Chapter 5
FIVE
Eirabella
“Mathis,” I say softly, trying not to draw too much attention when we finally stop later that morning, “do you have another wound kit by any chance?”
He raises an eyebrow but nods, reaching into Grellor’s saddlebags to pull out another small, worn leather pouch. “Here you go.”
“Thanks,” I reply, taking it and heading to the far side of the camp. Rylan has disappeared into the woods, and I take the opportunity to sit, turning my back to the others. I can hear them murmuring behind me, their voices low, but I ignore it.
The needle and thread in the kit are sturdy, if a little rough, but they’ll do. I thread the needle and start working on the tear, focusing on the tiny stitches, letting the task calm my nerves. After a few minutes, the murmuring grows louder, and I catch the edge of a raised voice. Rylan. I roll my eyes, wondering what’s set him off this time.
Suddenly, a shadow falls over me, blocking the light. I look up, startled, to find him towering over me, his expression a mixture of anger and concern. His presence is overwhelming, as always, and I can’t help but bristle at the way he’s glaring at me.
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you’re hurt?” he says, his voice low and rough. There’s an edge to his tone that makes my heart skip a beat.
I blink up at him, momentarily at a loss for words. “I’m n—” I start to say, but he doesn’t give me a chance to finish. Before I can protest, he’s scooped me up off the log as if I weigh nothing. His hands move over my arms and sides, checking for injuries.
“What in the realms? Put me down, you creep!” I yell as he spins me around, his hands running down my back, feeling my ribs. I squirm in his grip, but he’s relentless, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the gruffness of his actions.
“Where are you hurt?” he bellows.
“I’m not!”
He falters for a second but then continues his inspection. “Then… why did you ask Mathis for the wound kit?”
“Because—ugh, let go of me, you boar-fingered oaf!” I huff, pulling away from him as much as I can. Finally, I yank up my skirt, revealing the tear in the fabric. “I’m fixing a tear in my dress, you dolt!”
He stops, his eyes flicking to the skirt, then back to my face. There’s a moment of silence as the realisation sinks in, and I can see the flicker of sheepishness mixed with relief in his eyes, though he doesn’t say anything right away. His gaze, however, lingers on the bare skin of my leg where the skirt has ridden up, and I feel a flush of heat rise to my cheeks.
“Oh,” he mutters, his voice suddenly gruff again as he sets me down with a bit more care than before. But I don’t miss the way his eyes darken, how they trace the outline of my leg before he looks away, and heat flares in the pit of my stomach. Just as I think he’s about to move away, he grabs me again, flicking the tear on the skirt to the side. “You are hurt.”
I push his hands away. “It’s nothing. It’s just a bruise. That happens when you get dragged through the woods. But I’m fine.”
He kneels down and gently pushes the skirt aside again. Before I can argue, he holds his hand up. “Shut up. Let me check it. And if it is, as you say, just a bruise, then that will be that.”
I roll my eyes and stick my leg out, trying not to shiver at the feel of his finger tracing the shape of my bruise. Goosebumps raise all over my skin, as his breath skims over my thigh as he inspects me. Once he’s done, he covers me up again and stands up, clearing his throat. “Let me know if it feels worse.”
I clear my throat, embarrassed but trying to keep my composure. “You know, you could just ask next time, instead of manhandling me like a sack of potatoes.”
He grunts, crossing his arms over his broad chest, his muscles straining against the fabric of his shirt. “You weren’t exactly forthcoming.”
I snort as I plop back down on the log, ignoring the way my entire thigh is showing as I line up the tear to return to my darning. “It’s just a torn skirt. It’s not like I have an endless supply of clothes, since someone kidnapped me from my home without allowing me to pack even one change of clothes.” My hands shake as I thread the needle again, trying to ignore the way my heart is still racing. “And maybe because I didn’t think you needed to know every little thing about me.”
