Surrender to an Irish Warrior by Michelle Willingham

the pieces of silver.
    Trahern came up behind her. He said nothing at first, letting her grieve. She turned and saw her own pain in his eyes. The snow cut through her skin, the frigid air as cold as her heart. Her fingers tightened into a fist, as she understood his need for vengeance.
    Friends, distant family members…gone now.
    Her hands tightened upon the clay container, as though she could shatter the earthenware under the pressure. She handed it to him, closing his fingers around the open container. ‘Find the men who did this, Trahern. Please.’
    â€˜I will.’ Trahern’s vow was quietly spoken, but there was intensity beneath it.
    She believed him. He wasn’t a man who would give up, not until he’d brought the raiders to justice.
    â€˜You’ll need the coins to buy grain for your people,’ he said.
    It made her skin crawl to even think of touching the coins that had paid for the lives of her kinsmen. But he was right. She would have to use them, and even then, it might not be enough.
    â€˜Keep them for me,’ she pleaded. ‘For now, at least.’
    He emptied the container into a pouch at his waist. ‘They are yours, whenever you need them.’
    Morren turned back, walking slightly faster than Trahern. She didn’t want to believe that one of her own clansmen might have hired the men, but it was possible. She watched a group of Vikings working alongside Áron and a few of the other survivors. They’d finished a rough framing of two huts, and no doubt within a few more days, the shelters would be finished.
    Gunnar was balanced atop one of the walls, hammering the wooden frame supporting the roof. Jilleen had joined Katla and some of the other women, bundling the thatch.
    When she passed her own clansmen, Morren caught Adham watching her, a slight smile on his face. It was a questioning look, as though asking whether she would speak to him. She turned away, her stomach uneasy.
    The truth was, she didn’t want to face him. He’d done nothing that night to protect her. And, as far as she knew, he hadn’t searched for her either. She couldn’t quite let go of the resentment.
    Trahern caught her hand in his once more. Though he masked the gesture as a way of leading her away from the men, she sensed his impatience. ‘What is it?’
    â€˜You’re pale.’ He led her inside one of the half-finished shelters and dragged a sanded tree stump for her to sit upon. ‘I don’t want you to push yourself too hard.’
    â€˜Stop treating me like I’ll shatter,’ she protested. ‘There’s nothing wrong.’
    â€˜It’s only been a few days,’ he reminded her quietly. ‘And there’s nothing wrong with taking a moment to rest.’ His eyes passed over her in a silent inspection. ‘You haven’t seen the Dalrata healer yet, have you?’
    â€˜No. There was no need.’ Did he truly believe she’d reveal her shame to a stranger?
    He sat across from her. ‘Morren, you need time to recover. You lost a great deal that night.’
    The words sliced through her at the mention of her child. Her eyes welled up, though she managed to hold back the tears. ‘I’m all right.’
    But she wasn’t, not truly. Even so, she forced herself to say, ‘You needn’t treat me like I’m weak.’
    â€˜Allowing yourself time to heal isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s good sense.’ He studied her face, and his expression was haggard and grim. ‘I shouldn’t have brought you here.’
    â€˜I needed to come.’ She rested her wrists upon her knees. ‘And in a moment, I’m going back outside. There’s a lot of work to be done.’
    â€˜Not by you. The others are stronger.’
    â€˜I can’t sit and do nothing, Trahern.’ She gripped her hands together. ‘Otherwise, I’ll start to remember it. I need the work. It makes