13 ALL THIS IS
“CAN YOU HEAR me?”
Blinking the rain out of her eyes, Bree removed her hands from Cailean’s ears and lowered herself to a crouch before him. She then surveyed his face, her belly tight with worry. Sometimes, if the fae hound’s howl didn’t stop a Marav’s heart, it turned them witless with fear. And sometimes, the terror remained.
Her husband stared back at her, his eyes glazed. Mud splattered his face, and the rain plastered his hair to his scalp. His expression had turned slack.
Bree drew back her arm before hesitating. “Forgive me.” She then slapped him hard across the face.
Cailean jerked, his eyes snapping wide. And when she met his gaze again, Bree glimpsed recognition—and ire—in their depths. Reaching up, he massaged his jaw. “Fuck,” he ground out. “That stung.”
Bree let out a relieved breath, the tension in her gut easing. She started shivering then, as the thrill of battle faded and she became aware once more of just how wet and cold she was. “Sorry,” she said, rising to her feet and holding out her hand. “But I had to do something to bring you back.”
Cailean hesitated a moment before allowing her to help him up.
“Some appreciation would be nice,” she muttered, releasing his hand and taking a step back from him. “After all, I just—”
“Thank you,” he cut her off sourly, his scowl deepening with each passing moment.
Bree’s brow furrowed in response. She hadn’t expected him to grovel at her feet for coming to his aid, but his attitude was starting to vex her. Shades, her teeth were beginning to chatter now. She wasn’t used to spending prolonged periods out in such foul weather.
She was about to tell him so when Cailean’s gaze lowered then to her right arm. “You’re hurt,” he observed tersely.
Bree glanced down to see that, indeed, a cut was visible. The rain-drenched sleeve of her tunic had torn, and the bracer on her lower arm glistened with blood. “Cursed iron,” she muttered, wincing. She’d been so focused on the fight and helping Cailean that she’d almost forgotten the wound. “It burns.”
Unfortunately, as quick as she was, Bree hadn’t been able to emerge from that skirmish unscathed. There had been too many of the bastards, and they’d all been skilled with their vicious iron blades.
“Will it need treating?” His tone was still rough, making it clear that his concern for her was grudging.
“Aye … later.” She looked around then. “We’re not safe out here, Cailean.”
As the dusk deepened, she felt Sheehallion magic in the air. The howling wind now brought a distinctive smell with it: the scent of rose mingled with the smell of mud and the iron stench of blood. It was risky for her to linger here as well. With war looming, Mor would start sending scouts out through the barrows.
Still gently massaging his jaw, Cailean nodded. He then gave a low whistle. A few moments later, his horse emerged from the trees.
Bree’s mouth quirked, and she let out a whistle of her own.
A great white stag followed the stallion onto the road. The mud squelched under their hooves, and both beasts lowered their heads and flattened their ears back in the face of the wind that swept down the highway.
She glanced Cailean’s way to find him eyeing her. “Show off.”
Bree’s smile widened as she crossed to her stag. “This is Tivesheh.”
“Ghost?”
“Aye … he knows how to disappear when it suits him.”
Bree vaulted lightly onto the stag’s back, waiting while Cailean sheathed his broadsword over his left shoulder. He trudged across to the stallion, stroking the horse’s neck to soothe it. The beast’s nostrils were flared, its eyes wild. “All is well, Feannag,” he murmured.
He then led the stallion over to where the pony was still attached to the broken cart. The poor garron was soaked and trembling. The beast gave a nervous snort as Cailean unshackled it. Removing the pony’s bridle, he then slapped it on the rump. Tossing its head, the heavyset pony trotted away, disappearing into the trees.
Cailean then mounted his stallion.
Sitting atop her stag, Bree surveyed the bodies littered across the muddy road. The falling rain stippled the mud and washed the woad off their skin.
“Who were these warriors?” she asked.
“Druthen most likely,” he answered. “They’re a reclusive tribe that dwells in this area of The Uplands.”
