Chapter Two

Connell held Fianna’s hand as he led her inside. Was this really happening or was it a dream? He had to turn around and check. He had imagined this moment for the last twelve years. His attraction to her was more than physical. He enjoyed her fire, and her spirit. She lived by her own moral code and did not bend to the will of others without reason. These were the characteristics his father had abhorred, but then, Seamus had enjoyed weak women. Pretty, mindless things he could hang on his arm.

Had his father been threatened by Fianna’s strength? After she was gone, Connell had come to realize her depth of character made her special. She had been his confidante, lover, and friend. Her intelligence did not overwhelm his intellect, as his father had suggested, but enhanced it. For those brief months he enjoyed her counsel, and had missed it every day since.

He glanced at her again. Even with everything that had happened this night she had the bearing of a queen, an indomitable woman who could never be conquered. She had changed in their time apart. Her chestnut hair was a shade darker, and her curves more voluptuous, making her even more striking. A familiar throb settled low in his body. He cursed himself. She needed his help, not his lust. There was a welt on her left cheekbone, and a bloody cut on the side of her head. Her léine was torn to bits. One arm of the long, dress-like garment was shredded, revealing her shoulder, and the side of her breast. From what he could see her body was covered in scratches and cuts.

He sat her on his bed. Her light green eyes widened, and her body tensed. She was wary of him. That realization struck him like a kick from a horse. His knees almost buckled, his pulse throbbed, and cold radiated down his spine. He inhaled, trying to recover. Why was he so shocked by her reaction? Of course she distrusted him. At nineteen he had behaved like an idiot. She had been a caring, passionate wife. He had put her down, and treated her like muck. He had acquiesced to his father’s will, and divorced her, when he should have run away with her. It didn’t matter that Seamus had threatened Fianna’s life, and at the time he could see no other way to protect her. Connell should have told his father how he felt. More importantly, he should have told Fianna he loved her. Then he wouldn’t have spent the last twelve years longing for her.

At the time, he told himself she was just like any other woman, and he would get over her. But she wasn’t. He’d damned himself a thousand times the day she married Kevin McGuire, but there was nothing to be done. Twelve years ago Connell had given her up, and he had missed her every day since.

But things were different now. Her father and husband were dead. As the last surviving member of the ruling family it had fallen to her to lead her people.

She was a wealthy woman who had the freedom to marry whomever she pleased. Would she marry him? He almost laughed aloud at his own foolishness. No, that was too much to hope for. He had hurt her in ways that could never be undone. But somewhere in the back of his mind he still thought she belonged with him, in his bed, and had instinctively led her there when he should have led her to the guesthouse. Was she wondering about his intentions?

“I’ll sleep in Lorcan’s bed on the other side of the room, I want you to be comfortable,” he said, answering her unasked question.

She raised an eyebrow. “Yes, you will.”

“I had forgotten how forthright you can be.”

“What did you expect? I won’t share a bed with you.”

“No one’s asking you to. I said I would—”

A cough from Quinn McDermott caught his attention. His foster brother leaned against the doorjamb. His tall slim frame, long dark hair, and smiling blue eyes, gave him an air of nonchalance but Connell knew that was a pretence. Quinn was sharp, with a mind that cut through irrelevant details into the crux of the matter. “Would you like me to send for one of the women to tend her?”

“No, I’ll do it myself. I need to question her.” This might be the last time he had an opportunity to touch her, be near her, talk to her, and he wouldn’t let it slip away because decency suggested another woman attend her. “Are the horses ready?” Connell asked, knowing Fianna would not settle until her people were found, and he wanted to see for himself what kind of damage this new enemy had inflicted.

“Are we really going to help the Byrne?” Quinn shook his head.

“Of course. Why not?”

“Seamus will haunt you till the day you die. You know how your father felt about Finn Byrne and his cheating ways. Your father claimed old man Byrne lied when he assured us Fianna would make a good wife. He refused to pay her bride price. He said she was weak, cowardly, worthless, and she should be tied to a stone, and dropped in the river.”

Connell winced at the memory. The rift between their clans was his fault as much as anyone’s. He should have handled things differently, but now wasn’t the time to discuss the past. He wanted to check Fianna’s injuries, and make sure there wasn’t any serious damage.

“Both Finn Byrne and my father are dead. I gave my word. Would you have me break it? Besides we can always ask for compensation later.” Why had he said that? He didn’t want recompense, he wanted her, but his instinct as a leader had taken over before he had a chance to think. He knew for his people to spend so much of their time, and resources, helping another clan they needed to know they would get something in return.

Quinn smiled, “Of course, why didn’t I think of that?”

“Have a bathtub sent in. A soak will ease her pain and clean all her small wounds at once.”

Connell turned away from his brother, dismissing him, wishing he could erase their conversation. He wanted to help Fianna not because they shared a son, but to make up for everything he had done in the past. His chest tightened as if gripped by a giant hand. His father had set in motion a dispute that still affected them today. Would it ever be put to rest?

****

Fianna would have slapped herself to get her brain working if she weren’t so tired. Of course Connell didn’t want her in his bed. He had agreed to help because he wanted compensation. He had made it clear twelve years ago he was not attracted to her. Any passion in their relationship had been on her side, and he had gone along for the ride, so to speak.

She forced the past from her mind, to deal with the business at hand. If the Byrne had to compensate the O’Neills for their help then she would have to figure out what assets had survived the raid. They would still have their cattle, but they would be scattered. She needed to organize her people, and round up the remnants of the herd. Then, at least, they would have the ability to barter for necessities until they were back on their feet.

But were there any people left? She forced herself to try and dredge up details of the attack, but all she recalled was a haze of blood, fire, and death. What had happened to the women and children? She had ordered them to hide, hadn’t she? She touched the cut on her head. When had she received the blow to her temple? She wished her memories weren’t so scattered.

How could she sit, and wallow in a bathtub when she had no idea what had happened to the remnants of her clan. She needed to find them. She owed it to the warriors, the men, who had died trying to protect their families.

“All right, let’s get this léine off,” Connell said, interrupting her thoughts. For some unfathomable reason he seemed to want to tend to her, but she couldn’t imagine herself letting him. Would he allow her to leave? She suspected he wouldn’t, but why he wanted her to stay was also a puzzle.

“I’m thirsty,” she said.

His gaze flickered and softened. “I’ll have something prepared.”

“And maybe some food?”

He nodded and left.

The moment he withdrew she sprang to her feet, peeking around the door. The O’Neills had gone back to their daily chores. The gates of the fort stood open, permitting men and women to come and go while tending the fields.

What next? The walk to Duncarraig from Rathtrean had taken her half the night. She really didn’t have the energy to do it again. Horses. He had told Quinn to prepare the horses. Leaving the house, she darted to a rectangular barn near the fort entrance.

One horse caught her eye, a beautiful black stallion that reared as she approached. She suspected this was Connell’s horse. She relished the idea of stealing his mount to aggravate him, but couldn’t imagine handling such a strong, wilful animal in her weakened condition.

A nudge from a white and gray speckled mare forced her to adjust her stance. She rubbed the horse’s mane while she whispered sweet words in her ear. She was a fine, friendly pony who was bridled, and ready to go. Fianna untied the reins from the post, put her left hand on the mane, and then jumped onto the mare’s back. Pain shot through her head. She rested for a moment until the hurt subsided to a dull ache, then using her inner thighs guided the animal forward.