But that was then. Rather than dwell on the past, she hurried down the stairs to the hall. She’d slept through the early meal, but she was certain Ellie would give her bread and cheese to break her fast.
Before she made it to the kitchen, a movement near the door caught her eye. The two new men were entering the hall, the younger one holding a bloody bandage on his friend’s arm.
She couldn’t hear what the older warrior was saying, but from the way he was snarling, she suspected the words were not ones a lady was supposed to hear. She’d no doubt heard far worse from her own husband, but that didn’t mean she liked it.
As soon as they spotted her, both men stopped walking. Even from where she stood, it was obvious that the injured man was in pain. She hesitated and then changed directions. If he was bleeding that badly, he likely needed the wound sewn closed. Such injuries were common enough when her husband was out to show his prowess with weapons. Ordinarily, the men treated their own minor wounds with Merewen handling only the most serious ones. However, at this time of day she’d be out tending to the horses.
That left Alina. Most of the men-at-arms thought she was cold and unwilling to lift a finger to help them. Preferring to maintain her distance, she was content to let them think ill of her. However, she felt compelled to ease this warrior’s pain. Rather than think too hard about the reasons, she stopped just short of where the two men stood.
Both bowed their heads as she approached, another sign that they were different from the usual type Fagan hired. It made her wonder why they would seek employment at such a remote estate.
“Please be seated and let me see the wound.”
The younger man answered for the pair. “I can take care of his arm, my lady, if you can tell me where to get a needle and thread.”
She tried to remember how to smile. “It is no bother. I will take care of it if you’ll just fetch my sewing basket from my bower. Go up the stairs and to the right.”
The two men looked at each other before acceding to her request. The wounded man finally spoke, his deep voice sending shivers through her. How odd that he didn’t inspire the fear that a man his size usually did.
“If you are sure, my lady.”
He sank down onto a nearby bench while his younger friend ran for the steps, taking them two at a time. Meanwhile, Alina caught the eye of a servant. “Meg, please bring a basin of hot water and some clean cloths.”
The silence that settled between her and the warrior bothered her. Considering she never knew how Fagan would react to the most innocent of statements, she’d long ago lost the art of simple conversation. She settled for lifting the edge of the makeshift bandage, wincing when she saw the gleam of bone. Whoever had swung the blade had done so with great force.
He pulled his arm back. “Lady Alina, you don’t have to do this if the sight of blood bothers you overly much. Averel is well practiced in treating wounds.”
She caught his wrist before he could withdraw it completely. “No, I was only imagining how much it must hurt.”
He stared at her hand for the longest time. When she realized what he was doing, she blushed and jerked her hand back. Still, she intended to stand by her offer.
Luckily, the servant had returned with the water and rags. She’d also thought to bring some of the soap that Merewen insisted on using to cleanse all wounds. Since few of the injured her niece treated developed infections, Alina had learned to follow her advice.
“I’ll try to be gentle, Sir—”
Alina stopped, realizing she didn’t remember his name from when he’d introduced himself to her husband the previous evening.
“I am called Murdoch, my lady.”
She liked the deep rumble of his voice and found smiling came a little easier this time. “Well, Sir Murdoch, shall we get started?”
Murdoch sat still, biting his lip to keep from flinching as Lady Alina carefully washed away the dried blood and dirt. The wound was bad, but it would be nearly healed come morning. However, if he didn’t go through the motions of having it treated, it would draw far more attention than he could risk right now.
He’d planned to have Averel put a few stitches in it and then cover it with a bandage, one he wouldn’t remove for several days. By then, no one would remember how deeply the late blow from Fagan’s sword had cut into Murdoch’s forearm.
No, that wasn’t true. Averel would remember and so would Murdoch. They had both immediately added it to the growing list of crimes that Merewen’s uncle would pay for, not the least of which was the fading bruise on Lady Alina’s cheek. For that alone, the bastard would bleed.
