He shook his head, wincing and stopping, because he’d forgotten the pain it caused. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know of any gods. I spoke before I thought.’
He seemed genuinely unaware. Keeping her hands on the outside of his, she guided the bowl back to his mouth so he could drink down a bit more. She used the opportunity to get a closer look at the ugly gash on his head. It had definitely festered and was pink and swollen at the edges. It should have been sewn up, but it was probably too late for that now.
‘I’ve brought some linen and water to clean your wound, but it needs a poultice.’
He pulled back after taking a healthy drink. ‘I told you, I’ll not stay.’
She bit the inside of her lip to keep from pointing out that he didn’t have much of a choice. She’d wager he wouldn’t be able to make it more than a handful of steps. ‘Then I should at least attempt to clean the grime from your wound before you go.’
His deep brown gaze caught hers again, warming her. ‘Aye, I’d be grateful.’ Then he brought the bowl back to his lips and his eyes never wavered from hers.
When a delightful shiver ran through her, she broke his stare to take out the linen and rip it in half. Retrieving the flagon of water from the basket, she pulled out the stopper with a pop and wet a wadded half of cloth. He gave a barely perceptible nod when she raised it in question, so she gently pressed it to his wound. The soft moan deep in his throat tugged at her heart.
She chewed her bottom lip as she gingerly moved the cloth around the edges of the wound, working her way inward as far as she dared to without causing him more pain. Except it was fairly well crusted over and not hurting him was impossible. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, as she cleaned the area around the wound. Once that was done, she had no choice but to attempt to clean the wound itself. ‘This may hurt,’ she warned.
He didn’t answer, so she chanced a glance down and found his eyes watching her, studying her. Swallowing against an unexpected feeling of breathlessness, she turned her attention back to her task. He didn’t so much as grimace when she started to clean the wound in earnest and he didn’t look away from her face.
It was a delicate task to clean the grime while making sure it didn’t start bleeding again. But after a few minutes she was satisfied that she’d done all that she could. She’d have to see Edyth about a poultice, if she could convince him to agree to come home with her. Discarding the soiled linen, she folded the clean linen and wet it through. The flesh around the eye under his injury was an angry blue and swollen. ‘Let’s keep this over your eye for a while. I hope the cool water will help the swelling.’
He’d finished the stew and placed the bowl on the brown pine needles that were his pallet. When she put the linen in place, his hand came up to cover hers. She almost gasped at the strange pleasure that skittered up her arm, before pulling her hand away. Her gaze jerked to his and she knew he’d felt it, too. He was studying her with a puzzled look.
‘You should at least rest before you move on.’
He nodded, a slight move, but he didn’t speak as he continued to watch her. His body was sagging against the tree more now than when she’d first come upon him. His eyelids were heavier and she knew that it would be but moments before sleep overtook him. She only hoped that he’d wake up.
She began to cautiously repack the items in the basket, but when she moved to set it aside, his eyes didn’t follow her. ‘Stranger,’ she called. He found her then, but he seemed to have trouble focusing, blinking several times. ‘Rest and I’ll keep vigil.’
The command hardly mattered because his large body was already sliding down to the ground. She lurched forward and barely managed to put her hands under him to break his fall, before she gently placed his head on the pine needles.
He took a deep, shaky breath, his brow furrowing a bit before he spoke again. ‘You should tell your warriors about the Dane. If there are more of them close behind, you could be in danger.’
Now that he was almost unconscious, she hoped to wait. While she didn’t think the men in her village would harm him, she wanted to give him a few hours to rest and regain strength from the nourishment, before bringing that hurdle to them. Did he sense that he wouldn’t be waking up soon?
He must have seen her hesitation, because he grabbed her wrist and his eyes opened wider in entreaty. ‘Promise you’ll tell them.’ His words were slightly slurred.
‘Aye, I’ll tell them.’ She nodded and clenched her fist tight.
His chest rose and fell in deep, even breaths and she wondered how long that would hold true. His body was on fire.
The sun was sinking low on the horizon and the foreigner hadn’t shown any signs of waking up. She’d poked, prodded and even talked to him, but he hadn’t moved. His breathing had become ragged and slow, which was when she finally convinced herself that he wasn’t going to wake up. At least not that day.
Aisly had hoped that after his rest he’d be able to at least walk inside the village with her. She had wanted to get him settled in her home before presenting him to the others. That wasn’t going to happen, though. Reluctantly she’d left him in the forest and once again had made her way to the village. This time going straight to Cuthbert’s hall, where she paused and took a deep breath before going inside.
Bollocks. She’d forgotten that today was the day the council met.
The sight of her father-in-law, Wulfric, standing at the end of the long room sent a shiver down her spine and stopped her just inside the door. He wore a brown tunic cinched with a hide belt just below his protruding belly. His dark beard, shot through with silver, was parted in the middle and hung down to his chest. The hair above his lip was shaved, making it that much easier to see the flash of his teeth as he sneered at the young man on his knees before him. Others sat on benches clustered near them in the far end of the room, but every eye was on Wulfric and his victim.
‘Did you not swear an oath on your twelfth year to uphold the laws of this land?’ His voice seemed to bounce off the walls, easily filling the room.
She barely heard the young man’s softer ‘aye’. But something familiar about its cadence caught her ear. Looking closer, she saw that it belonged to Beorn, a man who lived in a cottage near her own. He wasn’t a warrior, but a hard-working field worker who’d only just managed to gather the coin needed to marry his sweetheart a few months ago.
‘Thievery is against the law of this land. I am told you stole a sheep. The wool was found in your home. Your wife...’
With this he gestured, and Aisly realised that the woman she had come to call a friend stood off to the side, silently sobbing.
‘She was there in the home with the wool. It’s obvious she knew—’
At this Beorn interrupted. ‘Nay, she knew nothing. I never told her where it came from.’
‘And yet she never suspected, never questioned.’ The sneer never left Wulfric’s face. The man seemed to get pleasure from tormenting those beneath him. Godric had often behaved the same.
‘She had no reason
