Sharon Schulze (10 page)

N
ever could she have imagined such pain, or such a sense of relief it was over.

Pray God she would forget, quickly, the horrid sound of her shoulder popping as Padrig pushed it back into the socket. The way it felt would likely haunt her for the rest of her life, she had no doubt.

She shuddered still, waves of shaking that made her quake from head to toe.

But she’d not screamed, or swooned or done anything else she’d be ashamed of.

Not this time, anyway.

“You’re a brave lass, milady!” Rafe briefly tightened his arms around her before he got up and eased her into Padrig’s embrace. “I could not have borne it so well.”

“I didn’t,” Padrig told her as he gathered her close. “Cried like a babe when Lord Connor pushed my arm back into place.” Despite Rafe’s presence, Padrig buried his face in Alys’s hair.

To her surprise, he was trembling as well, though not so much as she. She drew back to look at him. He ap
peared his usual calm self, save for his eyes. They glowed bright blue in his tanned face, revealing some strong emotion she could not name.

“Thank God ’tis done,” he murmured to her. “’Tis a wonder I didn’t cry this time, as well.” He gave a wry laugh. “I think I’d rather have been in your position, sweeting. Though I knew what I had to do, ’twas damned hard to make myself do it.”

He pulled away, stroking his hand over her hair in a fleeting caress before rising to his feet.

Alys remained where she was, for she’d not a bit of strength left within her. Without the support of Padrig’s arms about her, she slumped back on the log, only the tree behind her holding her upright. “I don’t think my legs will work,” she told him. Her voice sounded strange, slow and muddled, as if she’d drunk too much wine. “Nor will anything else, for that matter.”

Her head lolled to the side and she began to slip sideways off the log toward the ground.

Padrig reached out and caught her, letting her slide into his arms. He scooped her up and cradled her to his chest—much as he had last night, she thought, though it might have been naught but a dream she was remembering. Still, it felt so good when he held her—comfortable, necessary, right.

“Thank you for catching me,” she mumbled against the side of his neck. “I might have hurt my head if I’d hit the ground. Probably the only part o’ me not hurt already.” She giggled, the sound seeming to come from a distance. “I believe you could have mended that, too, don’t you think?”

She squirmed into a more comfortable position, with her cheek resting against Padrig’s bewhiskered face. The dark hair was surprisingly soft. She’d noticed when
they’d kissed, now that she thought of it. The feel of it brushing over her skin did something strange and wonderful to her insides.

Smiling, she smoothed her cheek along the firm line of his jaw.

“Alys,” Padrig said, his voice soft but sharp. He cupped her head in his hand and held her still. “What are you doing?”

Rafe laughed. He sounded far away, though he looked near enough for her to reach out and touch.

When she tried to do so, however, her arm dropped limply to her side.

Padrig hefted her more securely into his arms and sat down on the log. “Hand me that strip of cloth, would you?” he asked Rafe, pointing to the material he’d used for a sling.

“Going to tie me up, are you?” she asked, not too concerned about the possibility.

Rafe laughed again, and muttered something she didn’t hear.

Evidently Padrig heard him, however, for he sent the other man a pointed look that quelled his laughter.

Feeling strangely detached, Alys watched as Padrig wound the linen into an odd configuration and immobilized her right arm against her body. It still hurt, though not nearly as much as it had before.

In truth, she couldn’t really tell if she hurt anywhere. A strange numbness had settled over her, softening the edges of her world, making everything a little less harsh.

It appeared she’d lost her ability to worry about much of anything, either. She knew there were others injured worse than she, but she trusted Padrig and Rafe to take care of them as well as they’d tended her.

Some part of her also knew ’twas very wrong of her to cling to Padrig the way she was, knew she shouldn’t be watching him with all her lustful thoughts showing in her eyes.

The disapproving side of her was shockingly easy to strike down, to brush away like an annoying fly—leaving the Alys who did as she wished, took what she wanted, cared nothing about whether her behavior was proper or forward…

Only whether it was true and honest…

Padrig gazed down at Alys, nestled so close he could have turned his head and kissed her, and marveled at the sweetness of her expression. With her eyes closed, her face relaxed, she appeared naught but an innocent young woman.