“You thought wrong,” he replies, his voice serious. Then he storms away, flinging a command at Yosef to keep an eye on me before stomping back into the woods and out of sight .
A few hours later, racing toward the sunset into a small village, I start to feel lightheaded. The world tilts slightly, and I press one hand to my head and the other on Rylan’s thigh, trying to steady myself, but the dizziness only worsens. I don’t want to admit it, but I feel like I’m about to keel over. I’ve never ridden on a horse for this long. And my body’s making its displeasure known.
Rylan notices, of course. “We’re stopping here tonight,” he announces to everyone, no room in his voice for argument.
“I’m fine,” I protest weakly, though the way the world is spinning tells me otherwise.
His arms tighten around me. “You’re swaying like a drunken maiden after her first taste of ale. We’re stopping.”
“You know, I liked you more before you started using full sentences.” I turn my head to give him a snarky expression, but there’s a protective edge in his returned gaze that I haven’t seen before, and it makes my heart do an odd little flip. I quickly turn to face the front again.
Our company stops at an inn on the edge of the village. The wooden building looms before us, promising warmth and rest. Yosef dismounts, disappearing inside to book the rooms, while I shift in the saddle, wide awake now and taking in everything around me. The inn is surrounded by a bustling marketplace, and my gaze lands on a nearby clothing stall. Soft fabrics in rich colours flutter in the evening breeze. I can’t remember the last time I wore something that wasn’t patched together. Shifting on the horse, I crane my neck to get a better look. Rylan stiffens and grumbles behind me, his voice low and irritated. “Do you ever sit still? The way you’re rubbing agai—nevermind. Just stop moving.”
I freeze, but my eyes stay locked on the clothing stall. The thought of wearing something whole, something new, something not held together by a decade of patches, stirs an ache in my chest. One day, I promise myself again.
Yosef quickly returns with the keys. “Two rooms,” he says, handing one to Rylan.
Rylan takes the keys and nods. “I’ll take first watch before dinner,” he says, his tone leaving little room for argument.
But Yosef doesn’t back down. “No, you need the rest more than us. I’ll take the first watch.”
They stare each other down for a moment. I watch, intrigued by the subtle back and forth between them. Finally, Rylan nods, though it’s clear he’s not happy about it.
Inside the inn, warmth wraps around me like a comforting blanket. The common room buzzes with activity—voices, laughter, the clatter of dishes. Rylan hands me the key and gestures toward the stairs. “Our rooms are this way.”
I follow him up, ignoring the way the other patrons glance our way. At the top of the stairs, I turn the key in the lock and push open the door to my room. But before I can close the door, Rylan blocks the door with his arm.
I whirl around, eyebrow raised. “What are you doing?”
He steps inside, completely unfazed. “I’m going into my room.”
“No. This is my room,” I snap, blocking his path.
“And mine,” he replies, his voice calm but firm. “I’m not letting you stay in this room by yourself. It’s not safe.”
My eyes narrow. “It certainly won’t be safe for you if you take another step in here.”
We stand in silence, neither of us willing to back down. His gaze is steady, unyielding, and I can feel the tension crackling between us. Finally, he speaks again, his voice a low growl. Any semblance of the truce between us is gone. “You need a guard—not just so you don’t do something stupid like try to leave without us. ”
“Escape from my captors, you mean,” I retort. “Most people would say that’s the safest thing I could do in my position.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. “Secondly, you need a guard.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I thought that’s what Yosef was for.”
“That’s for this door,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “There are other ways of getting in... and out of the room.”
I stare at him, anger simmering just beneath the surface. “All you care about is that I’m guarded, yes?”
He nods, his expression unreadable.
“Fine,” I say, my voice cold. “Then I choose Mathis to share with me.”
His face hardens, and I see the flash of anger in his eyes. He says nothing, just turns and storms out, slamming the door behind him.