Bree pulled a face. “Well … they decided to come out of hiding this evening.”
“Aye, like the other Upland tribes, they have little respect for the authority of our High King or his overkings. They’ve become unruly and unpredictable, of late.” Cailean cast a narrowed gaze over the dead. “Although they just got more than they bargained for.”
Bree nodded, her gaze traveling to the tree line where the fae hound had bounded after the fleeing warriors. “What about Skaal?”
“She’ll find me,” Cailean replied, urging Feannag into a canter. Mud and water splashed up behind the horse’s large hooves.
An instant later, he was thundering along the highway, heading west. Irritation surged in Bree’s breast as she watched him go. “ Me? ” she muttered, rounding her shoulders as a particularly vicious gust of wind buffeted her. “How about ‘us’?”
No, he wasn’t getting rid of her that easily.
Come on, Tiv . She leaned forward and placed her hand on the stag’s slick neck. Follow him .
The last of the light had faded and darkness crowded in by the time Cailean drew his mount up. Unfortunately, the Gales of Complaint still howled, and the rain continued to lash down as if the end of the world were upon them.
Bree was right behind him.
Swinging down from Feannag, Cailean’s brows crashed together. “I didn’t invite you along.”
“No.” Bree slid lightly onto the muddy road before jogging on the spot and rubbing her hands together to try and warm them up. “But I assumed it must be an oversight on your part. Even you couldn’t be so rude.”
A muscle feathered in his jaw, although a moment later, a mutinous expression settled over his face. Oh aye, he could be.
Spine stiffening, Bree wrapped her arms about herself and faced him. “Let me spell this out. I saved your hide back there, mac Brochan. The least you can do in return is let me share your hearth tonight. I swear, that wind cuts to the marrow.”
His lips parted as if he was about to argue with her. However, a moment later, he shut his mouth firmly, swallowing whatever unpleasant response he’d been about to utter. He looked as miserable as she felt: dripping with mud and rain, his face pale with cold. “Very well,” he finally answered, biting each word out. “One night … and then we go our separate ways in the morning.”
Bree’s jaw clenched, even as she nodded. The man was proving to be frustratingly obstinate. But at least she had until dawn to get him to soften toward her—and she’d do her best, once she got out of this driving rain and warmed herself by a fire.
Is this wise? Tiv’s mind touched hers then. Pushing yourself in where you’re not wanted rarely ends well.
Bree stiffened. Her stag didn’t usually question her, and his behavior caught her off guard. I know what I’m doing .
Cailean turned then and led his stallion away from the highway and into the oakwood.
Wordlessly, Bree and Tivesheh followed.
In the woods, the trees had lost all their leaves. Nonetheless, the heavy boughs would provide some shelter overnight. It wasn’t much, but off the road, the sharp edges of the Gales of Complaint were blunted.
“I’m going to hunt for dry wood for a fire,” Cailean announced brusquely. “Make yourself useful while I’m gone and see to my horse.”
Bree snorted. “Good luck with that … these woods will turn into a loch soon if it doesn’t stop raining.”
Not bothering to answer her, he strode off, leaving Bree glaring after him.
She knew what he was doing. He thought if he made her angry, she’d leave. A thin smile tugged at her lips then, stubbornness knotting under her breastbone. “You’ll have to do better than that, mac Brochan,” she muttered between chattering teeth, “if you want rid of me.” Even so, she found herself silently simmering as she crossed to Feannag. The man’s ingratitude was galling.
Working quickly, even if her numb fingers kept fumbling, she unsaddled the stallion and rubbed him down. Digging around in the saddle bags, she found some oats and a nosebag and fed him.
Like that, do you, lad? She gently touched minds with the stallion as he munched.
Aye , came his gruff response. Horse and rider were similarly taciturn it appeared. Better than sour grass .
She was rolling out a square of leather on the ground under the broadest of the oaks when Cailean returned with firewood. He ignored her as he laid the hearth, and Bree held her tongue. It was wise to let the tension ease slightly before attempting to converse with him again.
