“A-aye,” he stammered, “we will be halting soon.”
At his rough voice, guilt swept her. After the long hours they’d ridden, he was tired.
He guided his mount into a thick swath of fir and drew to a halt. His entire body trembled. “We w-will rest here.”
Confused, she turned. The first rays of light exposed the paleness of his face. “Sir Thomas?”
With the reins fisted in his hand, he dismounted then stumbled forward.
“Sir Thomas, wh—”
“Dismount!”
Panic twisting in her gut, Alesone slipped to the ground.
Face ashen, the knight wavered on his feet, stumbled, and then caught himself on a nearby tree.
Her gaze riveted on the blood smeared across his left shoulder. “You are injured!” Furious that he’d hid the fact, that she’d missed signs of his weakening condition, she stormed over. “Let me look at the wound.”
The knight’s pain-filled gaze cut to her. “It can…” He gasped. “It can wait until we arrive at our destination.”
“Is that why you are bracing yourself against the tree and struggling for each breath?”
Silence.
Disgusted, Alesone jerked the reins from his hand, then secured the horse to a branch.
Agony streaked his face as Thomas stepped toward his mount.
She blocked him.
Teeth clenched, he glared at her. “W-What are you doing?”
Alesone pointed at the log behind him. “Sit down.”
Green eyes narrowed.
“Now.”
The pig-headed dolt. Add stubborn to his list of his irritating traits. Careful to avoid his wound, she caught his shoulders and all but shoved him onto the fallen log. “Why didna you tell me you were injured when we halted before?” she demanded as she carefully removed his cape.
“T-too dangerous.”
She glared at him, noting the sweat on his brown. “Only a fool would ignore an injury of this severity.”
“The arrow went through,” he rasped. “There was naught to remove.”
“And you have been bleeding ever since.” If he wasna in so much pain, she’d shake him. With a jerk, she tore strips from her chemise. Once she’d cleaned the wound, she pressed a fresh wad of cloth against the gash and then secured the bandage.
His body began to sag.
She caught him.
Barely.
On a groan, his eyes closed.
Bedamned, he was going to pass out! Without shelter, if they remained here they’d freeze. A fact he had to know, a sacrifice he was willing to make to bring her to safety.
Unsure if she was more humbled or furious, Alesone glared at him. “How much farther to the monastery?”
“C-close.”
Thank God. She moved behind him, slid her arms under his. “Push to your feet.”
Mouth set, he started to rise. His legs trembled, and he collapsed.
Smothering her panic, she caught him. “You must help me get you on the horse.”
Eyes blurred with pain, he shook his head. “L-leave me.” He braced his hands against the fallen log. “Continue riding south. You will reach a monastery. Ask for…ask for Brother Nicholai MacDaniell.”
“Who is he?”
“A friend.” He struggled to keep his eyes open. “Tell him…” He started to collapse.
Muscles rebelling, she propped her body against his. If he fell to the ground, Alesone doubted she’d be able to haul him back up.
Heart pounding, she scanned the unfamiliar forest. If she left him here, how could she ever find her way back, or give his friend directions? With the amount of blood Thomas had lost, she couldna risk a delay.
Aye, she’d ride to the monastery, but by God he was coming with her.
Cold gulps of air burned her lungs as she hauled him to his horse’s side. Bedamned, how was she to get him up?
He started to lean to the left, and she pushed him upright.
She glanced at the fallen log he’d sat on moments before, then moved him, along with his destrier, to the stand at the edge of the trunk. “Thomas, you must help me get you on the horse.”
A groggy murmur stumbled from his mouth.
“Climb on the fallen tree.”
His head gave a shaky nod.
She caught his hand and laid it over the saddle. Through sheer will, she aided him onto the log. “Mount, damn you!”
His body began to teeter.
She shoved.
Thomas slumped into the saddle.
Tears of relief filled her eyes. She swung up behind him and held him tight. With a prayer, Alesone kicked his steed toward the south. If she didna find the monastery soon, he would die.
Chapter Four
Holding Thomas before her as he lay slumped in the saddle, Alesone guided his mount down the steep incline. The sharp tang of pine filled her each breath as she scoured the curtain of snow, making out naught but several trees nearby. With her sense of direction lost in the swirl of flakes, had she traveled in the wrong direction?
Where was the blasted monastery?
The horse edged around a clump of fir, and Thomas’s limp frame rocked against her.
On edge, she pressed her fingers against his neck.
A low, steady pulse thrummed.
’Twas weak, but he still lived. Cursing the miserable weather, she narrowed her eyes against the fall of white, struggling to make out any sign of culled stone.
As the destrier crested the rise, she caught the faint scent of smoke.
“Whoa.” Through the whip of flakes, Alesone strained to catch a shimmer of light, the outline of a building, anything to guide her.
Naught.
A gust howled past.
Icy
