Niamh nodded. “Every few days, especially with so many patients.”
Dallan shook his head imperceptibly as Cormac’s eyes caught his.
“As you are one of her patients and, until today, a capable warrior, you will act as her guard whenever she needs to leave the keep.”
Dallan’s eyes closed in resignation. He knew Cormac did this to punish him for lack of focus. Possibly for his sour comment toward Niamh as well. Cormac had no way to know why Dallan ought to be furious with the healer.
He looked toward her, the woman who still haunted him.
But she avoided his gaze.
Chapter Ten
By dawn thefollowing morn, Niamh could barely stand. She’d been tired following the attack yesterday, drained from the exertion of defending her home and family. Not to mention the shock of seeing Dallan again on top of all that. Then, after hours of treating patients, she’d been forced to sit in on the most uncomfortable meeting in the history of the kingdom.
Queen Brona had been nothing but kind to Niamh and her family. She wanted to believe that Brona had told the truth, that Cara had willingly sacrificed herself to prevent further bloodshed. Yet something felt off.
If that were true, then why wouldn’t the queen have told the men so before they left and spared them the trouble?
It mattered not. Such politics were far beyond her understanding, and she had no use for them. Especially after spending much of the night in the infirmary trying to keep Tadhg alive. She’d had to take his leg off, a nightmare she’d not soon forget, and he’d been struck with fever.
Gathering her supplies once more, Niamh steeled herself for the inevitable. She’d put off checking Dallan’s wound until the very last. She had no desire to see such hatred toward her in the eyes of the man she loved.
Oh, aye, Niamh had never stopped loving Dallan. She’d admitted it to herself long ago. That was why she’d left him. She knew he deserved better than she could give, and that he was stubborn enough to keep her around anyway.
Even in the midst of her work and weary to the bone, Niamh knew the moment he’d appeared outside the infirmary to wait for her. His presence set all her senses aflame.
Linens in one hand, herbs in the other, she prepared for battle and stepped out the door.
He glared at her, the pain in his eyes driving the dagger of guilt deeper. Sitting motionless and bare-chested, he looked like a work of art, a statue of one of the masters. She couldn’t help but notice that he had filled out in the years since they’d parted. His muscles were no longer those of the boy she once knew, but of the man she’d broken.
She kneeled before him, reaching for the linen wrapping his wound, careful not to touch anything else.
He watched her every move.
More than anything, Niamh wanted to fall back into his arms, tell him everything and apologize until he believed her. To pretend like nothing was wrong with her.
But he deserved better than that.
Instead, she was compelled to ask him a question to which she knew he’d take exception.
“Have you been using your shoulder?”
“Yes, I fought in battle yesterday,” he replied coolly.
“Have you been using your shouldersince you were wounded?”
“No. I’ve been doing just as the healer bid me.”
Niamh very much doubted that. “Your wound is seeping. Which means you’ve been moving it too much.”
“What would you have me do, Woman? Sit in front of the hearth all day?” he asked, his irritation obvious. “And if your scheme of foraging for herbs was some poor effort to try to win back my affections—”
Niamh had had enough. She’d put up with his comments until now because she knew she deserved them, but she couldn’t let him start getting any ridiculous notions of her intentions.
“I’m going to stop you right there,” she interrupted. “I have no interest in being anything to you other than your healer. And when that’s finished, so are we.”
“That statement would hurt more if you hadn’t used it already,” he growled.
