He blames me.
Senga bit her lip hard, trying to push down a rush of anger against this latest injustice.
“Do ye know what I think?” Freya said abruptly, cutting into her thoughts. “I think that ye should just get yerself down there and talk to him. Talk, or fight, it’s up to ye. Ye seem to like fighting.”
Senga reddened. “I do not care for fighting. And talk is useless—he won’t talk to me.”
Freya sniffed. “Well, I am Lady Grahame. I can make him listen to ye.”
“Nay, Freya, I don’t want that. And ye should not use yer power in that way.”
Freya gave a loose shrug. She didn’t seem to care much about that. Senga studied her for a moment.
For a brief, shining time, the four of them had been close, so close, in the convent. When it had all begun, it was just Senga,Astrid, and Kyla, the three of them as close as sisters. Then Freya arrived, which Senga now believed was the beginning of the end.
A beginning of theinevitableend, she should say. An end that had been years in the making.
Now the lasses were all married, all with different paths before their feet. Senga was sureapath lay before her, but she couldn't tell which one, or if she even wanted it. Freya, however, had never seemed in any doubt about her future. She was a woman whomadethings happen. It was hard not to envy her.
“Yer father has a reward out for ye, Senga,” Freya said abruptly. “He wants ye back. For what reason, I cannot tell.”
Senga nodded. “I guessed as much.”
“We’ll keep ye safe, but ye must be careful. Ye must be so careful, Senga. Befriending a man like Noah can make all the difference. I wish ye would make up with him.”
Senga bit the inside of her cheek, hard enough so that the pain drove thoughts of Noah from her mind.
“He doesn’t want to be my friend, Freya.”
Freya glanced at her, eyes narrowed.
“He’s bleeding,” she said at last, nodding towards the training field below. Sure enough, the pinkish stripe on his arm had blossomed to a vivid red, the material stuck to his skin. “Go down there and see to it. Call it an order, if ye like,” Freya added, pushing away from the parapet and leaving Senga behind.
Noah’s expressionchanged when he glanced away from the men he was training and saw Senga standing there. His gaze dropped slowly to the bandages and pot of green paste she held in her hands.
“Lady Grahame’s orders,” Senga said, before he could venture a word. “We saw the blood on yer shirt from up on the parapet.”
Noah said nothing, but his gaze traveled from her to the parapet behind her. Senga hoped that he didn’t think she had been watching him. Shehad, but she didn’t want him to think it.
“I cannot defy Lady Grahame,” he answered at last. “Come over here, we’ll have some quiet.”
He led the way over to the parapet, which was hollowed and paved underneath. Piles of supplies lay there—shields, boots, weapons, stacks of folded tartan, barrels of water and wine, everything a person could think of. Noah wrenched off his shirt as if he were angry with it, not even wincing when the dried blood on his sleeve pulled at his injured arm, and sat down heavily on a barrel.
He said nothing as Senga approached, keeping his eyes on her as if she were a wolf prowling closer. His chest glistened with sweat, and she could hear that his breathing was more laborious than before. Goosebumps broke out on his skin when her fingers brushed his arm, but that could have simply been from the cold air. He didn’t want to admit that Senga still had such an effect on him.
Keeping her eyes on her task, Senga neatly stripped away the bloodied bandage. It tugged painfully on his skin when she peeled away the final layer, and a muscle jumped in Noah’s cheek again.
“Sorry,” Senga murmured, out of habit. “It will sting a little.”
His nostrils flared. “I’m not in pain, woman.”
Senga met his gaze and lifted her eyebrows. “I am a healer now, remember? I’ve spent years caring for injured men and women. I’ve seen injuries like this a thousand times. Ye can be as tough as ye like, but I know what hurts and what doesn’t.”
He said nothing in response, and she worked quickly, applying a new layer of the green paste.
“I am not a weak man,” Noah stated at last, choosing his words carefully.
Senga kept her eyes on her work. Blood was clotting in the wound, which was good. That was the first part of the healing process, but he had somehow managed to reopen the scab in the middle. No doubt he’d been careless with his movements, swinging his arm around and lifting things.
