Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
“ I t’s roastin’ in here!”
Freya was of a mind to tell whoever dared open her front door without knocking to go piss in the wind, but she knew that voice. Normally, Tristan’s presence in her life was an annoyance, especially in times like this, when she was busy. Some of the man’s wounds had started to ooze around the bandages, which, she figured was good as a result of him warming, blood moving around a little bit better inside of him, but she needed to keep his blood in his body.
She was covered in sweat and had to keep wiping her brow to keep it from dripping down into her eyes. “If ye dinnae have anything helpful to say, Tristan, then ye can just turn right back around again and leave the way ye came in.”
“See? The heat’s giving ye a temper.” Tristan said, and she could hear the smirk in his voice.
“I’m busy, if ye cannae see with yer own two eyes.” Freya sighed, wrapping the rest of the man’s hand once more. His fingers were going to take some work to function properly again. What had he been holding to injure them so? The top layers of his skin were wholly missing.
“I heard. Word of yer little project is already starting tae spread around the village.”
Freya’s irritation spiked. “This man is knocking on death’s door, and ye call him a project ?”
“Why should I call him anything else?” Tristan asked, walking close enough that she could feel his presence over her shoulder. He wasn’t nearly as large as the man on her bed. She couldn’t help but draw the parallel between the two of them as Tristian leaned over to get a better look at him.
“I’ve seen worse.” Tristan remarked.
Freya glanced up, knowing that it was attention he wanted, not that he actually felt as if it wasn’t that bad. If she were to give him the reaction he was looking for, no doubt he would claim to have somehow endured similar injuries and lived through it.
Tristan’s brown eyes met her own for only a moment, narrowing as he waited for her to react, but she had absolutely no plans to do so.
“If ye cannot stay out of me way, then ye have nay business here.”
“Imagine that,” Tristan continued, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. “Freya is telling me that I’m in the way? Me?”
Freya lifted her foot, and kicked him clear off the bed, her lip turning in spite of how she attempted to control her face. Her bed was one place that Tristan knew very well that he had no right to touch. He wasn’t allowed anywhere near it and was taking advantage of the situation. If he was truly jealous of a dying man being allowed on her bed, then there was truly no logic left inside of his head.
Tristan looked up at her from the ground, a mixture of outrage and amusement for her being so bold. “I have gutted men fer far less than that.”
Freya rolled her eyes. “Ye havnae even been off the island!”
“This man is an outsider! All the more reason to cease what ye are doing right this moment!” Tristan stood indignantly, huffing as he straightened his shirt. “He is clearly a dangerous man!”
Freya paused only for a moment after finishing wrapping the stranger’s fingers. Her eyes were cold as they slipped toward Tristan. “Ye want me tae stop treating an injured man… on what grounds?”
Tristan fumbled for a moment. “As I said, he could be dangerous.”
“And ye have nay control over what I dae, nae matter what other foolish notion is rattling around in that empty brain of yers!” Freya hissed, not wanting to raise her voice, although her temper was threatening to get the better of her. “Ye also have nay right tae be in here when I’ve nae invited ye, Tristan!”
“Dinnae start this again…” Tristan bemoaned, looking irritated at the direction the conversation was headed.
“I am nae marrying ye, Tristan. I have told ye already and I have nay intention of changing me mind.” Freya insisted firmly, her voice raising and she couldn’t stop it. “If ye dinnae leave at once, I will have nettles slipped intae yer bed.”
He knew that she meant it, too.
Tristan’s face flushed from his chin all the way to the roots of his dark brown hair; even in the yellow light she could clearly see the flush of irritation on his skin. He was very fortunate that she was a kind enough woman to keep from laughing at him for such indignation.
Freya pointed directly to the door, and Tristan nearly stomped out of the hut after hesitating only a moment.
Tristan rarely meant any harm by his actions. Rarely did his ego intend cruelty, but he simply demanded so much more attention than Freya was ever willing to give him. He had long since been comfortable only being her friend. When he would no longer accept what she was willing to give, then there would be no more room for him. She was a busy woman, and he was the sort of man who would only want to keep her in the hut, having child after child.
Huffing, she strode to the door behind him and snapped the lock into place with a frown.
The heat really was starting to affect her mood. She loosened the bodice in hopes that it would help before heading back to change out the poultices that were starting to dry out. It was going to be a long, exhausting process. But it was better to have a task to set her mind to.
Two poultices later, and the man’s breathing was almost normal, a slight color slowly showing in his cheeks. His eyes were rolling under their lids, movement picking up and a pang of excitement coursed through her. She settled on her stool, scooting closer as he started to blink up toward the ceiling of her hut, his eyes glazed and unfocused as he started to realize that he had no idea where he was.
“Shh, careful now.” Freya started in a soothing voice.
His chest started to heave, and she didn’t know if it was pain, or just the fact that he was somewhere strange, or perhaps he was still stuck in the storm as far as his mind was concerned. Freya had seen that before in sailors who had been adrift for too long, the sea staying with them for far longer than it ought to have.
“Ye’re safe,” Freya continued softly. “Here, water…”
Slowly, she shuffled closer, sliding one hand under the back of his head and lifted gently as she slipped a cup of water to his lips, easing it against them.
“Go slow, ye dinnae want to throw it back up.”
It took a few moments for the man to react, but slowly he started to drink the water in small sips. He had the most stunning green eyes; she couldn’t stop staring at them as he looked around the room, clearly still foggy, as if he was trying to place himself.
“Ye’re safe, I promise ye that. But ye’re in very bad shape so please dinnae try to move at all.” Freya warned. How he wasn’t screaming in pain was absolutely beyond her. Even with all of the work she had been doing, it had to be excruciating. “Dae ye have a name, stranger?”
Only then did his eyes slide to her slowly, and something in her stomach clenched.
“Nay? Ye dinnae ken who ye are? Where ye are?”
The man licked at his dry, cracked lips as he tried to speak. He struggled, his throat producing a rasping sound as he tried to speak and failed.
“I’ll take that as a nay,” Freya smiled. “I’ll keep ye safe, dinnae fash.”
The mossy green eyes lingered on her for a long moment before they seemed too heavy to stay open, and his breathing started to turn ragged. She helped him take another drink and lowered his head back down to the pillow.
“Rest, ye poor soul, I’ll stay with ye.”
That seemed to reassure him, and he was asleep again before she knew it.