Murdoch struggled to keep his fury hidden from the lady herself. Thanks to the monster she was wed to, she was as skittish as a young mountain cat. How would she react if she were to meet Shadow? When he’d first found the mountain cat, she’d been shot by a hunter’s arrow. It had taken Murdoch hours of tracking to finally corner her long enough to dress her wounds. Once she’d decided he wasn’t going to hurt her, she’d taken to following him whenever he hunted in the woods.
They were both solitary by nature, but their partnership had suited them. Now they’d been together for centuries because Shadow had chosen to follow him when Murdoch had thrown his lot in with Gideon. It was a decision he’d never regretted. He’d always hoped Shadow felt the same.
“There, it is all clean.”
Lady Alina rinsed away the last bit of the soap and wiped his arm dry before dropping the bloody cloth into the basin. The servant girl had hovered nearby. “Please bring me a fresh basin. He may bleed again while I stitch the wound closed.”
The girl picked up the bowl and retreated as fast as she could without slopping the water out onto the floor. Obviously Lady Alina wasn’t the only one who had learned to be cautious around the men of the keep.
Murdoch heard Averel running down the stairs and cursed his friend’s speed. That boy never did anything at a normal pace. Perhaps in this case it was a good thing. Murdoch was all too conscious of Lady Alina’s womanly presence as she fussed over his arm.
The fact that she was wed to a vicious fool didn’t change the fact that she was married. His honor recognized that fact even as certain parts of his body stirred to life for the first time since he’d first slept beneath the river. He shifted uncomfortably on the bench, grateful that his tunic would hide any unwanted evidence of the effect Alina’s touch was having.
Averel held out the basket. “Here, my lady.”
“Thank you.”
She quickly threaded a needle. “Brace yourself.”
“I’ve survived worse.”
For some reason his gruff reply made her smile. It was a shy, fleeting expression but one that warmed him through. Then she bent her head down and began the arduous process of closing the wound, her stitches neat and careful. He closed his eyes to keep from staring, but there was no way to avoid the perfume of roses that scented her hair. Nor could he ignore the soft touch of her fingers as she worked her needle in and out of his skin.
When she was finished, she studied her work with a critical eye as she gently wiped away the last few droplets of blood. “I don’t think the scar will be too noticeable.”
Actually, within days it would disappear altogether, but he couldn’t tell her that. He settled for thanking her.
“I’m in your debt, my lady.”
Averel joined the conversation. “Truly, we both are, Lady Alina. You saved me from having to listen to Murdoch holler while I stitched him. He has no tolerance for pain.”
He meant it in jest, but Alina took him seriously and glared at him. “You malign Sir Murdoch! He has not uttered a single complaint.”
Murdoch warmed at her adamant defense. “Averel was but teasing, Lady Alina. The young dolt does not realize that not everyone appreciates his humor.”
She blushed. “I apologize then.”
Clearly flustered, she gathered up her thread and needle and stuffed them into the basket Averel had brought do
wn from her room. He hated that her hands were shaking, but he knew she would not appreciate it if he were to comment. Instead, he laid his hand over hers briefly.
“Thank you again for your kindness.”
She stared down at their joined hands and then looked up at him. For the first time, her true beauty shone through the fading bruises and the haunted look in her silvery gray eyes.
“It was nothing.”
“I would argue, but my mother taught me not to contradict a beautiful woman.”
Then, realizing he’d said too much, especially in front of Averel, Murdoch rose to his feet. “If you will excuse us, we should rejoin your husband and the other men.”
Just the mention of Fagan made her go pale. “Yes, of course. I should return to my rooms now.”
She started to walk away but then turned back. “Sir Murdoch, if your wound reddens or becomes more painful, seek out my niece, Lady Merewen. She has far more skill as a healer than I do.”
“Yes, Lady Alina. Thank you again for attending to my wound.”
Bowing briefly, Murdoch grabbed Averel’s arm and dragged his friend back out of the hall.
