“How much longer I might last?” She snorted her derision. “My stamina is hardly in question, now, is it? Yer the one with the patched-up arm. Better I should be asking you how much longer you might last.”
Prickly-spirited, as always. It was one of the adjectives he’d somehow left off his earlier list, along with impatient and annoying. The woman had a temper that made him grind his teeth.
She would be one of the things he’d truly miss when he left this world.
“You think that’s funny, do you?” she asked, her brows drawing into a frown as she glared at him. “I fail to see anything the least bit amusing about our situation. It’s no bad enough that we’ve two days of hard travel ahead of us, into territory where neither of us is welcome. Now yer sitting there with that silly grin upon yer face. And look at this, would you . . . it’s starting to rain! On top of everything else. Fine reward that is, and me trying for nothing more than to see you safe.” She wiped a hand over her face and pulled up the hood of her cloak with one last annoyed look in his direction.
As if the rain were his fault.
Hall stared into the solid gray wall of precipitation moving toward them, knowing that, in fact, the rain was his fault. He’d allowed his emotions to run wild, doing nothing to cloak them. Nothing to prevent the all-too-obvious result of his depression.
He’d never realized that masking the way he felt required so much energy. Energy he simply didn’t have to spare right now. But mask it he must.
With an effort on his part that stole from him his ability to do anything else, the pounding rain slowed to a light, annoying mist. By the time they reached a spot where he felt they could camp for the night, the rains had completely stopped.
He brushed away the assistance Bridget offered and slid down from his saddle, praying his legs would hold him.
“Leave the horses and I’ll see to them after I’ve taken care of a fire.” Her words were more a command than an offer, leaving him no alternative but to argue with her.
“I’m not on my deathbed yet. I can still take care of our animals.”
Bridget glared at him, her mouth set in a hard, straight line as if she had something she wanted to say but held it back. Finally, after a long moment, she shrugged and turned away, leaving him to lead both their horses to drink.
It was as if, no matter what he did, he managed to anger her. Never in all his days had he dealt with a more complicated, more strong-willed, more annoying woman than Bridget MacCulloch.
He had also never before crossed paths with a woman he found more appealing.
Had the Norns not conspired against him long before his birth to eliminate any chance for a future of happiness, Bridget, with her bravery and her willingness to confront every situation head-on, would have been exactly the woman he would have looked for to share that future with him.
THE FIRE BLAZED steadily and Bridget had already begun to lay out their evening meal by the time Halldor finished readying their animals for the night. It had taken him twice as long as it should have, and he wore his exhaustion like a heavy cloak when he approached the fire.
“Best we enjoy the luxury of this warmth tonight,” he offered as he sank down to sit across from where she stood. “Another day’s travel will bring us too close to Torquil’s domain for us to risk drawing his attention with such a large fire.”
If only he had shared that handy bit of information earlier, she might have had time to bring down some fresh meat for them tonight. A rabbit, perhaps. But no, he’d waited until well after dark before he bothered to—
She clamped down on her internal rant, common sense rearing its unfamiliar head. She needed to curb her unreasonable anger over every little thing Halldor did. It wasn’t his responsibility to point out the obvious. She should have thought of it herself.
Fear curled in her stomach as she wondered, if she’d overlooked something as minor as this, what more important things might she miss?
As if she’d opened a door and recognized the person standing there, she realized that fear was the source of all that impotent anger churning inside her. Fear that she’d fail in her task to save him, just as she’d failed in her task to avenge her father’s death.
It wasn’t anything Halldor had done that set her off, but rather the fact that he seemed so calm about everything in the face of her own fear. He worried about nothing and she about everything. Even now he was only trying to make small talk, and if she had any good sense left at all, she should do the same.
“I hope the Tinklers remembered all we asked them to tell Patrick about the men who are following Mathew.”
Halldor picked up a stick and poked at the fire, saying nothing. He didn’t need to. His expression quite clearly announced his feelings on the subject.
Brie couldn’t let his silence go unchallenged. “What? Surely you canna believe they’d withhold such information.” Knowledge of what the men from Castle MacGahan faced could mean the difference between success and failure.
His jaw tightened as if he fought some internal debate. She’d seen the same expression on her brother’s face too many times not to recognize it.
“Do you believe they’d withhold it? You do! You actually doubt the Tinklers’ willingness to help.”
He tossed away the stick and looked up at her, shaking his head. “You have it wrong. I’ve no doubt in the Tinklers’ willingness to share our message with Patrick’s party, if they see them. It’s the likelihood their paths will cross I find worrisome. Patrick knows as well as I that Mathew heads for Skye to sell the scrolls. Cross-country is the fastest way there, not along the trails the Tinklers follow. Our friends will likely miss Mathew altogether, and instead will be walking into Torquil’s men blind.”
So he did worry! The realization was like cold water to Brie’s face. One more example of her rushing headlong into a mistaken assumption, exactly as her father had so often warned her to guard against. At least this worry was one she didn’t share.