A minute later, there’s a knock. I open the door to find Mathis standing there, looking awkward. I sigh and step aside to let him in. He settles on the armchair, his long legs stretching out in front of him as he folds his arms over his chest. He flashes a grin and shakes his head before closing his eyes as his head leans back.
“You sure have a knack for pushing Rylan’s buttons. It’s the most entertainment we’ve had in years,” he adds, and then is asleep before I can reply.
After a brief but much-needed rest, we all head downstairs for dinner. The common room is even more crowded now, filled with a rising hum of conversation and the savoury smell of roasting meats and simmering stews. I deliberately choose the seat as far from Rylan as possible, sliding into a chair between Mathis and Yosef, ignoring the way he glares at me from the head of the table .
As soon as we’re all seated, a serving girl brings bowls of stew and cups of ale and water, and I dig in, the prospect of another full meal wrapping me in comfort. Mathis cracks a joke, something about a wayward goat and a fence, and I can’t help but laugh. The other guards relax too, their laughter mingling with mine. The residual tension from the attack melts away as they share their stories, and I listen with eager interest. For a moment, I almost forget where I am and who I’m with.
As soon as my cup is empty, the serving girl appears at my side to fill it. The same happens the second I lick the last of the stew off my spoon. I don’t question it, just hoping my stomach holds out for more food than I’ve had in years.
I’m about to dig into my third bowl of stew when a man from a nearby table approaches, his gaze locked on me. He’s tall, with an easy smile that probably works on most women. “Mind if I join you?” he asks, his voice smooth as he pulls up a chair without waiting for an answer.
I glance at Mathis, who rolls his eyes good-naturedly, then back at the man. “I’m afraid you’re a little late,” I say with a playful smile, “This table’s already full, and I’ve already been claimed for the evening.”
The man chuckles, leaning in closer. “Well, I’m sure you can make some room for me. I promise, I’m worth it.”
I tilt my head, pretending to consider his offer. “Oh, I don’t doubt that,” I reply, “But this tavern has a strict ‘one charming rogue per table’ policy, and as you can see”—I gesture to the four men sitting at the table with me—“we’re already breaking the rules. We wouldn't want you to get in trouble with the owners.”
He laughs, taking the rejection in stride. “Fair enough,” he says, standing up. “Maybe next time, then?”
“Consider your seat saved,” I say, winking at him. He grins and saunters back to his table, his pride intact.
I resume eating, feeling eight eyes on me and look up from my bowl, returning their looks with a grin. I’ve long learned that the best way to defuse unwanted male attention is to present a way for them to leave with their ego inflated rather than shattered. I don’t have a chance to explain that when another man approaches our table with that confident swagger that tells me he’s used to getting what he wants.
Just as he’s about to say something, I put on a mock-serious expression and say, “Oh no, please, kind sir, I’m going to need you to take pity on me and step away from the table as soon as possible. I have a severe heart problem.”
He blinks, momentarily thrown off. “Heart problem?”
I nod solemnly, letting my gaze sweep over him as I continue, “Yes, you see, you look like someone who could shatter my heart with a single smile, and I’m afraid my weak constitution just couldn’t take it. I couldn’t possibly risk spending even a minute in your charming presence. You wouldn’t want my death on your hands, would you?”
The man stares at me for a moment, then chuckles, clearly amused. “Well, we can’t have that now, can we?” He sets the drink he obviously brought over for me down on the table, still grinning. “But are you sure you don’t want to take the risk? I promise I can be gentle.”
I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head. “Oh, I have no doubt, but I’m just trying to look out for you. You’re much too handsome for the king’s dungeons, and I’m afraid that’s exactly where you’d end up if I were to give in to your advances.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “You’re quick, I’ll give you that. And utterly charming. I could take down a few measly guards in exchange for a drink with you, darlin’.”
I pretend to fan myself and then grab at my chest. “Oh my, and you’re brave, too. But I can already feel my heart palpitating. I’m afraid you’re going to have to make a hasty escape.”