As soon as they were out of the lady’s hearing, his friend mumbled, “That was certainly interesting.”
“Shut up, Averel.”
Never one to take a hint, the young fool tried again. “But in all these years I’ve never seen you—”
Murdoch normally was slow to anger and prided himself on his sense of fairness. Right now, though, his emotions were a tangled mess. Taking his foul mood out on Averel would be wrong, but that didn’t keep him from grabbing his friend by the throat and shoving him up against the nearest wall. He put enough strength into his grip to cut off Averel’s breath as well as the words Murdoch had no interest in hearing.
Well aware they weren’t alone, he stared into Averel’s eyes as he slowly relaxed his hand. “I said for you to stop talking. Are you going to?”
Even as the young warrior nodded, his mouth opened to say something. Clearly, he was not understanding what Murdoch was telling him. He tightened his grip again.
“Whatever it is, I do not want to hear it. Not now. Not ever. Understand?”
When he once again allowed him to draw a breath, Averel had the good sense to remain quiet. Murdoch released his friend and stepped back, only to realize he’d been flanked by Averel’s two dogs with their ears back and lips drawn over their teeth. The dogs were normally good-natured but not when their master was being threatened.
Averel intervened, his voice rough with pain. “Down, both of you.”
They backed away but kept a wary eye on Murdoch. He tried to shake off some of his temper.
“I’m sorry.”
He directed his words to the dogs but hoped their owner accepted the apology, too. Evidently, he did, because Averel immediately clapped Murdoch on his shoulder.
“You mentioned something about returning to arms practice.” He glanced at the bandage on Murdoch’s arm. “How’s the wound?”
“Better.”
Averel grinned. “Good, because I don’t want you to use that as an excuse when I beat you bloody.”
All things considered, Murdoch might even let him. “Better yet, mayhap we can entice Fagan and his friend Olaf into a match. I would hate to be the only one who bleeds today.”
With that happy thought, they headed for the bailey with the dogs trailing behind.
Chapter 10
“Hob and I need a run in the mountains.”
Gideon looked up from honing his knife to where Kane stood silhouetted in the doorway.
“Why?”
Kane tilted his head to the side. “Because we grow restless. Do we need a better reason?”
From where Gideon sat, he couldn’t make out the expression on Kane’s face, but it didn’t matter. Sometimes a restlessness rode his friend hard, driving him out into the night. With Hob at Kane’s side, it was unlikely that anyone—or anything—would get the best of him.
Gideon went back to stroking his knife on the stone. “Enjoy the night. If you feel the need to make a kill, make it something edible. Meat for tomorrow’s dinner wouldn’t go amiss.”
Kane didn’t comment. They both knew what happened when his dark side was on the ascendance. “We’ll be back by morning.”
“Are you taking Rogue, too?”
“Only to the foot of the mountain. I’ll send him back before I release Hob.”
Ordinary horses were terrified of Kane’s avatar, but Gideon suspected Rogue might react differently. “They have to meet sometime, Kane. Better now than in battle.”
“I’ll consider it.” Kane picked up his shield. “Get some rest, Gideon. Duncan and Murdoch will ensure the woman is safe.”
There was nothing to be said to that. “Go. I’ll be fine.”
A few minutes after Kane left, Gideon ventured out into the gathering darkness himself. It suited his mood.
The long ride he’d taken earlier had done little to ease his mind. Kane was right. He worried about Merewen, but it was more than that. He’d never liked dividing his forces.
Nothing about this situation was normal. There were battles to come, he was sure of it. But until he had a clearer vision of the true nature of the danger, he was hunting on a circular trail and tracking a ghost. He preferred his enemies standing within easy reach of his sword and ready to die.
A noise disturbed the soft rustle of the breeze. He stopped walking to listen, noting that Kestrel was on alert as well. The stallion stood his head up and nostrils flared wide to catch a scent on the breeze. Perhaps his band of mares was seeking him out. Lucky horse.
