She shoved her wet hair away from her face with a weary sigh and, soaking the cloth again in the warm water, she drew it across Rónán’s outerthigh, paused.
A birthmark.
Intrigued, she traced her finger over the uneven brown path of skin a thumb’s width to where it faded into a curl. A unique design. What did he think of its presence? As if it mattered. As an orphan, the unique mark would hold naught of significance.
A weary smile touched her mouth as she resumed her task. She needed to continue, nay linger on foolish thoughts.
A while later, after several refills of warm water, with Rónán’s trembling having subsided and his skin radiating a healthy glow, she secured the covers around him and stepped away. Thankful, she rinsed out the woven fabric, hung it near thehearth to dry.
The scuff of a boot sounded as their rescuer halted beside Rónán. “Your man is going to be fine.”
“Thanks to you.”
“I did nay more than you would have done if the circumstancewas reversed.”
“Regardless, we are in your debt. I promise you will be compensatedfor your help.”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “My help didna come with conditions.”
Lathir remained silent, understanding his pride. Still, she would find a way to pay him back for hisselfless aid.
With Rónán safe, she took in the simple furnishings. Besides the small bed where he lay, a bench sat near a small table, and fishing nets lay neatly folded and stacked in the corner, which lent a slight tang of the sea inside the hut. In addition to the chest where she’d retrieved the gown, several more stood against the far wall, no doubt holding spices or other valuables.
From the ceiling hung an array of dried herbs, some she’d used in preparing food in the past, others for healing, and against the opposite wall were various tools of Tighearnán’s trade.
To their right, a claymore lay secured in its sheath, the pommel above the leather-wrapped grip ornately carved.
In the far corner, a ladder led to a loft. From this angle, she caught the edge of a bed. Brown hair spilled from beneath the covers, as did the stringy hair of the well-loved doll that she’d seen the child holding earlier.
Tenderness filled her heart as she met the father’s gaze. “She is fortunate to have you.”
He was a man who’d clearly been marked by the sea and its elements—salt, sun, and wind. Yet the taut expression on his face softened. “Órlaith means everything to me.”
“Your wife?”
Pain darkened his eyes. “I…I believe she is dead.”
Grief tightened in her chest. “I am sorry.”
He gave a curt nod. “Sit, eat. You are hungry.”
Her stomach growled as he set a tasty scented bowl and steaming drink before her. She sat, scooped up a bit as he settled opposite her, refilled his bowl, then topped off both of their goblets with ale. “If you do not mind my asking, what happenedto your wife?”
Tighearnán swirled the goblet. On a rough sigh, he thumped it on the table. “Two years ago, I went to the village to sell fish. I had a grand catch and had picked out a ribbon to surprise Máire, my wife. But when I returned…” His throat worked and his eyes grew clouded with anguish. “The inside of the hut was in shambles. And the blood… The table was turned over, and cloths were strewn about. Máire had clearly put up a struggle against whoever took her. Then,” he forced out, his voice but a strangled whisper, “I heard Órlaith crying in the loft.”
“They didna take her,”Lathir rasped.
“I still canna believe it. So young, she would have been easy to take and claim as their own. The only thing that makes sense is that she was asleep during the attack and the men didna know she was there.” Grief-stricken eyes shifted to her, the devastation within breaking her heart. “Wanting to protect her, my wife would never have exposed our daughter’s presence. I followed the trail, which led to the ocean. Frantic to find my wife, I left Órlaith with trusted friends and scoured every port for months. I threatened, pleaded. In the end, without a whisper of anyone having seen her, I accepted the horrific fact that she must have died from her injuries, and returned home to my daughter.”
Sorrow wrapped around her heart, a cold, chilling sweep that threatened to release the tears for his pain. How he’d suffered. That he still mourned the loss of his wife after the years passed exposed the depth of hislove for Máire.
How did one recover from such?
Or could they?
If, God forbid, she found her father dead, Lathir wasn’t sure if she could be so strong. She prayed that she’d never have to face such a tragic circumstance.
The crackle of the fire fractured the silence, thickwith heartache.