He straightens up, laughing harder, giving me one last look before heading back to his table. “That’s too bad. I think I would’ve risked the dungeons to get to know you a little better. If you ever decide you want to live a little dangerously, you know where to find me.”
As he walks away, leaving me with the drink and a grin on my face, Mathis nudges me with his elbow, smirking. “Heart problem, huh?”
I shrug, taking a sip of the drink. “It works every time.”
A sideways glance shows me Rylan’s hands gripping the table, white-knuckled as he glares over the rim of his glass. I throw him a charming smile while the others fling good-natured taunts at me, dubbing me The Heartbreaker. I simply lift my glass in a toast and down it with a grin. As I place my empty glass on the table, I glance up just in time to see Rylan catch the serving girl’s eye and flick his hand in my direction.
It’s him.
It’s been him the whole night making sure my bowl and glass were always filled. When he glances back down the table at me, I’m still watching him. He doesn't look away, holding my gaze for a moment, his inscrutable face harder than ever, telling me nothing.
The man is fucking infuriating.
Half an hour later, when we’re all leaning back, rubbing our full stomachs, another man swaggers up to the table, flashing me a grin as he nods toward the guards. “What’s a lovely girl like you doing with a miserable-looking lot like this?”
I lean back, letting out an exaggerated sigh, and wave a dismissive hand at them. “Oh, them? They’re just my ex-husbands. Cursed. Eternally doomed to follow me around the realms, heartbroken, once I was done with them.”
He raises an eyebrow, playing along. “All four of them? Busy life you’ve had.”
I smile sweetly. “What can I say? I’m hard to resist. ”
He chuckles, leaning in. “Oh, I’m finding that to be the case. However, I think I could convince you to keep me around.”
Before I can respond, Mathis chimes in, grinning. “Not likely. Trust me, mate, if you’re smart, you’ll run while you still can.” He tilts his chin at Grellor, who gives a characteristic growl. “I should’ve taken their warning when I could’ve.”
The man laughs, but before he can say anything, Rylan stands abruptly, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. His growl is low and deadly. “Take his advice.”
The man holds up his hands in surrender. “Easy, friend. I like my heart and head exactly where they are, thanks.” He winks at me. “If you ever get sick of these sad sacks, I’ll be at the bar.”
I shrug and say, “Noted. But please make sure you line up behind my other prospective ex-husbands already waiting there, though.”
He laughs and leaves, tipping an imaginary hat to me.
I take the opportunity to stand up to excuse myself when Rylan’s voice cuts through the din, commanding and unyielding. “Sit down.”
“But I need—” I start.
“Whatever you need, Yosef will get it for you.”
I stare at him, incredulous. “And what if I need to use the chamber room? I have had a lot of drinks bought for me tonight,” I challenge, crossing my arms.
Rylan’s eyes narrow, flashing with something I can’t pinpoint, but he doesn’t back down. “Yosef can do that for you too,” he replies, his tone dry.
I can’t help but smirk, leaning forward slightly. “Well, Yosef is proving to be terribly useful. I’m failing to see what my use is for you. ”
He glares but gestures for me to lead the way, following close behind me as I make my way to the public chamber room. The air between us thickens with each step as we navigate through the crowded inn. When I finally reach the chamber room and step inside, I breathe a sigh of relief, glad to have a moment of peace. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I look a complete mess; days of travelling haven’t done me any favours. I pat my wind-mussed hair down, to no avail, and giggle to myself as I think about the men who’ve tried their luck with me tonight, despite me looking like a street urchin. But then the thought that I’ve looked like this while sitting inches from Rylan has me cringing with embarrassment. He’s only managed to look more ruggedly handsome as the days have gone by, the shadow along his jawline only emphasising his masculinity. Damn him.
When I open the door to leave, Rylan almost tumbles into the chamber room, having been leaning against the door, his eyes closed, clearly exhausted.