This time the sound was closer. He finally spotted a single horse approaching and at speed, as yet too far distant to pick out any details. Drawing his sword just in case, Gideon faded back into the gray shadows along the cottage and stood watch.
The rider was too small to be one of his men. That left only one person it could be: Lady Merewen.
He slid his sword back into its scabbard. If something was seriously wrong, Averel would have sent one of the dogs with a message. What crisis would warrant Merewen’s risking her uncle’s wrath by coming herself?
Only one way to find out. He walked out to meet her, telling himself his pulse was racing out of concern for her safety. It had nothing to do with the way she and the horse moved as one, all grace and feminine beauty. For a woman of such slight build, there was a great deal of strength in her. He shifted restlessly from foot to foot, the realization that she had the power to affect him so strongly making him edgy.
He cursed his lack of control. Granted, he was still a man with a man’s needs. However, with so few weeks to walk in the world and do the work ordained by the gods, the last thing he should be thinking about was how sweet it would be to be the one Merewen rode with such abandon.
He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting not so patiently to find out why the lady had come to visit.
Merewen slowed her mare to a walk. Did Gideon realize how much he and Kestrel resembled each other at the moment? Both males were tense, both staring at her and the mare in stony silence.
So much for a warm welcome, but then her visit was unexpected. She had a strong suspicion that the good captain didn’t much enjoy surprises. He obviously wasn’t going out of his way to make her feel welcome. Fine. He wasn’t the one she’d ridden out to see.
Rather than approach him directly, she dismounted near the small corral next to the cottage. After turning the mare loose and closing the gate, she took the time to greet Kestrel, petting his nose and slipping him a carrot from her pouch. As she waited for him to finish crunching it before offering another, she felt a warmth at her back and turned to face Gideon.
“Captain.”
He didn’t bother with a polite greeting, growling instead, “Why are you here?”
“Your man Duncan arrived late this afternoon. After some negotiations, my uncle has granted him access to my father’s library at a s
teep price. I’m sure no one will benefit from the gold that exchanged hands except Fagan himself.”
She let her disgust show in her voice. “While I showed Duncan around, he told me that Scim had been hurt. I came to see if there was anything I could do. Although I mainly work with horses, I have some experience in treating injured hunting birds.”
The words poured out all in one breath, leaving her feeling a bit winded by the time she reached the end of her explanation. Or maybe it was the fact that Gideon was standing so close to her that was leaving her breathless.
If anything, that stern mouth was frowning even harder. “Did he also tell you that I called Scim back into my shield?”
“He did, but—”
Gideon let out a sigh, as if her being there sorely tried his temper. “Lady Merewen, Scim is not an ordinary bird. None of our avatars are exactly how they appear, not even that pair of idiot dogs that follow Averel everywhere he goes. All of them were ensorcelled by the gods, just as my men and I were. You should never forget that.”
As if she could. The memory of the five warriors marching out of the water, the river’s chill in their gaze, was never far from her mind. Still, it was hard to reconcile that image of the captain with the man who had kissed her with such hunger. Did he regret that moment? Did he even remember? Most assuredly, he didn’t act as though he kept it close to mind.
She couldn’t find the words to ask and wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer anyway. It was better to leave the memory untarnished by second thoughts.
“I have not forgotten what you are, Captain, or your purpose for being here. You and the other warriors came to end my uncle’s tyranny.”
“That’s right, my lady. The gods heard your plea and sent us here to kill your uncle and his men. They will die upon our swords, leaving them wandering in darkness of the netherworld, lost and soulless for eternity.”
His words hung sharp and jagged in the evening air, a barrier between them as solid as a stone wall. It was Gideon’s truth as he knew it, but there was more to him than just a sword arm to be used at her bidding or on a whim by the gods. He was still a man, one who could feel lonely, who could need. She was sure of it.
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