“Nay. God alone kens what it is he does feel. Especially right now. He hasnae said a word. The poor lass sits there wondering if she will be blamed but doesnae speak. ’Tis a strange mood gripping him. I left him staring out the window.”
“Heartsore most like. Artair be a brother to bring it on. I fear Parlan blames himself for what his brother is.”
Searching his memory, Parlan could not find where he had gone wrong with Artair. Neither could he see where he would have or could have acted differently. Yet, somehow, he had to have stepped wrong, he was sure of it. He did not want to believe that it was bad blood. Then there would be no change in Artair, perhaps only a worsening of his character. It would mean Artair was doomed and that saddened him.
He was sure that he could no longer effect a change in his brother. The events of the night had surely marked an end to what meager relationship had existed between them. It would be a long time before he could view his brother without anger. He knew it was not only because Artair had abused a woman, something Parlan loathed, but that he had done it to Aimil.
Slowly, he turned to look at Aimil then smiled faintly. She sat huddled against the pillows fighting sleep. He realized that his actions since the incident might have left her worried, even afraid, for she could easily think that he blamed her. Moving to the bed, he gently laid her down and began to remove her boots.
“Time ye were abed, sweeting.” He frowned when she just stared at him.
Aimil tried to read his cool expression. He did not appear to be angry with her even though anger still lurked in him. Unable to discern his mood or his thoughts, she decided to keep quiet as he had ordered her to do earlier. She wanted nothing she said or did to exacerbate the situation, to increase his anger at his brother or at herself.
“Ye can talk now,” he murmured in an attempt to tease her, an attempt weakened by his troubled mood.
“I am so verra sorry,” she whispered, immobilized by weariness and nerves as he finished undressing her.
Prompting her beneath the covers, he sat at her side and traced the bruises forming on her neck and face with his finger. “Ye have naught to be sorry for, little one.” He stood up and undressed. “Ye had naught to do with it. I saw that. I but wish that I had arrived sooner.”
“He was angry, Parlan. I bit clean through his lip. It must have hurt some.”
“I suspicion it did.” Parlan smiled slightly as he slid into bed beside her. “One knock would have answered for that, dearling. He was set to beat ye senseless and weel ye ken it. There is no excuse for that. So too does he ken my ruling on such matters.”
“Shouldnae ye go and see him now?” she ventured as he tugged her into his arms and she cuddled up to him.
“Nay. There is still an anger in me, a violence. I might weel do what ye stopped me from doing earlier—kill him.”
“Nay. Ye wouldnae. He is your brother.”
“Nay? Then why did ye stop me?”
“Weel, I feared ye might come close to it so angry ye were. I didnae want ye to do something ye would sore regret later when the anger had left ye and your senses had returned.”
“I dinnae think the anger will ever leave. Inside I rage at Artair and at myself.”
“Why at yourself?”
“I have failed with him.”
Tightening her hold on him, she shook her head. Parlan smiled faintly and ran his hands through her hair. It was comforting in a way to have someone believe in his abilities. With this problem, however, there was a spot that no comforting could reach. It touched him too deeply.
“Some people are just weak, Parlan. There is naught anyone can do. A person cannae always ken what prods them to act as they do. They can only help themselves for only they ken the why of it, if there is any why at all.”
“So Lagan claims.”
“Weel, he is right.”
As he was about to give his opinion on that, a rap came at the door. He smiled when Aimil dove beneath the covers as he bade the visitor to enter. It did not surprise him to see Leith enter.
“Should ye be out of bed, sickly as ye are and all?” he drawled.
Ignoring that, Leith asked, “How is Aimil?”
“I am fine,” she replied, her voice muffled by the covers she hid beneath.
“Shy before me?”
Easing out from the covers, she murmured, “Weel, ye have never seen me abed with a man before.” Seeing his fleeting grin fade as he saw her bruised face, she hurriedly said, “It looks worse than it feels.”