“Something been keeping you up?” I ask, unable to keep the bite out of my voice.
His eyes flicker open, and for a moment, I see a flash of vulnerability before his usual stoic mask slips back into place. “Let’s go,” he says, ignoring my question and turning on his heel.
As we walk back to the table, the tension between us continues to simmer, but before we can return to our seats, a man the size of three of me stumbles into my path, his breath heavy with the stench of ale. He’s taller than me by at least a head and a half, and the dangerous glint in his eye puts me immediately on edge.
“Hey there, sweetheart,” he slurs, leering down at me. “You’ve been turnin’ down all these boys tonight. It’s about time you had a real man.” His hand clamps around my upper thigh, the stickiness of his palm slapping against my skin and making me gag. “And I ain’t takin’ no for an answer.”
I jerk back, my pulse quickening, ready to defend myself, but before I can move, Rylan steps in front of me like a wall of solid muscle. His hand snaps out, gripping the man’s collar so tightly that his knuckles turn white. “Back. Off,” he growls, his voice low and deadly, like the distant rumble of an approaching storm.
The man sneers, stumbling slightly but yanking himself free with a grunt. “What’s it to you what I do with her? Doesn’t look like you’re getting anywhere either.” His eyes flick to me, a sickening grin spreading across his face. “Seems like a waste to let that sweet piece of ass go unused.”
Rylan’s entire body tenses. His anger burns the air around us. His voice drops even lower, so cold and quiet that it sends a chill down my spine. “Touch her again, and I’ll make sure you never touch anything for the rest of your miserable life.”
The man takes a staggering step toward me, his hand reaching out, his fingers dirty and groping. “I promise I’ll return her to you, mostly in one pie—”
Before he can say another word, Rylan roughly grabs the front of his shirt with both hands, and his hands ignite. Fire dances across his fingers, and in an instant, the flames leap to the man’s clothes. The drunken sneer turns to terror as the man stumbles back, his shirt ablaze.
Panic ripples through the room as chairs clatter to the floor, and the inn’s patrons scramble to get out of the way. The flames climb higher, licking at the man’s hair, and the smell of burning fabric fills the air. He shrieks, patting at the fire, but it’s no use. The flames burn with relentless fury.
Rylan’s voice is low, cold. “Looks like you need to cool off.”
The man, wild-eyed with fear, staggers back, crashing into tables and scattering dishes as he tries to escape the inferno consuming him. Finally, he stumbles toward the door, tearing off his burning shirt and throwing it to the ground as he bolts outside. The inn is left in stunned silence, all eyes on Rylan.
For a heartbeat, the room is still. Then, another man—a hulking brute who had been drinking with the first—slams his fist onto a nearby table, spilling ale everywhere. “You think you can burn my mate and get away with it?”
Before I can react, he lunges at Rylan, but Rylan’s already moving. He sidesteps easily, catching the man’s arm and twisting it back with brutal precision. The man cries out in pain, but Rylan doesn’t relent. With a sharp shove, he sends the attacker flying into a group of men, knocking over more chairs and tables.
That’s when the real chaos breaks out.
Suddenly, fists are flying, and more men join the fray, eager to join the fight. The guards, who had been quietly watching from the corner, spring into action. Mathis grabs a man who is lunging for Rylan by the waist and tackles him to the floor, while Grellor slams another attacker’s head into the bar. Yosef, using the heavy staff he always carries, swings it with precision, keeping two men at bay.
The inn explodes into a full-blown brawl, tables and chairs crashing to the floor as more people get dragged into the fight. I’m caught between ducking out of the way and watching in awe as Rylan and the others handle themselves with ease. Rylan is a blur of fire and fists, moving with terrifying precision. Even though he’s surrounded by enemies, he never falters. At one point, a man is hurled so close to me that I have to duck out of the way, but Rylan’s hand catches my arm, pulling me behind him.
