Kristen kissed his hair. “Ye will be soon. Come now, lad.”
Anna came back from battle, having let the beetle win, and wrapped her arms around Kristen’s neck. She held on with surprising strength. “Nay nap,” she protested, fierce as a soldier.
“We will hunt berries later,” Kristen offered. “Sweet ones. I swear it.”
“Berries,” Anna breathed, defeated by hope, after which she let herself be passed into the maid’s arms.
Finn dragged his feet for effect, then sighed and followed. Maggie hesitated with a low whine, her eyes darting between Kristen and the children.
“Go with them, good girl,” Kristen cooed, gesturing towards Finn and Anna. “Guard them. I’ll be fine.”
Maggie wagged her tail once, then trotted after the maid like a small constable. Kristen lifted a hand and waved until the three of them vanished behind the birches.
Their little spot fell quiet at once. Noticeably quiet.
The wind played with the leaves, and the water lapped at the shore. She had been left with Neil under the tree, nothing but the air to keep them company.
She turned back to him, ready to ask him a question, and froze when she saw the red stain on his shirt.
God.
Irritation snapped through the worry before she could stop it.
“Ye are bleeding again,” she huffed. “Honestly, ye will tear yerself apart at this rate.”
He glanced down, his mouth a hard line. “It will wash.”
Without ceremony, he caught the hem of his shirt and dragged it over his head. He tossed the linen beside the blanket, and her breath hitched.
The sun kissed his skin and traced the planes of his chest and shoulders, his scars pale and jagged. The line of his back cut clean to his belt.
Kristen tore her gaze away. She had never wished so hard that she was made of stone than at that moment.
Neil stepped into the water as if the lake belonged to him.
I suppose it does belong to him.
The water climbed to his shins, his thighs, and then his waist. He dove under and came back up, his dark hair clinging to his neck, water streaming down his body. The bandage bled a faint ribbon that the lake absorbed at once.
Kristen turned her eyes to the willow leaves and made herself count them. One. Two. Three. But her heart started its own count.
A bark carried faintly from the castle. Maggie, wanting to circle back. Kristen swallowed and silently willed the dog to stay with the children. She could not bear a witness with such plain judgment.
She reached for the blanket and the book, her fingers clumsy. “Well,” she said, “I suppose now that the children are gone, I can go do something else. We will see ye at supper.”
“Ye cannae leave yet,” Neil called from the water, his voice deep.
She froze with the blanket half-folded. “Why?” she managed.
He met her eyes across the glittering water, his chest half-lit by the afternoon sun. “The bairns may be gone, but the hour isnae over yet.”
She swallowed, and her fingers tightened around the wool. The wind stirred and blew a cool line along her neck. The air between them shifted again, charged with tension.
And danger.
13
Water lapped at Neil’s hips, cold and steady. Ripples spread out in thin rings and broke against the low plants by the lake. At this point, the sun had hidden behind a white cloud.
