Someone...
The door swung open and in walked a god or a demon—no, it was a man, but he was no ordinary man. Where Rhain was golden, this man was dark. His hair, his eyes, his sun-darkened skin all reminded her of the night. But it was more than his colouring, it was the man himself. He was dark. Wariness overcame her, but she would not take her eyes off him.
He was familiar, like someone she’d seen in the darkness, but it could not be him. She remembered the person who had soothed her when the blackness overcame her, when the pain worsened. This man did not soothe, he cut.
‘She wakes?’ he asked, his eyes never leaving hers.
Rhain’s eyes narrowed as he took in the dark man’s mood. ‘Is this necessary?’
‘More than ever.’
Anwen’s eyes burned as she strained to keep them open. The closer he got to her, the more she wanted to protect herself against the great waves of tightly controlled anger emanating from him. Power and authority were etched in every curve of his face. It was clear he wanted something from her and if she didn’t give it, he would take it. Pain slashed across her head as her body tensed.
‘She is not well. Leave her in peace.’ Rhain stood and pushed the stool aside to let the other man stand closer to her.
‘She is awake; she can speak.’
She could not speak. Her heart beat too fast and sweat covered her. Her stomach churned as she took in great gulps of air.
‘Brother,’ Rhain warned.
The rolling in her stomach would not subside, her head was spinning. Great waves of nausea drowned out whatever else was around her.
‘I am—’ she tried to say. The dark one leaned closer to her. ‘I am—’
Anwen pushed herself up and retched over the breeches of Lord Teague of Gwalchdu.
‘By Gwyn!’ he exclaimed, before she blacked out again. It was a moment before the two men reacted to the considerable mess Anwen had made.
‘Well, that was a first, I must admit.’ Rhain’s droll tone was not lost on Teague, who shot him a look. ‘Oh, Teague, she did it not on purpose.’ He took the cloth from the bucket of cooled water and wiped Anwen’s mouth and face.
‘I did not think her so weak.’ Teague grabbed another towel and dipped it into the bucket to wipe his front.
‘Ah, yes, weakness. I forgot what an unforgivable trait that can be. But she is a woman and even God allowed them a softer side, regardless of whether you acknowledge such a terrible flaw.’
‘I am no beast. I know she is a woman. It’s only—’ Teague remembered her determination in climbing the tree and her quick thinking when she flung herself away and towards him. She was not like most females of his acquaintance.
‘She surprised me,’ he finished.
Rhain’s mouth pursed in amusement, his gaze pointed at Teague’s wet front. ‘Yes, well, I can see that, but I differ with you regarding her weakness. She is not weak. Only strength of will could have pulled her out of such an injury.’
‘She’s weak now and useless to me asleep.’
‘Why the need for interrogation? Have you heard from Robert at Brynmor?’ Rhain asked.
‘Yes, he sent me a missive. It appears they are missing a woman. An Anwen.’
‘Now the question is if this is Anwen.’
‘And if she is the threat,’ Teague said. The woman’s face had softened now she was sleeping. But her hands were still curled into fists, lending her an air of determination at a moment in which she should have been most vulnerable.
Teague remembered she had not cried out in fear when she fell. To see her this fragile went against everything he knew of her. Frustration rushed through him. He didn’t know her at all; he needed answers.
‘I must get clean.’ Teague dropped the soiled rag into the bucket. ‘Make sure she receives care,’ he ordered before he left the room.
* * *
It was pitch-black when Anwen woke again. This time she didn’t move her head. Her throat was sore and her stomach was filled with acid. Sleep was blessed, but something woke her. There was a smell nearby like leather and sandalwood.
She opened her eyes. He was so close, she thought the blackness of his eyes was simply the darkness of the room. Then the heat of his gaze touched her and she realised this blackness was alive. A feeling of quietude entered her. The one who’d comforted her in the night had returned.
‘You’ve returned,’ she said, trying to smile.
He did not reply, but his eyes held hers. She couldn’t look away. If she could look long enough, she’d see—
Pain!
It slashed across her head and exploded behind her eyes. Moments of agony, subsiding only when she became aware of her gasping breaths, and a warm hand holding hers. She concentrated on the warmth and gentleness of his hand. It was a while more before her breathing eased and she was left with a dull ache weighing her down.
‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’ His voice was deep, soft and vibrated through her.
They were such simple words, but she could hear...something...some meaning. The hand holding hers belonged to this voice. If her head didn’t hurt, she’d be able to understand. Maybe it was concern? No, it sounded more like pain, like loneliness, but that was more confusing. She was here and he wasn’t alone.
It didn’t matter if she couldn’t understand. She felt the need to do something for him, but she couldn’t seem to open her eyes and blackness was seizing her again. He was being so kind. She didn’t want him to feel pain.
‘I’m here,’ she whispered, her voice slowing as gentle waves of sleep took her.
A mad desire to keep her awake plaguing him, Teague watched the woman return to sleep. Looking at her hand still in his, he listened to the gentle rhythm of her breathing. It was almost enough to keep his restlessness at bay.
It was time to go. There was no logical reason for him to watch over her. The ravages of her fever were far from over and while she could suffer a relapse, she was regaining consciousness. Despite the pain, she was recovering. Soon, he would be forced to decide what to do with her.
Teague scrutinised the room. Since he’d brought her to his bed four nights ago, the sole change to the room was Ffion’s mortar and pestle and some herbs littered on a table. Yet it felt foreign to him.
Gently placing her hand on the bed, he walked to the windows and opened the thick shutters to look into the courtyard below. The lit torches dotted across the dark stone walls and the full moon made it easy for him to watch his soldiers on patrol. He tried to put a name to the feeling of longing in him as he watched them.
Envy. His soldiers understood their tasks. They had a purpose in the night. He felt envy, too, that they had companionship as they went about their tasks. For him, although he was busy