His eyes meet mine for a fleeting second—dark, furious, protective—and then he’s back in the fight, moving with terrifying precision. Every punch he throws, every burst of flame that erupts from his fingertips, is aimed with lethal accuracy. It’s clear he’s in control, even with the chaos surrounding him.
Finally, the inn’s guards burst through the door, pulling apart the brawlers and forcing them outside. The noise dies down, leaving only the sound of heavy breathing and the scattered remains of broken furniture. The guards drag the last of the rowdy patrons outside, until only Rylan and I are left standing in the middle of the wreckage.
I glance at Rylan, my heart still pounding from the chaos. His chest heaves with the exertion, but his expression is calm, almost bored, as he brushes ash from his sleeve. I whirl on him, my heart pounding in my chest. “What the fucking hell was that?” I demand, my voice shaking with a mix of anger and disbelief. “I had it under control!”
Rylan’s expression is impassive, but there’s a dangerous edge to his voice. “I’m sure you did. My way was faster.”
I gesture to the state of the inn around us. “Guess again!”
He shrugs. “It was worth it, to protect you.”
The dismissiveness in his tone makes my blood boil. “Whatever your job actually is, it’s not taking away my right to take care of myself.” Without another word, I turn on my heel and storm up to my room, the door slamming behind me with a resounding thud. The door flies open seconds later, and Rylan stalks into the room, grabbing my wrist and spinning me around to face him.
“Listen and listen very, very closely. I’m here to guard you. And I intend on doing my job. So let me make this clear.” He presses me up against the room wall, his face close to mine, making me drunk on the smell of cloves. “No one is going to come close to getting their hands on you again. And if I hadn’t already killed those bandits, I would have tracked down every single one of them for giving you that bruise, and would have killed them slowly and painfully. And when I was done, I wouldn’t have had any trouble falling asleep. That’s the kind of person I am, and don’t you ever forget it.”
We glare at each other, chests heaving, before he drops my hands and then storms out as quickly as he had come in.
Minutes later, there’s a knock on the door. I open it to find a maid, who enters and uses her Strength to fill the tub with steaming hot water. I watch in silence, my emotions from the incident downstairs still swirling around in my head. When the tub is full, she points to a stack of new clothes on the bed I hadn’t noticed—at least two shirts, two travelling pants, and a dress, fine fabrics in rich colours, just like the ones I’d seen at the market stall earlier. The sight of them sends a pang through my chest. Brand new clothes. I pick through them, they look like they’d fit me perfectly. I can barely breathe. Who would do this?
The maid glances at me, her expression neutral. “The lord, the, uh, tall, handsome one, the quiet one, says if you’d like anything else, just let me know, and we’ll immediately acquire it for you.”
I stare at the clothes, then at the maid. Residual anger, confusion, and something that feels uncomfortably like gratitude twist together inside me. I move to the door, ready to begrudgingly thank Rylan, but when I open it, only Mathis and Yosef are standing there, deep in conversation.
They turn to me, with a question in their eyes. I swallow my words and turn back into the room. “Um, I won’t be too long, I’ll come get you when I’m done,” I tell Mathis, my voice quieter now.
As I close the door, I can’t shake the image of Rylan’s fire-licked hands and the way he’d set that man ablaze without a second thought. It should terrify me. But instead, I’m left with a nagging question: why would he go to such lengths for me? And more importantly—why does it feel like a part of me is grateful for it?
The warm embrace of the water surrounds me as I sink deeper into the tub, closing my eyes and allowing the day's tensions to melt away. The gentle heat seeps into my muscles, loosening knots I hadn't realised were there, and I feel a familiar surge of energy coursing through me, as if the water itself is breathing life back into my weary body. There's a profound comfort in this ritual, a sense of renewal that calms my restless spirit and brings a quiet smile to my lips. I run my fingers along the surface, watching the ripples cascade outward, each one a reminder of the tranquillity that water has always brought me, healing wounds both seen and unseen.