiss, while his body wanted far more.

‘I thought you—you said—’ Though her face blushed fiercely, she stammered, “You did not want me.’

Connor halted her with a dark gaze. ‘I want you far more than is good for either of us.’ With that, he stood, letting her see the full length of his arousal.

Aileen stepped back, averting her shocked gaze. ‘You are right. It would not be good for us.’

He expected her to flee, to chastise him for kissing her. She did not. Instead, she said nothing of his erection but drew the soapy cloth over his thighs, down his legs. His lungs compressed, his body craving the feel of her naked skin against his own.

‘I mean no offence,’ he said by way of apology. ‘It has been a long time since…’He didn’t know quite what to say, hoping he could ease the disquiet. ‘I suppose it would have happened with any woman.’

Aileen frowned, and he thought he detected annoyance in her expression. ‘Perhaps.’

She poured a bucket of warm water over him to rinse, and wrapped a drying cloth around him. Connor accepted her assistance while stepping out of the tub.

She rubbed him dry with brisk motions, nothing at all untoward by them. In time, his aching subsided and she brought him a clean tunic and trews.

‘These belonged to Eachan. They may not fit, but you may wear them while I tend to your clothes.’

He accepted them, and, true to her word, the tunic pulled tight against his chest. ‘My thanks to you.’

She seemed ill at ease, and he knew he had to say something to reassure her.

‘Know that I would never force my attentions upon you, if they are unwanted,’ he said.

‘I know it.’ In the dim light of the hut, her complexion appeared paler than usual. He wished he had not acted on impulse.

‘But you should not do that again.’ She mustered her courage and looked into his eyes. ‘It is better if I am only a healer to you.’

A fleeting pain eclipsed her face. He wanted to reach out to her, to discover the mysteries she hid behind a mask of shyness. But he respected her desire not to lie with him.

‘I will return to the sick hut for the night,’ he said. He struggled to open the door with his bandaged hands, moving outside. For a long time he stood in the moonlight, the night air cooling his desire.

But as he closed his eyes, he heard the water lap against the tub when she entered it. His imagination conjured up carnal images of a woman’s body, supple skin and lush curves. Inwardly he cursed as he returned to his own pallet.

He did not sleep well that night, his thoughts dwelling upon her.

‘P
óla Ó Duinne, you simply
must
tell me what has happened to Aileen.’ Riona Ó Duinne’s hands fairly flew across the weaving loom, while the other women brightened with interest. ‘My husband Seamus is furious about what she did to Connor. I cannot believe she would try to treat his wounds.’

‘She saved his life,’ Póla pointed out. She bristled at the criticism of her daughter and jerked the
feith-géir
across the threads. ‘Just as she saved Whelon’s.’

Riona’s face hardened. ‘It would be better for Aileen to find a husband.’

‘And so she will. My Graeme intends for her to wed Connor,’ Póla claimed. ‘He thinks to be a matchmaker, he does.’

‘Connor and Aileen?’ Riona scoffed. ‘She’s reaching above herself if the thinks to wed a warrior like him. He’d not have her.’

‘I would have him myself, Mother,’ Grania giggled. ‘A more handsome man I’ve never seen.’

Riona shook her head and smiled. ‘You’d do well to remain chaste for your future husband, Grania. But if you speak to your father, he might consent. The MacEgans would make a powerful alliance, after all.’

Outside the cottage, Riordan overheard their laughter. He had come to speak with Póla, but their gossip about Connor had caught his attention. Riordan’s skin crawled at the thought of Connor touching Aileen. Fury such as he’d never known poured through him.

Aileen was his. Hadn’t he been there when Eachan died, consoling her? Hadn’t he helped keep her land tended, helping her plant the corn for this next season? She had been grateful to him.

Riordan abandoned his intention to speak with Póla. He had wanted advice on how to pursue his courtship further. Now he saw that they had greater ambitions for their daughter. Connor MacEgan belonged to the
flaiths
, the noblemen who reigned as chieftains. To wed a man such as Connor would raise Aileen’s stature even more than her own rank as a healer.

But he loved Aileen. She had ever been in his thoughts, even while she belonged to Eachan. His own wife had died in childbirth, but he knew how to bide his time. One day Aileen would welcome him into her bed, into her heart. She would ripen with his seed and bear him a child.

As he crossed the meadows, a soft rain fell upon him, dampening his tunic. Riordan smiled, allowing the rain to soak through. Aileen would invite him into her home to warm himself before the fire. He could say that he’d come by to inspect her animals, particularly the new lambs born that spring.

And when he came to her, he’d not allow Connor MacEgan to usurp his place. Póla Ó Duinne was wrong. Aileen cared for him, and in time her friendship would turn into love. He would make sure of it.

Aileen raised her shawl to cover her hair as the rain intensified. She led one of the sheep with her, for it had escaped the pen. In her other hand she carried a wooden mallet to repair the broken fence.

