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low table, and an unexpected flush crossed over her. ‘What is it?’
    â€˜Nothing.’ He turned away, and anger lined his face again.
    Morren supposed it was his bad mood tainting his enjoyment of the meal. She glanced around at the people and she saw Katla watching her. Though the Norse woman had been infuriated with Trahern earlier, she offered a warm smile, her grey eyes softened with friendliness. She wore a crimson gown with a fawn-coloured apron fastened with golden brooches at the shoulders. A grey shawl hung across her arms.
    Katla approached them, her expression contrite. ‘I was upset earlier,’ she apologised. ‘I want to welcome you and your sister to our home. You may stay with us, if you wish.’ A bleakness crossed over the woman’s eyes, as if in memory of the attack. But she forced the smile back again, her eyes resting upon Jilleen. ‘Your sister was glad to see you, I know.’
    Morren gave a nod. ‘Thank you for looking after her.’
    Katla’s smile grew strained, but she looked upon Jilleen with fondness. ‘She reminds me of my daughter.’
    There was pain in Katla’s voice, but Morren didn’t press for answers. It explained why the woman had taken such an interest in looking after Jilleen. Despite the reasons, she was grateful for the woman’s care.
    Katla tore off a piece of bread and added it to Jilleen’s plate without asking. Her eyes didn’t miss much, and no doubt she’d noticed the young girl’s thin frame. ‘You should have joined the others sooner,’ Katla scolded gently. ‘It’s not safe for women to be alone.’
    Morren hesitated, not knowing what to say. Excuses faltered on her tongue. No one knew what had happened to her on the night of the attack, except Jilleen. And only Trahern knew of her miscarried babe.
    â€˜She had no desire to live among the enemy,’ Trahern interrupted, his tone cool.
    Katla uttered a laugh. ‘The enemy, are we? And who provided food and shelter for the Ó Reillys, these four months past? Who sent men to Glen Omrigh every day, helping to clear it out for rebuilding?’
    â€˜Are we expected to believe that you’re overly generous?’ Trahern asked. He didn’t bother to keep the sardonic tone from his voice.
    Katla rested her palms on the table, meeting his accusatory look with her own indignant glare. ‘Who are you to doubt us, Irishman?’
    To distract Trahern, Morren placed a goblet of mead into his hand. In the midst of the argument, Jilleen had shrunk back, leaving her own food unfinished. She stared down at the table, as though she wanted to disappear.
    â€˜I’ve no reason to trust you,’ Trahern responded. ‘Your people killed the woman I intended to marry.’
    Katla’s face turned scarlet. ‘You’re wrong.’ She reached out and snatched his food away. ‘And if you won’t believe that, then you can leave.’
    â€˜Katla,’ another man said softly. He came up behind her and replaced the food. ‘Leave him be.’
    From the protective way the man rested his hands upon the woman’s shoulders, Morren suspected he was her husband. Katla didn’t apologise, however, and Trahern stood. He ignored both of them and strode out of the longhouse.
    Morren cast a glance at Jilleen, who still hadn’t looked up from her food. ‘Wait here,’ she advised her sister. ‘I’ll be back.’
    Trahern’s restless energy, his caged anger, made him a threat to anyone who came too close. Soon enough, someone would provoke him, and she didn’t know if she could calm his temper. Perhaps it would be best if he left.
    The thought was strangely disappointing. In the past few days, Trahern had taken care of her, protecting her from harm. His steady presence had silenced her fears. If he went away,she would have to face all the questions that she didn’t want to