A short time later, a small fire smoked before them. Thank the Ancestors, the rain had lessened a little now, and the bough above them kept them dry enough. Sighing, Bree warmed her tingling hands over the tender flames. She’d never been so happy to sit by a fire. Her wet clothing was clammy and chafed her skin, but there was nothing she could do about that. At least, warmth now seeped into her chilled body.
Wringing water out of her long braid, her gaze flicked then, to where Cailean had sat down, cross-legged, and was feeding twigs into the fire. His face still gleamed with rain in the firelight.
Eventually, he glanced up, meeting her eye. His features were strained now, his gaze guarded. “I’d have fallen back there if you hadn’t appeared when you did,” he admitted tersely, raking a hand through his wet hair—a move that left it spiky and in disarray. “Thank you.”
The admission was a reluctant one, each word dragged up, but the tension in Bree’s chest loosened, nonetheless. She inclined her head and favored him with a half-smile. “Just as well that I was following you then.”
He made a noise in the back of his throat. “Don’t make a habit of it.”
“I wouldn’t … if you’d let me ride with you.”
Their gazes fused, her challenge hanging in the air between them.
To Bree’s surprise, he didn’t flatly refuse her. Finally, some progress .
Clearing his throat, Cailean broke the stare first. Retrieving his sodden cloak, he wrung as much water as he could from it before using it to wipe his face. He then glanced her way once more. “Are you hungry?”
“Aye.” And she was. All she’d eaten today was a few handfuls of brambles.
Digging into a pack, he withdrew a leather-wrapped package and handed it to her. “It’s a pie.”
“Thank you.”
Meanwhile, Cailean unwrapped his own package and took a bite out of a pie that looked as if he’d already started it. Wordlessly, Bree ate her supper. The pie was pork and herb, and surprisingly good—for Marav fare.
The meal was a silent one, tense. Despite her small victory, Bree was wary of him. Cailean was as prickly as a thistle these days. One flippant word could shatter what little ground she’d gained this evening.
Steam rose between them as they ate, as the heat of the fire started to dry their clothing and the cloaks they’d hung up next to it. The air smelled of wet leather and wool.
After they’d eaten, he handed her a skin of ale. Without thinking, Bree took it with her right hand. She then stilled, her breath hissing between clenched teeth.
Cailean frowned. “Your arm?”
“It’s all right,” she replied, lifting the skin to her lips with her left hand. It wasn’t really, but it was best not to complain. She’d deal with it after supper.
Moments passed, and then Cailean muttered a curse under his breath.
Bree stiffened, surprised by his outburst. “What?”
Pushing himself to his feet, he moved around to her side of the fire. “Let me see it.”
Frowning, she reluctantly held out her arm, watching as he unfastened the leather bracer covering her forearm. He then rolled up the sleeve of the close-fitting woolen tunic she wore underneath.
Bree’s lips compressed into a grimace when he revealed the cut beneath. It was deeper than she’d realized and already inflamed. However, it was difficult to concentrate on her injury, for the scent of him—leather, woodsmoke, and a hint of spice—overwhelmed her senses. He knelt close enough that she could see the thick black stubble on his chin.
“What do your people use to treat iron wounds?” Cailean asked.
“Usually crushed whin … when it’s in flower,” she replied, trying to concentrate. This late in the year, the scented yellow flowers weren’t available. “Otherwise, moss will do. I’ll go looking for some shortly.”
“I’ll do it.” He got up and fashioned a torch out of a bundle of twigs.
Bree watched him work, her pulse thudding against her ribs. “What a paradox you are, Cailean,” she said softly. “One moment you’re snarling at me … the next you’re tending my wounds. Admit it, you do care.”
He shot her a sidelong glance, his gaze hardening. “Don’t look for things that aren’t there,” he muttered. “You were injured because of me … and I intend to put things right. That’s all this is.”
Not waiting for her response, he strode off into the darkness.