“No, yer wrong about that. You chose the less-traveled path, but Patrick willna do the same. He’s a fine warrior, make no mistake. But he thinks in a straight line. My da said it was too many years of being his brother’s second in command that left him seeing only right or wrong, black or white. And those who follow him will not question his decisions or his course. Trust me on this. They’ll stick to the trails.”
Brie tore off a piece of bread and handed it over to Halldor. He accepted the offering wordlessly and took a big bite, staring into the fire as he chewed.
“Your reasoning is sound,” he said at last, looking up to meet her gaze. “I do not give my trust easily. But by your actions, Shield Maiden, you have earned it. As you say, I will put that worry from my mind.”
He trusted her. Just like that. No conditions or exceptions. None of the “If only you were . . .” any of the hundreds of things her father and Jamesy always said she must improve upon before she met their standards.
No. Halldor had looked at her actions and found her worthy simply as she was.
It humbled her. It weakened her knees.
Or perhaps that particular sensation was due to his touch as he accepted the cheese she handed him. Was it her imagination that his fingers lingered over hers longer than necessary? Or that his eyes seemed more intensely alive with the light of the fire dancing in them?
Her gaze locked on his as he pulled her hand toward his mouth to accept the morsel of food. His lips grazed against her fingers and the memory of his stolen kiss flooded her mind, warming her and sending tremors dancing into parts of her body she rarely remembered she had.
She leaned in toward him as his lips parted, expecting at any moment he would pull her closer as he had done once before, wrapping his hand in her hair to bring her mouth against his to once again—
“Your oats appear to be burning.”
“What?” She jerked upright and stumbled backward, only to have her hand caught by his before she fell.
“Your oats. They are burning.”
“My oats,” she repeated, at last realizing he spoke of the meal she was preparing. “Damn and double damn!” she hissed, hurrying to pull the little pot off the fire.
Her oats weren’t the only thing that was burning, and the wide grin on his face assured her that he knew it as well as she did.
Damn and double damn indeed.
Thirteen
WHAT ABOUT HERE? Does this place meet with yer approval?” Brie struggled to keep the irritation out of her voice but failed to reach that goal.
“Defensible enough,” Halldor murmured, lifting his head to scan the small glen. “Water for the animals. Shelter back under those rocks. Aye, it will do.”
It had damned well better do. He’d rejected the last two spots she’d chosen, and now she’d be lucky to finish setting up their camp before they had no light left at all.
Their second full day on the trail had gone by without incident and Brie wanted to keep it that way. No arguments tonight, she reminded herself. No making a fool of herself like last night, when she’d allowed her imagination to get the best of her.
She managed to hold her tongue as she dismounted and offered a shoulder to assist Halldor off his horse. When his feet hit the ground, he leaned on her more heavily than she’d expected. More heavily than he had the last time they’d stopped.
“How do you fare?” she asked as she helped him to sit under the overhang of rock, protected at last from the unrelenting drizzle of rain.
He leaned his head back against the stone wall supporting him, eyes shut, and grunted his noncommittal response. It had been a long day of hard riding, and every mile of it showed in his weary demeanor. Dark smudges stained the skin under his eyes in a way she was sure they hadn’t just an hour or two earlier.
Brie hurried through the tasks at hand, expecting at any moment that he’d insist on helping.
He didn’t. A glance to where he sat confirmed that he hadn’t moved a single muscle.
That, more than anything, heightened her concern for his condition. A hand to his forehead told her all she needed to know. The fever was back with a vengeance.
“Editha promised three days before the Magic overtook you again, and it’s only been two. Something’s gone wrong.”
“Three at most,” Halldor muttered, his eyes still closed. “Promised nothing.”
Maybe there hadn’t been an explicit promise, but Brie counted on the Tinkler’s word. Three days, the woman had said. What else had she said? Something about redressing the wound.
“I need some light.”
Brie scrambled to gather whatever she could find that was dry enough. She piled the tinder together and gently coaxed a small flame.
“No fire,” Halldor reminded her. “We agreed. It’s not safe here.”
“A small fire,” she countered. “And though you might have made that assumption, I agreed to nothing.”
Not that it mattered to her now. She needed to have a look at his wound, and that wasn’t something she could do in the dark.
“Can’t draw attention. Not safe for you this close to Tordenet.”
“It’s not safe for either of us this close to the castle,” she responded, kneeling at his side to pull away the heavy fur and expose his arm. “But here we are and here we must make the best of it. By the Seven!”
The bandage had slipped down off the wound, lodging around his bicep. A foul black ooze trailed down his arm, bubbling out of the wound. Brie had never seen its like, not even in the most neglected of battle injuries.
“Well. Here’s our problem.”
The first thing Editha had asked for when she’d seen the wound was water. Brie grabbed the small pot from her provisions and hurried to the stream’s bank to scoop it full. Once she nestled it directly into the fire, it wouldn’t take long to heat.
“That needs cleaning,” she stated, as much for her own benefit as for his.
If only she’d thought to bring along a spare shift, but she hadn’t. A warrior traveled light for speed, with no need for changes of clothing.