The walk back to her land was slow, for the sheep kept stopping to graze along the way. Aileen did not mind, for it gave her the chance to dwell upon her thoughts. She ran her hand across the rough wool of the animal, nudging the ewe forward.

It was less than a sennight until she could remove Connor’s bandages. Though he could not perceive the magnitude of the healing, she was well pleased with the outcome. He would regain use of his hands, though perhaps not enough to fight again. Pride filled her at the thought.

She had an old pig’s bladder she could fill with water. By squeezing it, he could flex his stiff fingers. In time, he would be able to care for himself once more.

Her skin warmed at the memory of last night. She had never seen Connor fully unclothed before, even on the night of Bealtaine. His body could have been one of the legendary statues of a god, carved of smooth marble. Though she had not touched him in a wanton manner, her mind had envisioned another sort of night, one where he claimed her body with his.

The sheep lowered its head to nibble a patch of grass, and Aileen rested her hands upon the creature. She didn’t realise how much she had missed lying in a man’s arms. Although her husband Eachan had pleased her in the privacy of their bed, he had never quite diminished the memory of Connor.

She hadn’t forgotten Connor’s arousal nor his embarrassed remark that it would have happened with any woman. He was right, of course. She was glad she had not succumbed to her desires. A man such as Connor knew not how to be with one woman. Hadn’t he flirted with Grania and the others?

Aileen nudged the sheep again, pulling upon the rope halter. In the distance, she saw a figure moving toward her. The rain had slowed, enough for her to recognise Riordan. She lifted her hand in greeting.

‘Good morn to you,’ Riordan spoke, taking her hand and squeezing it lightly. Aileen returned the gesture of friendship, forcing herself to truly look upon Riordan. For so many weeks he had come to visit with her, helping her when she needed him. He was the sort of man who would make a good husband, not Connor.

Aileen forced a smile on to her face. ‘What brings you here, Riordan?’ It was apparent from the direction of his path that he’d come with the intention of seeing her. The sheep lowered her head again to eat.

‘I came to look upon your new lambs and to see if you needed aught.’

‘I am well, thank you.’ Aileen gestured toward the sheep. ‘This one thought to leave her pen and go off to seek her fortune. I’m going to mend the fence.’

‘I’ll help you, if you like.’

She shrugged, offering a smile. He meant well. ‘Yes, I would like that.’

Once the sheep was safely back inside the pen, Aileen held the wood in place while Riordan hammered the peg to close the gap in the fence. They worked in silence, but she sensed he wanted to tell her something. When they had finished, at last he revealed his concern. ‘You are alone with MacEgan now with no one to protect you.’

‘Protect me?’ She couldn’t understand why he would be afraid. ‘There is no need to fear for my safety. Connor has never threatened me in any way. His bandages come off in a few days and soon after that, he will return home.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. I do not like the thought of you being alone with a warrior of MacEgan’s reputation.’

Aileen shook her head at Riordan’s unfounded worry. ‘His hands have not yet healed. There is nothing to concern you, or anyone else. He has not touched me.’ But her face burned at the thought of giving Connor his bath.

‘And do you wish for his touch?’ he asked with a sudden intensity. He took her hand again, this time with a possessive grip.

His motion startled her. ‘No, of course not. He is no different than any other wounded man.’ Even as she spoke the lie, Riordan’s hand tightened upon her. A coldness filled her at his jealousy. For the first time, she grew frightened of him.

‘I like it not, Aileen.’

‘You are hurting my hand,’ she said. He released her immediately. Aileen rubbed her fingers, her thoughts troubled. Never had she seen Riordan behave in this way. He had always been gentle and a friend to her.

With reddened cheeks he lowered his head. ‘Forgive me. It is only that I care for you.’

She tried to be flattered by his jealousy. ‘I know it.’

‘I have kept my distance out of respect for Eachan,’ Riordan said. He softened his voice, pleading with her. ‘But you must know that I want nothing but your happiness, Aileen. Fate has granted me a second chance at winning your heart. I’ll not let it pass.’

He reached out to cup her cheek. She knew he planned to kiss her, and she forced herself to endure the touch of his lips upon hers. He was a good man, a man she might wed one day.

Or perhaps at the
aenach
, if her father got his way. Whom else would she wed? No other man would consider her as a bride.

In his eyes, a hunger lay waiting. Aileen tried to allay her apprehensions, but his touch did not evoke a single response. Not the way Connor had.

She shivered, thinking of her hands passing across Connor’s rigid shoulders, the hardened male skin that made her ache for him.

Riordan misinterpreted her shiver and deepened the kiss. Aileen kept her mouth closed when he tried to bring his tongue inside.

It did not matter. She had not held any feelings for Eachan when they’d wed, but in time she had felt affection toward him. It would be the same with Riordan.

She tried to kiss him back, but her mouth froze. It felt wrong somehow.

Riordan drew back, his eyes hooded with anticipation. She recognised his ardour and her own lacklustre response.

‘You must know how you tempt me,’ he said, his hands trailing down her spine.

‘I buried my husband two moons ago.’

