Chapter 9
Elodie rolled up the freshly cut bandage and added it to the growing pile in front of her. She grabbed another piece of cloth and began rolling this too.
“Elodie?”
“Hmm?”
“I think that might be enough.”
Elodie looked up and realized that the pile of bandages had grown so big it was threatening to topple over. “Oh. Right.”
Faye was sitting opposite her at the scrubbed table in the healer’s house and the two of them had been making bandages for the last hour.
Evening sunlight slanted through the open doorway and Elodie found herself glancing towards the valley entrance.
Ronan and the others had been gone for hours.
What if something had happened? What if they’d run into trouble? What if—
“Lass,” Faye said, laying a hand on her arm. “He’ll be fine.”
Elodie blinked. “What?”
“Ronan. He’ll be fine.”
Heat flooded Elodie’s cheeks. “I wasn’t—”
“Ye were.”
Elodie opened her mouth but then closed it again. There wasn’t much point in arguing seeing as Faye could clearly see straight through her.
“He’ll be fine,” the healer repeated.
“How do you know?” Elodie couldn’t keep the worry from her voice.
A faint smile touched the older woman’s face. “Because there’s more to our Ronan than meets the eye. He can take care of himself.”
After seeing the way he’d handled that sword, Elodie suspected that Faye’s words were something of an understatement.
Suddenly, excited shouts echoed from the far end of the village. Elodie was on her feet and running out the door before Faye had even looked up. She spotted Ronan and his group striding into the settlement and relief washed through her so strongly that for a moment she felt dizzy.
“What happened?” someone shouted to the returning group.
“We found them!” Eamon announced. “And sent them running with a fright they’ll never forget!”
The young man launched enthusiastically into the story of how they’d come across a group of five bandits. Then six. Then seven. The number seemed to increase every time he opened his mouth.
Elodie was too busy watching Ronan to pay much attention.
His men were grinning in triumph. But Ronan wasn’t.
His expression was grim, troubled. Without drawing attention to himself, he slipped from the gathering and walked away.
Elodie listened to Eamon’s tale a while longer, then went after Ronan.
When she reached the smithy, she found it empty, with the fire burned low and the room full of shadows. She went next door to the little cottage attached to the smithy, raised her fist and knocked on the door. It swung open to reveal Ronan standing there, looking surprised to see her.
“Elodie?”
“May I come in?”
He moved aside. “Of course.”
Elodie stepped into the tiny, one-roomed house. It was even smaller than Faye’s and contained very little in the way of furniture. A bed, a table, a chest, a handful of shelves.
Ronan crossed to a shelf and retrieved a bottle. “Whisky?”
She hesitated. Then nodded. “Please.”
He poured two small measures and handed one to her. She sniffed it before taking a sip. It burned all the way down and Elodie fought not to cough it back up again.
Ronan’s mouth twitched. “Apologies. It isnae the best.”
“It’s certainly no single malt, that’s for sure.”
He nodded his agreement. “How is Thomas?”
“Sore. Bruised. But Faye thinks he’ll be fine with some rest.”
“That’s welcome news.”
For several heartbeats neither spoke. Elodie swirled her drink around in her cup. “You know Eamon is out there telling everyone how you single-handedly beat an army?”
Ronan snorted. “The lad has a gift for embellishment. He’ll have me slaying dragons by supper.”
“He hero-worships you, that’s all. A lot of people do.”
Ronan’s expression changed, something like pain flashing across his face. “They shouldnae.”
There it was again. That strange self-deprecation.
“They weren’t just bandits were they?” Elodie said after a moment.
His eyes narrowed on her. “What makes ye say that?”
“I saw the look on yer face earlier.”
He considered her for a moment then looked away. For several seconds she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he sighed. “Nay, I dinna think they were just bandits. They seemed too organized for that. To me, they seemed more like scouts.”
“Scouts?”
His expression darkened. “I think they were here for a reason: to scout out this area. Someone is pushing them further into these hills.” He set down his cup.
“The Steading has always survived because we are very hard to find. That’s why we have people that need us gather at the waymeet rather than telling them exactly where to find us. ”
“But now?” Elodie asked softly.
“Now there are more of us. More mouths to feed. More signs. More difficult for us to hide.”
“And more eyes watching?”
He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Aye. It seems that way.”
The silence stretched.
“You could teach them,” Elodie said at last. “The villagers, I mean.”
“Teach them what?”