Grasping the bottom of the shift she wore, she tore off a strip from the edge and dropped it into the now boiling water. Carefully, she fished it out and wrung as much water from it as she could before turning to wipe the sticky black ooze from Halldor’s arm.
Though he made no word of protest, his hissing gasp was sign enough of his suffering. She pulled the flask of honey ale from her pack and placed it to his lips.
“Drink.”
He did as she instructed and a renewed thread of fear curled around her heart. This meek compliance was not a good sign.
Remembering Editha’s warning about the jewels, Brie made sure to keep the stones wrapped tightly together in the linen as she reset the bandage and tied it around Halldor’s arm. To make sure it didn’t slip again, she knotted the second turn up and over his shoulder.
He seemed to relax almost immediately after she finished.
“There you go, O’Donar. Good as new.”
“Hall,” he murmured, his eyes fluttering open to focus on her. “I’d have you call me Hall. It’s the name given me by my friend and brother, Chase Noble. If yours is to be the last face I see in this world, I’d have it be the face of a friend.”
“Dinna you say such,” she said with all the ferocity she felt. “I’ll no let anything happen to you out here. I’ll get you to Rowan Cottage as I promised, and the witch will heal you. Yer no going to die.”
“All the same,” he countered, “I’d have you use that name when you speak of me.”
“To you,” she corrected. “If it makes you happy, I’ll use that name when I speak to you.”
Speaking of him would imply he was gone, and just the thought of that made it hard to catch her breath.
“Say it.” He clamped his fingers around her wrist, pulling her closer, his eyes bright with the fever, holding her gaze. “I’d hear it from you now.”
“Hall,” she whispered, and then once more, louder. “Hall.”
His hand dropped from her wrist and he smiled. The expression that had once before sent tingles of excitement rippling through her had exactly the same effect this time.
What a fool she was, allowing herself to get all bothered over the crazed rantings of a fevered man. It wasn’t as though he’d chosen to be here with her now. He traveled with her out of necessity.
And yet . . . the kiss he’d stolen in the Tinkler camp burned on her lips as if he’d placed it there only minutes before.
She lightly pressed her fingers to his cheek. Only to check his temperature, she assured herself. Certainly not because the smile lingering on his lips compelled her to make such contact.
No sign of the fever remained on his cool, whisker-stubbled skin.
“Is there anything I can get you? Anything you want?”
His eyes opened slowly to her question, revealing two mesmerizing blue pools filled with a heat that had nothing to do with the recently departed fever.
“Yes,” he answered, his hand rising up to rest over hers against his cheek. “I’m hungry.”
So was she, but her hunger had nothing to do with food.
WITH THE JEWELS properly placed to hold back the evil in his wound, Hall’s strength returned in a rush. And with it came a new companion. Desire, hot and heavy, flooded his loins.
Having Brie hovering so close to him, her palm cupping his cheek, all he could think of was kissing her. Tasting those perfect lips until they were swollen under his touch. Feeling her body close to his, her skin next to his.
No good at all could come of this. He’d be lucky to live out the week, and even if he did, what had he to offer any woman?
Despite all reason, he felt himself powerless to stop the wheel from turning. The tapestry had been woven and it was beyond his power to change what was to be.
With a hand to the back of her head, he slowly pulled her toward him, waiting for some sign of resistance in her expression.
None came.
Her
mouth opened as if she might speak, but she made no sound. He leaned into her, pressing his lips to hers.
No hard, fast, spur-of-the-moment kiss like their last one. No, this time he meant it to be slow and gentle. This time he meant them both to enjoy it.
His tongue explored the soft contours of her mouth, and her body molded against his. His spirit soared with her eager response. He wrapped his arms around her and, without breaking their kiss, rolled her onto her back, careful to support himself on his good arm to keep from crushing her under his full weight.
She moaned and twined her arms around his neck, tangling her fingers in his hair and rubbing them against his scalp.
By the Norns, but her touch drove him wild!
He broke the kiss to trail his lips down the length of her neck as his fingers fumbled to part the cloth at her bodice. Caressed by the cold air, her soft skin erupted in small bumps, and she shivered.
Need consumed him. He wanted this woman in his arms more than he could ever remember wanting anyone before.
When he settled his mouth over one perfectly budded breast, she sucked in her breath and he looked up to find her staring at him, her eyes reflecting the desire he felt coursing through his body.
Outside, thunder rumbled and lightning crackled in a nonstop performance, casting a brilliant glow across the velvety night sky.
After a lifetime spent in service to others, this one thing, this one time, he would do just for himself.
With his knee, he nudged her heavy skirt upward until he could run his hand along the bare, smooth skin of her thigh. Up, higher, to the silky softness of her stomach, where the muscles clenched reflexively under his touch.
Grasping her hips, he settled himself between her knees, where she welcomed him by locking her leg over his.
So close. He was so close to where he wanted to be, buried deep inside her warmth. His body ached to take her fast and hard, but he fought the temptation. This was a moment to be savored, not to be rushed.
He pressed against her, his erection so hard he felt as if his skin might burst. When she lifted her hips against him, he had to force himself to wait. Enter her now and he would be lost. It had been too long, and he wanted her too badly.
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