“Your eyes were open,” she insisted.
He rested his elbows on his knees, letting his face sink into his hands. His fingers were still trembling, she realized. A deep fear sank inside her, for she didn’t know whether or not Bram was telling the truth. It might have been a waking dream, or it might have been madness. She didn’t know.
“Let’s stop here for the night,” she said quietly. “We’ll get some rest and start again in the morning.”
“Nairna.” He lifted his head and she saw the regret etched on his face. “Never in a thousand years would I knowingly hurt you. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”
She moved away from him, stepping down from the wagon. Her thoughts were in such turmoil right now that she didn’t trust herself to speak. Instead, she nodded and walked toward the stream, holding her bruised wrist.
Bram let her go, never taking his eyes from his wife. He watched as she knelt by the stream, bathing her wrist in the cool water. It felt as though someone had taken a knife and carved out his soul.
He’d done this to her. He’d let the nightmares bend him into the shape of a man he didn’t know. She must have said something to him, possibly touched him. And he’d had no control over the visions that plagued him.
The encounter with the English soldiers had conjured up a darkness he didn’t want to face. Seeing their armor, hearing their threats against Nairna, had brought back the past few years. Although they were no different from the countless soldiers he’d seen before, seeing them had been like pouring oil over the flames of his memory.
Because of it, he’d hurt Nairna, the innocent wife whom he’d wanted to protect. There were not enough words to apologize for what he’d done and she wouldn’t understand what had happened anyway.
The years of torment had changed him, so that he no longer slept like a normal man. He remained awake for long hours, until exhaustion caught him without warning. Never did he sleep at night and never when he craved rest.
One moment, he would be standing; the next he’d have no memory of how time had passed or what had happened to him. More than once, he’d blacked out in the midst of working on one of the damned stone walls. He’d awakened to the pain of a lash striking across his back, a whip that only ceased when he returned to his labor.
You’re not there anymore, he reminded himself. It’s in the past.
But Callum was still there. And no one could shelter his brother from the English torturers.
He got down from the wagon and unhitched the horse, leading it to the water. His wife remained where she was, though he didn’t miss the guarded fear in her eyes. Seeing it only intensified his self-hatred.
As the horse drank, he stared into the water, angry with himself for what he’d done. He needed to say something to her, or, better, do something to make amends. Words weren’t enough.
The soft shush of her skirts against the grass told him that she’d come up behind him. “Are you all right, Bram?”
He nodded. “Is your wrist still hurting?”
“A little.” But in her voice he heard the tremor of worry.
He reached up to take her wrist. Gently, he caressed the skin, furious with himself.
“It’s all right,” she said quietly. And in her green eyes he saw that she wasn’t going to turn her back on him because of a moment of darkness. Her quiet reassurance was a forgiveness he’d never expected.
He stared at her wrist, then reached down to the hem of his tunic and rent the fabric, tearing off a long thin strip.
Nairna stared at Bram, uncertain of why he was damaging his tunic. “What are you doing?”
He took her wrist and fumbled with the strip of cloth, wrapping it around her bruise like a bandage. His hands were trembling, but he kept winding the cloth until it covered her skin. It was loose and awkward, but she voiced no criticism. It was his way of trying to atone for his actions. Her heart stumbled, for she knew he’d never meant to hurt her.
“You don’t have to do that,” she murmured. When he reached for her other wrist, she stopped him. “I know you weren’t aware of what happened. I shouldn’t have touched your scar.”
For a long moment, he held on to her hand, staring at the bandage as if he were searching for the right words. “I lost control of myself. I can’t remember the last time I slept and I haven’t eaten a full meal in years.”
She reached out to touch his face, bringing him up to look at her. His fingers clasped with hers, as if he needed the reassurance.
Her skin warmed beneath his and she found herself studying him. There were wounds she couldn’t see, scars that went deeper than any physical wounds. And though she knew his body and mind had been damaged by the imprisonment, beneath it all, she saw a man who needed saving.
Bram moved away to gather firewood and Nairna joined him, collecting tinder for the hearth. Neither spoke until he’d managed to light the fire.
She searched the supplies and brought him some food. Though he tried to eat the oat cake, he took only a bite or two before setting it aside.
“How will you regain your strength if you don’t eat?” she asked, frowning at his untouched food.