While he didn’t doubt she
was
untouched, nevertheless there was little of the innocent in their dealings with each other.

She seemed to be in a deep sleep, not in a swoon. Mayhap her body had finally given in to the shock of the past day and sought refuge in healing slumber. He knew she’d not rested much during the night.

Rafe reached over and gently moved her bound arm to rest atop her chest. “The lass is one surprise after another,” he remarked quietly. “We’re lucky. Could you imagine if she were a whining, complaining wench? She’d likely have been screaming her head off from the moment the storm hit last night.”

“I doubt you’d have let it go on that long,” Padrig said dryly. He chuckled. “You’d have found some way to silence her long since.”

Rafe’s innocent expression sat false upon his swarthy
face. “I’d never lay a hand on a lady!” he protested, eyes wide. He shook his head, his mouth twisting into a devilish grin. “Of course, not every woman
is
a lady…”

Settling Alys more comfortably in his arms, Padrig headed back across the clearing. “I’m certain whatever you did would be for her own good.” He smiled at the thought of just what Rafe might do in such a situation.

“It
would
be better than murdering a wench, ’tis true.” He fell into step alongside Padrig. “Less likely to get me killed, as well,” he added.

His expression suddenly serious, Rafe reached out, caught Padrig by the arm and drew him to a halt, releasing him at once. “I don’t know if ’tis fitting for me to say anything about this, milord. ’Twould probably be better for me to keep my mouth shut.” He shrugged. “Hell, when have I ever been sensible?”

Certain he didn’t want to hear what Rafe had to say, nonetheless Padrig waited for the other man to speak. “Go on,” he urged when Rafe hesitated.

Rafe took a deep breath. “Last night I would have said there was nothing between you and the lady, save a natural bit of interest on both your parts.”

Padrig met Rafe’s gaze evenly. “Aye, you’re right. There was nothing.”

“This morning ’twould be clear to a blind man that things have changed a great deal.” Rafe looked away. “I’m not blind—and neither are the others.”

Though his instinct was to end the conversation at once, Padrig knew he needed to hear the rest of it—and he should heed Rafe’s advice if he offered any, whatever it might be.

He trusted the man with his life every day. ’Twas just as likely he could trust him in this, as well. He’d served
with Rafe long enough to know his confidence in the man was well-founded. Rafe’s advice was generally sound, straightforward and to the point.

And mayhap he’d find it easier to heed a different voice of reason, since he was having so much trouble listening to his own.

Padrig nodded. “Aye, something’s changed.” Glancing at Alys, relaxed in his arms, he felt a surge of longing, of confusion, race through him. “Don’t bother to ask me what it is, exactly.” He shook his head. “Even if I had the words, I still couldn’t begin to explain what I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need words to explain lust—and I can tell ye from sad experience that no one has ever died from ignoring that particular ailment,” Rafe added wryly. “Just have a care you don’t cause this brave lass any grief. Or embarrassment.” His gaze measuring, he observed Padrig and Alys for a moment. “Ye should watch your step around the others, milord. I’d hate to see either of ye get hurt by such foolishness.”

Nodding once, Rafe strode away, leaving Padrig staring after him.

Feeling firmly put in his place, Padrig followed Rafe back to the shelter. His attention kept wandering to the woman in his arms, though Rafe’s reminder about the others made him consider his recent actions in a new light.

His first responsibility lay with caring for everyone—both the men under his command and those ’twas his task to protect.

He didn’t believe he’d shirked his duty, but he wasn’t certain he’d measured up to his usual high standards, either.

His assessment of that would have to wait, however, for the day marched on, and they’d much to accomplish before ’twas over.

That in mind, he carried Alys into the shelter and settled her upon her pallet, then went to check on Alys’s maid and his men.

It didn’t take long to make his evaluation. Peter, Jock and Rafe had done well in caring for everyone, but ’twas the simple truth that their group had been hit hard by the storm’s destruction. Few were capable of much more than remaining awake.

