“I wasn’t trying to hurt you!” Niamh shouted in frustration.
He leaned close to her, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin. “Then what were you trying to do?” he whispered, his voice dangerous.
“Help you.” The words barely escaped her lips. She sat back, putting as much distance between them as she could and while still being able to tend to him.
“Well, maybe if you told me how it is you think you’re helping, I would understand.”
“I’m changing the bandage on your wound and adding fresh herbs.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” he muttered.
Of course she knew it. But she refused to be pulled into that conversation.
“And I don’t understand why you’re making this injury out to be more than it is,” he added grumpily. “’Tis little more than a scratch.”
Niamh leveled him a put-upon look. “Men can die of scratches if they are poorly tended.”
“How soon ’till this is over? When will I be able to stop seeing you?”
Her heart sank at his words. “Do you think I want this? Do you think I relish coming here and enduring your fury, your disdain, every time you see me?”
“Then put me out of my misery,” he begged. “Tell me why you left. At least do that much.”
Niamh swallowed, willing herself to look away before she did something stupid. “I cannot. And we are going to be spending much of our time together in the coming days, so can we please try to reach some sort of compromise?”
“You mean pretend like we’re friends? I can’t just forget—” He couldn’t finish the sentence. Niamh saw the struggle as he held back whatever had crossed his mind. She didn’t want to imagine what he might have said.
“I mean stop acting like enemies. I don’t expect you to be my friend, but we will make a rule. No talking about our past. Only about what’s happening now. Agreed?”
He did not look pleased with her suggestion, but he nodded nonetheless.
“Now then,” Niamh continued, donning a mask of happiness and ignoring the jabs of guilt that wouldn’t leave her be, “about those herbs. Are you ready to leave now to gather them? It will take several hours.”
Dallan narrowed one eye, deep in thought. “What if,” he said, as though she hadn’t spoken at all, “you tell Cormac that I’m not fit to guard you because it will impede my shoulder from healing?”
“It won’t,” she muttered, “as long as we aren’t actually attacked. And would he really think better of you for it? Look, just help me and I swear I won’t come anywhere near you, aside from when we must work together.”
“Well, let’s get this over with then.” Dallan stood after she fastened his bandage, putting hisléineback on and covering his impressive upper half.
It had been alongtime since Niamh had admired a man’s chest, and it didn’t surprise her in the least that Dallan was the man to attract her interest. As she followed Dallan towardthe castle gates, Niamh decided that she would allow herself to savor these few days she had with him as he healed. Even in his frustration with her over her continued reticence, she could tuck away a handful of memories.
After all, it would likely be the last time she saw him.
Chapter Eleven
Dallan’s instincts warnedhim of danger. He knew absolutely nothing about this woman save that she held the power to break his heart all over again. Yet, somehow he still couldn’t stop himself from admiring everything about her, from wondering what thoughts crossed her mind as she wandered beneath the trees.
Niamh’s golden braids fell over her shoulders every time she bent to inspect a plant. Beneath the orange-gold canopy of the autumn woods, she glowed with warmth and light.
A misleading image, if ever Dallan saw one. In his experience, she was colder than a lake in the depths of winter. Nevertheless, she continued to draw him in, whether intentional or not.
Dallan followed her through the brush, far off any pathway, as she picked and plucked her way through the first flush of fallen leaves. She wore a plain brown gown, fitted but not tight. She’d not spoken a word to him since they’d left Thurles, over an hour ago now. Lost in his thoughts, Dallan hadn’t realized he’d been staring at her until she bent to pick another herb, her dress hugging her curves as she reached down.
Then it all came back to him.
The feel of her soft skin beneath his hands.
Her laughter at the kitten’s antics.
