Surrender to an Irish Warrior by Michelle Willingham

reach out with a physical touch.
    â€˜Go back to the guest house,’ he said. ‘I’ll join you later.’
    Her fingers squeezed his shoulder, and she obeyed.
    In the distance, Trahern heard the faint sound of the monks’ footsteps as they returned to the chapel for vigils .
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    In the morning, Morren was feeling better, and she had no doubt she could finish the journey this time. Trahern had arranged to borrow horses from the monks, with the promise to return them within a few days.
    They rode south, and along the way, she saw Trahern’s face tighten with restrained anger. He didn’t speak to her; outwardly, it appeared that countless plans and strategies consumed his mind.
    In his expression, she saw vengeance. He believed he would find the Lochlannach who were responsible for the attack, and that she would be able to identify the guilty men.
    A shiver passed over her. Although the men deserved to die for what they’d done, she’d never wanted to be an executioner.Morren slowed her pace, torn between wanting her own vengeance and wanting to forget.
    Trahern drew back, turning concerned. He handed her the water bag. ‘You’re looking pale. Would you rather go back?’
    â€˜No. I’m all right.’ It wasn’t physical weakness that bothered her; it was her own fear of what would happen when they reached the longphort .
    After a drink, she handed back the water bag and took the reins again. ‘It’s not far. We’ll be there in less than an hour.’ Before Trahern could argue, she urged her horse into a walk, forcing him to follow. No matter what the danger was, she couldn’t leave Jilleen alone.
    Trahern brought his horse alongside hers, and though he didn’t protest, she caught him watching her. A few cuts marred his chin and scalp where he’d shaved the hair off again. With his size and fierce appearance, she had no doubt he would intimidate many of the Vikings.
    Yet she’d seen a different side to him. Last night, he’d remained outside until vigils was finished. Gone was the hardened warrior and in his place was a man consumed by grief. A part of her had wanted to bring him peace. Without thinking, she’d touched his shoulder.
    His skin had been warm, the muscles tight and knotted. He’d flinched with shock, but then relaxed when he saw that it was her.
    She’d almost pulled back her hand but didn’t. Instead, she’d squeezed his shoulder. It had been an impulse, born from a fleeting moment when he’d needed comfort. When she’d returned alone to her pallet, her cheeks had burned with embarrassment. Would he understand that it was friendship she’d offered, nothing more?
    Bitterly, she turned her head against the wind, staring into the empty horizon. She knew full well that she was forever damaged, a woman no man would ever want.
    Her hand moved to her barren stomach, and a tendril of sorrow took root. Once, she’d dreamed of becoming a mother. Of feeling soft arms wrap around her neck, a child’s cheek resting upon hers.
    The ache of emptiness became a physical pain within her womb. And then it rose into anger.
    Those men had taken away the promise of any other children. Never before had she thought of it in that way.
    Her knuckles tightened upon the reins, the unfettered rage battering against the shield of calm she’d wrapped around herself.
    Don’t think of it. Put it in the past, where it belongs.
    But when she met Trahern’s dark gaze, she saw the reflection of herself in his eyes.

Chapter Five
    T he longphort rested a few miles inland from Beanntraí, along the river and facing the south-west coast. Vivid blue water nestled against the shoreline, while in the distance, shadowed mountains hovered. Although the structure had been built centuries earlier, the Vikings had continually expanded, adding stone outbuildings to the settlement.
    Trahern examined the longphort with