67. Bea #2
“It was the river that gave us our dàn,” he whispers under his breath, eyes darting to the water. “I’m sorry, Bea. This is going to hurt,” he says, lifting me. The moment he picks me up, a fresh wave of pain sears through my wounds, and I cry out.
“Shhhh. You’ll be okay soon,” he says, kneeling and lowering me into the river, my head resting on shore. Stars dot my vision as, once again, he presses his forearm against my torso. The feeling of magic branding into my skin once again rushes through me, a searing pain I cannot endure.
I try to pull away, but Brennen presses his other arm firmly across my chest, locking me in place.
“Dinnae move,” he orders, and I still at his command.
Not because I want to, but because my entire being is on fire.
So much magic flows through my blood, it's hard to breathe. I lock eyes with Brennen, grabbing his forearms, squeezing as I fight against the pain, but it’s useless.
The magic sharpens, the sensation of it unbearable.
I cannot breathe. I can hardly think. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wonder if, between the pain of the stabs and the transfer of magic, this might actually do the impossible and kill me.
Brennen strokes my hair, and I turn my head to look at him.
But where his stern features had been creased with worry and fury only moments ago, I now see only relief. He cups my cheek.
“It will be over soon,” he promises.
And then, as if he spoke it into existence, the pain begins to ease. I follow his gaze to the injuries that are already closing. The flow of blood slows, then stops completely.
“It worked. You’re healed,” Brennen breathes, pulling back to examine the spot his dàn once sat on his right forearm. He flips my arm over, tracing the delicate lines.
“How did you know to put me in the water?” I ask, my voice still strained.
Brennen shakes his head. “It’s something Garrick told me, but I didnae realize it until now. Every time you’ve taken my dàn you’ve been in the river. Even when I touched you in the vision, your body was here, waiting for Harold’s clothes.”
“You’re saying it was the river that gave me your magic?”
“Aye,” he says, his voice gentle.
“I told you I didn’t steal it,” I try to joke, but my voice comes out flat. Worried. “You shouldn’t have given the dàn to me, Brennen. What if you need it? What if you get wounded in battle, or the Cutter—”
“I dinnae care,” he says, his words sharper than Hamish’s blade.
I lie my head back down, too exhausted to hold it up any longer. “I would have healed.”
“It would have taken too long.” Brennen leans forward, pushing my hair from in front of my eyes. His voice lowers to a rough whisper. “How can you no see it? I cannae watch you suffer.” He closes his eyes.
“But how did you know to come to me?” I ask. If he’d been only moments later, Hamish would have gotten his answer. Either that or Brennen would have come across my unconscious, bloody body.
“I heard your call in my bones. I dinnae ken how to explain it. I should have been too far away, but it was like I felt your pain, and…” He can’t seem to finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to.
I can feel his meaning—that Ban-dia a’ Bhàis herself would not have been able to keep him from coming to me.
He shakes his head, the shroud of control he always wears nonexistent in this moment.
He presses his forehead against mine, and magic pushes against my skin, trying to take root. There’s a burning on my arm, but I fight against it with every bit of strength I have left. I refuse it. Imagining a shield around my body, I shove it away.
There is only his touch on my skin, and nothing more.
No magic. No power.
I will not take anything else from this man who has given me so much.
“When I saw you, lying there bloody…” His words come out choked. “I dinnae ken how I had the self-control to make him apologize before I slit his throat. Why were you taunting him like that?”
“He caught me. I couldn't let him say the words that would make me tell him where Kenna went. I was hoping I'd go unconscious before he was able to trigger the curse.”
“You are the bravest person I’ve ever met,” he says, his gaze trailing down my face, to my mouth, and then to my now healed wounds on my chest and stomach.
My cheeks flush. I suddenly feel exposed, my breasts and belly visible between the layers of my torn dress and drying blood. I try to pull it back together, but he stops me. “I'll get you another one.” He caresses my cheek. “Look away,” he says.
I close my eyes as he stands, my mind racing. He’d pressed his dàn into me. Had chose to give me his magic.
I shove away the thought, afraid if I examine it too closely, I’ll put myself in a position to actually get hurt. Not my body, but my heart.
There’s a splash, and I wince, my stomach roiling as I realize what the sound was. Brennen throwing the man into the river, sending his body into the After.
He reappears a moment later with a touch to my shoulder, a bar of soap in his hands.
“Let’s get you clean. I cannae bear to see all this blood on you,” he says. “I’ll give you something of mine to wear after.”
“That’s not necessary. I can clean myself,” I say, suddenly self-conscious.
It’s nothing like what we did days ago, before he’d walled himself off.
Before he’d confessed who I had killed. But him washing the blood from my battered body in the light of day feels almost more intimate.
Without the cover of darkness, I cannot hide.
“No,” he says, and his stern tone makes me pause. His mouth is tight, and shadows bruise beneath his eyes. “Let me.”
Heat creeps up my neck as a memory of him pleasuring me flashes through my mind.
“I need to wash you,” he continues, his voice rough, almost begging. “Please.”
My throat tightens at his words. I’ve taken so much from this man, but this is something I can give him. Something to ease the torment inside him.
I nod, and his shoulders relax as he picks up his dagger. Careful not to break my skin, he cuts through the rest of my dress. It falls from my legs, and Brennen shrugs the top from my arms.