“Aye, and then all I need concern myself with is which one shall I beat first.” His words were harsh and cold but, when he looked back out over the empty land, the lines on his face were those of worry not fury, and he prayed that he would soon see his errant wife riding toward him unharmed and concerned only that he had caught her in her foolish act.
“Artair,” Aimil cried hoarsely, relief momentarily diverting her from her discomfort. “I see Dubhglenn. We are nearly there.” When he did not reply, she grew worried. “Artair?”
“Aye, little mother, I am still amongst the living. ’Tis good to hear that we are so close for I fear I cannae hold onto ye verra much longer. T’would be verra fine indeed if to this success we could add Parlan’s not finding out about this folly.”
Easily recognizing the tall figure that stood at the gate watching them, Aimil sighed. “I fear our luck isnae that good.”
“Nay, even if the wound I suffer could be kept a secret, we must tell him how close Rory has come.”
“Verra true but I wasnae meaning that. I fear ’tisnae only Rory lurking at Dubhglenn. Parlan has returned early.”
Rousing himself to look over Aimil’s shoulder, Artair groaned. “And here he comes looking as black as he ever has.”
“Ye could always give into that faint ye have fought so weel until now.”
“And leave ye to face his wrath alone?”
“If ’tis too bad, I have my own retreat I can make. By the time I bring his child into the world, he should have calmed some.”
The alarm Parlan had felt upon seeing the pair return upon only Elfking had turned mostly to anger by the time he reached their side. “How could ye be so thoughtless, so foolish? What has happened?” Even as he bellowed at her, his gaze swept over her as he carefully searched her for some sign of injury and, despite her paleness, found none. “I begin to think ye witless.”
Exhausted and in increasing pain, Aimil felt very inclined to bellow right back at Parlan. Artair diverted her, however. Although she had made the suggestion in jest and knew Artair had not seen it as serious, she knew he was about to faint. She clung very tightly to Elfking so that she would not be dragged out of the saddle when Artair finally fell.
“I think ye best catch Artair. He has stayed conscious as long as he was able.”
Startled, Parlan moved quickly to catch the falling Artair. Leith helped him carry the unconscious, young man back into Dubhglenn. Parlan silently cursed himself for not seeing what Artair’s condition was because he had been too concerned for Aimil.
Aimil followed them into Dubhglenn on Elfking. Her father quickly moved to help her dismount so that she could go after Parlan who was already inside of the keep, shouting orders that would swiftly bring all Artair might need. A look upon her father’s face told Aimil that he knew what ailed her, but she curtly shook her head. A shrug was his only reply, but she knew it meant he would not say anything for the moment. She needed to see that Artair was fine before she gave into her own needs for she felt responsible for his wound.
She entered Artair’s chambers, faintly aware of her father closely following her. Parlan and Old Meg, with Leith and Malcolm aiding as they could, were already busy caring for Artair. Aimil stood to the side, out of the way. Her hope that she would also be out of mind was quickly shattered by Parlan.
In the one look he shot her way, Aimil saw how angry he was. She had not really anticipated such fury but she supposed she should have. So too did she reluctantly admit that he had some right to that anger. In one innocent bid for a moment’s freedom in the sun, she had put three lives at risk, one not even really begun. She suspected it was risking the child’s life which angered him the most. That tweaked at her only slightly for she could easily understand it. It was a substantial part of the annoyance she felt with herself.
Parlan fought desperately to control his anger. He knew it was bred by his fear for Aimil more than by anything she had done. She looked pale and weary, not able to deal with his ire at the moment. Knowing that she had undoubtedly already been through enough and that, in her condition, she should not be pushed too far or too hard, he was determined not to unleash that anger on her. Despite his efforts, it came through in his voice, making it clipped and cold.
“What happened and no evasions.”
The chill in his voice only hurt her fleetingly, and she realized she was simply too burdened with other worries and too weary to get upset by the fact that he seemed to hate her. “Ye will get no evasions nor half-truths for this is too important. T’was Rory.”
“Aye, I ken it.”
“’Tis why ye came back early.”
“Aye, t’was said he was on the border and I feared he would be mad enough to come near Dubhglenn. I had but hoped that ye wouldnae be foolish enough to place yourself within his grasp.” He winced for that was argumentative and he did not wish to carry on like that, especially not when he needed information.
Aimil knew she was poorly when she did not immediately bristle in response to that prod. “Quite.” She hurriedly described where she and Artair had been attacked, and Parlan immediately sent Malcolm to begin a search. “He was mildly wounded, Malcolm, if that is of any help to ye,” she called after him and he acknowledged her comment with little hesitation in carrying out his orders from Parlan. “I would think the man would be far away by now but then I would never have thought he would come so close to here.”
“Nay, neither would I but he wants ye.”
“Aye, he does and I fear I may have given him yet another reason to hunt me.”
“The bairn?” Parlan felt sure that the sight of a very pregnant Aimil must have enraged Rory.
“Well, I cannae say how he feels about that though I do ken that it wouldnae have stopped him from doing whatever he wished to. Nay, ’tis his face. Elfking has destroyed Rory’s fine face.”
“Elfking has?”
Nodding, Aimil hesitated a moment before replying for Old Meg was stitching Artair’s wound and Parlan had to hold his brother for, although still unconscious, Artair could still move dangerously in reaction to the pain Old Meg had to inflict. Aimil also relaxed at the way Old Meg kept glancing her way. The woman had clearly guessed her condition but, as with her father, had decided to let her be the one to speak. Aimil decided that was going to be soon if only because she was passing the point where she could suffer in silence, could hide the forces tearing through her body.