‘But he was sick before that. How long was he abed?’

‘A full season,’ she admitted. The sickness that had claimed her husband’s life was not one she could heal. She had seen the wasting disease before, an illness that no prayer or medicine could fight. Eachan had known it, too.

‘Let me woo your heart, Aileen,’ Riordan insisted. ‘I’ll not ask you to give any more than you are able.’ He drew her palm to his lips.

The gesture was one Eachan had made toward her, many a time. She had been a foolish girl long ago, dreaming of Connor’s embrace. She had denied her heart then, accepting Eachan’s suit. It had been a good marriage, though she had not given birth to any more children.

But she wanted another child, wanted to fill her home with them. Riordan could grant her that, if she would allow it. Surely in time, he could cause her heart to tremble in the same way Connor did?

Connor would leave, and, unless she could prove her worth as a healer, she’d have no choice but to marry. It might as well be a man who loved her. ‘Have patience with me,’ she whispered, ‘and eventually you may have what you seek.’

The joy upon Riordan’s face evoked such a terrible guilt. He believed she cared for him in the same way, that it was only grief that made her hesitant.

Aileen allowed his arms to enfold her, though her hands remained at her sides. She closed her eyes, willing herself to close off the memories Connor had rekindled.

The chieftain of the tribe, Seamus Ó Duinne, embraced Connor warmly. ‘You’re looking better, lad.’

He had journeyed to his foster-father’s ring fort after Seamus had sent word to him. It had been almost seven years since he’d been here, and the dwelling looked much the same. His foster-mother had hung woven tapestries upon the whitewashed walls, and in the corner an elabourately carved bride’s chest stood.

Connor followed Seamus into a private chamber, where he gestured for him to sit down. ‘Riona is out visiting today. She’ll be most disappointed that she missed you.’

Connor smiled at the mention of his foster-mother. Riona would cluck and fuss over him like a hen.

‘Thank you for answering my summons. We have much to discuss.’ Seamus sent him a thoughtful look. ‘In a few days, this season’s
aenach
will begin. I intend to bring your case before the
brehons
to seek their judgment. The Ó Banníons must answer for your injuries.’

A servant poured a cup of wine into a silver chalice. The Brehon courts were held at every public gathering, and the occasion of the
aenach
was no exception. The local fair, although it provided a means of celebrating and feasting, was also a time for more serious matters of justice to be debated.

‘I’ve no wish to bring the case before the courts,’ he argued. ‘Brehon laws will enact a fine, nothing more.’

‘It is the way of our people.’

‘But it is not enough. Not for what happened to me.’

A pretty maid sat down beside him and lifted the cup to his lips. Connor drank the spiced wine, the rich flavour a welcome change from the mead he was accustomed to.

‘What is it you want?’

‘Vengeance. An eye for an eye.’

Seamus shook his head, his displeasure evident. ‘The
aenach
is the place to discuss judgements. Do not let your anger sway you from the right path. If the Ó Banníons did this to you, then the case is a simple one.’

‘Not so simple,’ Connor said. His skin tightened with frustration. ‘Flynn Ó Banníon will claim that I lay with his daughter Deirdre. Without her consent.’

‘And did you?’

Connor leaned forward, letting Seamus see the darkness of his resentment. ‘You know the answer to that already.’

Seamus nodded, steepling his hands. ‘If what you say is true, the Ó Banníons will claim that you owe his daughter the
corp-díre
for stealing her virtue.’

‘But he owes me the same for bringing harm to my hands. The fines will nullify each other.’

‘Can her lie be proven?’

‘It is her word against mine.’

‘Hmm.’ Seamus took a deep sip of his wine. ‘Your reputation among the women does not help the matter. Too many could understand how Deirdre was seduced.’

‘I never laid hands upon her.’

‘As you say. But it will be difficult to prove. A full body price will be demanded.’

‘I do not want
corp-díre
,’ Connor said, lowering his voice. ‘I want the Ó Banníon’s death.’

Seamus’s face grew sharp. ‘You speak foolishness.’ He signalled for the maid to leave their presence. When they were alone, he added, ‘This is a matter for the courts to decide.’

‘A throng of arguing lawyers will not bring back my hands.’

‘And murder will?’ Seamus questioned.

‘It will make me feel better.’

His foster-father shook his head. ‘Always a dark temper you had, Connor. But the blood of the Ó Banníons would bring nothing but war.’ He stood and led Connor outside.

‘How are your hands? Will you be able to fight again?’

‘We do not know. But I have seen the wounds—’ His voice broke off. His twisted fingers could never grip a sword. Flynn Ó Banníon had destroyed him, as surely as if he had taken his life.

‘I will ask the monks to say prayers on your behalf.’ Seamus said. ‘And my offer to you stands, should you wish to dwell with us.’

‘I prefer the isolation of Aileen’s hut.’

Seamus frowned, but did not voice an opinion. He walked alongside him to the door. ‘What will you do if Flynn Ó Banníon comes to the
aenach
?’