“Thank you for your assistance, young knight.” Bosque’s silver eyes searched Alistair’s face. “Give me your name.”
“Alistair Hart,” Alistair whispered, gazing into Bosque’s strange eyes without blinking.
“I hope we’ll meet again, young Alistair.” Bosque smiled at him before returning to Eira’s side. “She’ll sleep now. And she won’t remember the attack . . . I thought the memory might pose some difficulties for you.”
Eira stared at him, unable to speak. Her mind stormed with joy and fury.
“You’re angry,” Bosque murmured, stepping close to her.
“Was this your lesson?” Eira asked, glancing at Cian’s resting body and the blood-covered bone pieces that lay beside her. “Are you so cruel a teacher?”
“The lesson is that you need me,” he told her. “As I need you.”
“The redcaps, the village,” Eira said. “All of this was your doing?”
“It was.”
“How could I need you?” Eira kept her voice low. “I’m grateful that you healed Cian, but your redcaps killed two of the Guard. My sister was nearly killed by spears made from the bones of villagers. Innocent people.”
“As I said.” Bosque spoke gently. “I need you. Without you I’m forced to this . . . to acts of desperation for my cause.”
“You still need to feed your army,” Eira countered. “Isn’t that why your beasts are here, hunting those I’ve sworn to protect?”
“Yes,” he said. “But I’m also here because I am subject to the foolish whims of feeble-minded magicians with delusions of their own power. That is why striga and redcaps terrorize small villages. I am a beggar, scavenging for what scraps I might find.”
Bosque leaned in, murmuring to her. “You can change my fate. I would be subject to your will alone, where only those deserving punishment receive it from my warriors. Men like Abbot Crichton. Men you deem corrupt.”
His breath was cool as it brushed her cheek. “I can save those you love . . . and I will destroy your enemies.”
He stepped back, smiling. “Think on my words. I must leave you now as your companions are returning. You know how to find me when you’ve made your choice.”
Eira nodded.
Bosque glanced at Alistair. “The boy has potential. His heart’s desire has been denied. Keep that in mind and he could be an asset to you. Very soon you will need strong allies.”
Eira’s brow furrowed and Bosque laughed, the sound fading as he slipped into the forest shadows. From behind her, Eira heard the shouts and calls of the returning Guard. Their imminent arrival propelled her to Alistair’s side.
“Remember your oath,” she said to Alistair.
“I will,” he answered without pause. “And we should tell everyone that Cian suddenly took ill.”
Though slightly taken aback by his easy acceptance of the lie they would share, Eira still smiled at his quick thinking.
“I only ask one thing of you.” Alistair looked at her and there was hunger in his eyes.
“What?” Eira asked warily.
“Tell me who that man was. Tell me everything.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
EMBER WOKE, SKIN flushed, but not because her fever had returned. She scooted up in bed and tried to catch her breath. She’d been dreaming, caught in an illusion so vivid it still clung to her mind.
The dream had felt real because it had occurred in the same place she’d woken. Barrow had been reading to her as he’d told her he’d done each day while she recovered. But in this dream he hadn’t read to her from a chair pulled up next to her bed. Instead she’d been curled up against the length of his body, her head resting against his chest. She not only heard but felt each word he read as it rumbled from his throat.
She could still hear the deep, steady tones of his voice. She could feel the warmth of his skin. His bare skin against hers beneath the bed linens.
Ember’s fingers curled around the blanket as an unexpected shiver passed through her limbs. What madness was this? She’d never had such a dream, but it wasn’t the surprise of its impact that worried her. The allure of a maiden’s fantasy was nothing she dared succumb to—particularly when it involved her mentor. Barrow deserved her respect and surely would view doe-eyed infatuation with nothing but disdain, or at best a weary indulgence.
Her discomfiture was made worse by the fact that Barrow hadn’t visited since the day she regained consciousness. Alistair had come to see her on several occasions, making apologies for his earlier outburst. He’d also recounted the horrible events of Dorusduain. Philip and Alan had been the only Guards lost, but others had suffered grave injuries, and the sickening fate of the villagers cast a pall on all the souls at Tearmunn. Even Lady Cian had taken ill.
Ember was grateful for Alistair’s company. He was her link to the outside world. Every time he appeared, bearing news of the Guard or other business of the keep, Ember hid her disappointment that he’d become her regular companion while Barrow had for some unknown reason given up his daily visits to her sickroom.
“I have good news.” The healer’s cheerful smile was a welcome relief from Ember’s tumble of thoughts.
Ember sat up, noticing with satisfaction that doing so no longer took effort nor caused her pain. She brightened further when she saw that the healer was carrying her clothes.
“Am I free?”
The healer laughed. “I truly hope your stay here hasn’t felt too much like a prison. But you are free to return to your own quarters and to move about Tearmunn as you wish.”
Ember rolled from bed, snatching the clothes from her.
“Before you flee . . .” The healer clucked her tongue. “You must continue to exercise your back and shoulders and I don’t want you to leave the keep for another five days.”
Ember’s face fell. She’d wanted to escape Tearmunn on Caber’s back, hopefully with Barrow and Toshach as companions. But even with these restrictions it would be wonderful to leave her sickroom. While the healer continued to fuss over her, checking her healed-over wounds one last time and reminding her not to exert herself too much, Ember pulled up her hair, securing it with the ringed braid Sorcha had taught her. She exchanged her sleeping shirt for a clean chemise and chausses and belted on her tabard. Even if she couldn’t leave Tearmunn, she was eager to return to a semblance of normalcy. She might not be able to perform all her duties with the Guard, but she could at least look like she belonged with them.