Before he could stop her, she took his hand in hers to study the fingers. Something reached inside his heart and pulled at it. With her small hand in his, he wondered what it would be like if she were to accept him as her father.
Her face brightened. ‘She did well, my mother. Other healers would have chopped your hand off.’
‘It’s glad I am that she did not.’
‘Do you drink willow bark?’ Rhiannon asked. ‘It is said to be good for pain.’
Connor hid his amusement. Like a small bird, Rhiannon spouted off healing advice. ‘Are you going to be a healer like your mother?’
The dark head bobbed forward. ‘She is teaching me.’
Rhiannon glimpsed the wooden splints and bandages upon the table. ‘Do you want me to bind your hands?’
‘That would be most helpful.’
She gathered the materials, and he sat down. Her small fingers worked deftly, arranging each of his fingers and tying the bandages off. Though he would have to adjust the tightness later, he allowed her to work upon his hands.
‘You’re a goodcailín,’ he commented. ‘Your mother would be proud.’
A smile played at her lips. ‘Wear them each night,’ she warned. ‘They will help your hands to grow straight again.’
She left moments later, and Connor studied her handiwork. Though the bandages were not tied tightly enough, she had done her best.
Connor loosened the ties of his tunic and slipped off the garment. He stretched, his muscles sore from the exertion of the fight. Another day or two, he decided. They could stay a little longer. He would speak to Isabel and ask his brother’s wife to find an excuse.
‘And just where do you think you’re going?’ Aileen asked a guilty-faced Rhiannon. Her daughter had slipped behind one of the stone walls, eyeing the gate as if to escape.
‘Nowhere.’
‘I should hope not. You wouldn’t think of trying to run away, now would you?’
Rhiannon shook her head, but she refused to meet her gaze. Aileen caught a look from one of the guards, who offered a reassuring smile. She did not take comfort from it. Her daughter was quite capable of slipping away.
‘Why don’t you go to the stables? Ewan could show you the horses,’ Aileen suggested.
Rhiannon shook her head. ‘I want to go home. I don’t like it here.’
‘Has anyone been unkind to you?’
‘No. But no one speaks to me, and I’ve nothing to do.’
Aileen took Rhiannon’s hand. ‘Let us go and see Isabel. She may find something for you. Perhaps you can help their healer by gathering plants and such.’
Rhiannon brightened. ‘Do you suppose there are any wounded men?’
‘In a fortress of this size, there will always be wounded men.’
As they moved toward the Great Chamber, they passed by a group of men training in the courtyard. Aileen stopped to watch. The men wore leather armour, several groups sparring with the lightweightcolcswords. In the heat of the afternoon, their bodies gleamed with sweat. Had Connor trained like this once, his body moving in the exercises of these same soldiers? She imagined his muscles flexing, his intense concentration upon his foe.
‘Did you wish to learn how to fight, then?’ one of the soldiers asked. With an easy smile and black hair, his blue eyes captured hers in a teasing gaze.
Aileen shook her head. ‘No. I was looking for Queen Isabel and stopped to watch.’
‘You’ll be finding her in her garden,’ the soldier advised. ‘But if you should like to fight, my name is Senan.’ His eyes showed interest, but Aileen paid it no heed. Her gaze centred upon a line of blood flowing from his arm.
‘You’re hurt,’ she said, moving closer to examine the wound.
‘Only a scratch. A nick from a blade when I didn’t move quick enough.’