Several, though not fit to walk, would be able to ride on their own. However, Marie, as well as several of his men, would have to be led on horseback or be carried with another rider.

Another problem they faced was the lack of enough mounts to suit their needs. If they left behind anything in their baggage that wasn’t essential, doubled up on horseback and used the pack horses as mounts, they’d just be able to provide transportation for everyone.

After giving Jock and Peter orders to prepare everyone for the journey and to pack up any useful belongings from the hut, Padrig and Rafe left the shelter to ready the horses. They needed to rework some of the saddles and equipment to cope with the men’s injuries and their ability—or lack of it—to stay in the saddle without assistance.

Marie, who appeared to have the worst injuries, would have to be carried by Jock. Since the tall, lean man-at-arms had the most powerful shoulders and arms Padrig had ever seen, he knew they’d find no better way to move the still-unresponsive woman. Jock would hold Marie safe and steady across his saddle no matter what terrain they encountered.

Though Alys had been sleeping when he’d left the shelter, Padrig assumed she’d wake before ’twas time to leave. He had first thought to carry her with him on the journey, but changed his mind after his conversation with Rafe.

Rafe would ride with Lady Alys up before him in the saddle, removing temptation from Padrig’s vicinity, yet keeping her out of harm’s way. He didn’t dare put her on her mare alone. The horses hadn’t calmed down much, and would likely be a challenge to control. Alys was an indifferent rider under normal circumstances. With one arm bound to her side, as well as her other injuries, he feared she’d wind up falling off, or carried off on a runaway steed.

Once they’d reworked the equipment and decided on the arrangements for the journey, Padrig and Rafe split up to sort through the baggage and separate out what they would take with them.

The task didn’t require all Padrig’s attention. The silence gave him a moment to consider all that had occurred since the storm.

It felt as if every move they’d made since dawn had taken an eternity, yet a glance at the sun showed that a surprisingly short amount of time had passed. If not too much went awry once they resumed their trek, they should arrive at Winterbrooke with time to spare before dusk.

Perhaps ’twas lack of sleep that made him feel a looming sense of disaster. Exhaustion dogged his every move, a weighty mantle that sat heavy upon his shoulders until he wanted nothing more than to curl up on the mossy ground near the forest’s edge and give in to the blessed oblivion of sleep.

However, he’d more chance of being crowned king than he had of sleeping any time soon.

Needing something to occupy his mind and keep him alert, he let his attention turn to Alys and their situation.

With those thoughts racing through his brain, he’d be wide awake in no time.

He’d not really considered how his behavior might appear to the others. He was in command of the troop sent along to protect Lady Alys on her journey.

He’d always done his best to guard and look after anyone in his charge—yet in truth, he could see that his entire bearing around Alys was very different than his usual demeanor.

’Twas clear to him now that the extraordinary awareness of Alys he felt—both his intense physical reaction to her, as well as the inexplicable emotions she roused—was hampering his judgment and his ability to commit all his attention to his duty.

If he kept to this course, with his mind and body in such turmoil, he feared that in no time at all, he’d be aware of little else in the world but Alys.

He knew this could not go on.

She was a noblewoman on her way to a new chapter of her life, a chapter that, whatever else it held, most definitely would not include him.

Lady Alys was not his to keep, a fact Rafe’s simple words brought home to him with a vengeance.

And no doubt vengeance would be his reward, were he to forget that simple fact.

If Padrig caused Alys the slightest harm or hurt, he’d have Rafe to face now…

…and Lord Rannulf to deal with later.

’Twas debatable which would be worse, for while Rafe’s response would be direct, and likely painful,
Lord Rannulf’s reaction could be both painful now, as well as vastly detrimental to his future.

As a man who made his way in life by his wits, his sword and the delicate web of familial connections, he could not afford to make reckless decisions.

Over the years Padrig had learned one valuable lesson through experience and observation: a man made his own luck. He tried to be deliberate in his actions, to plan as carefully as possible for whatever the future could bring, all the while knowing he’d little control over it—and above all, to hope for the best.