“How to defend themselves.” She took a step forward. “Shall we stop dancing around the truth? We both know you’re a warrior. I saw you practicing with that sword of yours and it’s also very clear you know how to handle that pistol.”
His expression darkened. “That’s not something I’m proud of. I do what I must. Doesnae mean I have to like it.”
“Perhaps not. But you could still teach them to defend themselves.”
“No.”
“Ronan—”
“I said no!”
The force in his voice startled her. He crossed the room, staring out the tiny window with his back to her. “They are farmers and crofters,” he said softly. “I willnae turn them into something they aren’t.”
“But if the bandits come?”
“The lads and I will deal with it.”
“You and the lads? You mean the group you took today? There are only five of you.”
His jaw clenched. She could see a tiny vein throbbing in his temple. She forged ahead regardless.
“Ronan I’m not suggesting you turn them into a band of cutthroats. I’m just suggesting you teach them how to protect their homes.”
He laughed harshly and turned to face her. “That’s how it starts.”
“Standing your ground isn’t aggression.”
His eyes flashed. “What would ye know about it? What could yer pampered life have taught ye about any of this?”
“I beg your pardon? I am not pampered!”
“Are ye not? It’s clear from yer clothes and yer jewelry that ye are a noblewoman. That ye’ve never had to live through the hardships these people have. And yet ye still think ye know what’s best for them.”
Anger flared in Elodie’s chest. Pampered? Never endured hardship? “How dare you? You know nothing about me!”
Something shifted behind his eyes. Something equally angry. Equally frustrated. “Then why dinna ye tell me? Who are ye, Elodie? Where are ye from? Who is waiting for ye back home?”
She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. She couldn’t answer any of his questions without sounding completely insane.
His expression hardened. “That’s what I thought. Faye tells me yer head wound doesnae account for yer memory loss. So what does?”
“You expect me to tell you everything when you tell me exactly nothing? Trust works both ways, Ronan Campbell.” She slammed her cup down on the table. “Thank you for the drink.”
She stormed out, letting the door slam behind her.
Outside, evening air rushed against her face, but it didn’t cool her anger.
Who did he think he was, speaking to her like that?
Yet, a small traitorous part of her whispered that he was right.
She didn’t know anything about these people’s lives and had no right to think she did.
You’re doing it again, Elodie, she thought. You’ve found yourself a new crusade and you’re letting it blind you to everything else.
She felt tears beginning to gather in her eyes. What was she doing? This wasn’t her fight. She didn’t belong here with these people. With him.
The problem was, she didn’t know quite where she did belong.
THE IRON WASN’T AT fault. Ronan knew that. The glowing bar resting on the anvil was not the source of his anger, yet he brought the hammer down on it with as much force as he could all the same.
Clang. Another blow. Clang. Another.
The rhythm should have calmed him, but today it wasn’t helping in the least. His thoughts churned like a midsummer storm.
Why had he snapped at Elodie like that yesterday?
He’d handled things badly. Very badly. The memory of her hurt expression when she’d stormed out of his cottage twisted his insides.
And the worst thing about it all? She was right. Deep down he knew that the Steading was changing, that the dangers around them were coming closer with each day that passed and he couldn’t keep pretending that they weren’t.
Aargh! He clenched his fist tighter around the hammer and pounded on the metal until sweat stood out on his forehead and his lungs burned.
He heard the door open behind him and he spun eagerly, hoping it was Elodie. But Faye stepped into the smithy. The healer glanced at the battered piece of iron on the anvil.
“Poor thing. I wonder what it’s done to deserve that?”
Ronan glanced at it. The bit of metal was flattened to within an inch of its life and would be good for nothing now except melting down and starting again. With an irritated grunt, he tossed it into the water barrel where it hissed and steamed.
“What can I do for ye, Faye?”
She shrugged. “Can I not just pay a friend a visit? Ye made a quick exit after ye got back yesterday. I thought it best to warn ye that Eamon’s story has grown considerably.”
Ronan raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“When I last heard it, ye fought twelve bandits at once.”
Ronan snorted. “Only twelve? I suspect by tomorrow it will be thirty.”
He smiled faintly, only for it to fade again. Faye narrowed her eyes, her shrewd gaze looking him over.
“We’ve come a long way, havenae we?” she said at last, gesturing vaguely around them. “The Steading, I mean. I dinna think either of us could have imagined what it would become.”