Gart’s expression hardened and he made his way back over to the bed, going to his knees again and picking up the wet cloth. “He will not kill you,” he replied. “I will kill him first.”
Her beaten hand flew to his rough cheek and she forced him to look at her. When their eyes met, her deep, blue eyes were roiling with emotion.
“Gart, you cannot,” she whispered firmly. “I will not let you do it. The penalty would be death and I could not live with that. I have already lost one brother. I could not lose you as well.”
Gart stared at her, feeling unfamiliar emotions swamp him. True, he had known her the vast majority of his life but as he gazed at her, he was seeing an exceptionally beautiful and poised woman.
He felt himself warming to her as he had never warmed to anyone in his life. Something magnetic and wonderful was brewing in his heart, warm and powerful emotions he felt every time he looked at her. He had always known her on a youth level, as a boy to a girl. Now he was coming to know her as an adult, as a man to a woman. It was completely different than what he had known in the past. He couldn’t explain it any other way.
Swiftly, he gripped her hand and kissed the palm that was on his cheek, twice, before setting her hand back down to her side. In silence, he picked up the rag and resumed cleaning the blood off her face.
He was afraid to say anything more to her as he cleaned her up, afraid that the odd, warm sensations filling his chest would cause him to say something he should not. Emberley lay still, her eyes closed, as he wiped off as much dried blood as he could manage. The left side of her scalp was still caked with blood but he didn’t want to disturb her too much by washing it out of her hair, so he just left it alone for the time being. As he moved to her hands to inspect the wounds, the door to the chamber began to rattle.
Gart froze, eyes and ears alert, as the panel continued to clatter. Then, he could hear children’s voices from the opposite side and realized it was the boys calling to their mother. Gart glanced at Emberley. She was dead asleep, exhausted from her injuries. Setting the bloodied rag aside, he stood up and made his way to the door.
Leaning his ear against the panel, he could hear the boys discussing what they should do because the door was locked. Silently, with great care, Gart unlocked the door and pressed himself back against the wall so that when the door opened, he would be concealed by the open panel.
Predictably, the door flew open when the boys realized it was unlatched and it slammed back, bumping against Gart. Thethree boys and one very little girl walked through, Orin holding on to his baby sister’s hand. Gart eyed the little girl curiously from his position behind the door. He could see long, curly blond hair through the crack between the door and the wall but little else. But his master plan ultimately worked against him when Romney turned around to shut the door behind him and caught sight of Gart. The boy’s mouth flew open.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded loudly.
Gart slammed the door and bolted it, turning to look at the four young faces gazing back at him with various degrees of astonishment. He considered Romney’s question, locking the door before returning his attention to the children.
“Your mother is hurt,” he said simply. “I was helping her.”
Romney eyed him with some suspicion, turning to look at his mother passed out on the bed. His brow furrowed with confusion. “Did Father let you come?” he asked.
“Nay.”
Romney was baffled but he wasn’t sure what to do about it. In fact, he wasn’t sure he wanted to do anything about it. For lack of a better response he lifted the bag in his right hand.
“Gerta sent us with this for Mother,” he said.
Gart looked at the sack. “What is it? And who is Gerta?”
“Gerta is our nurse,” Romney said, looking back to his mother as he lowered the sack in his hand. “She told us to bring this to mother. It will help her.”
Gart stepped forward and took the sack, a rough thing sewn from crude plant fibers. Peering inside, he could see tied off bunches of herbs and weeds. Making his way over to the oak table near the bed that Emberley was lying upon, he began to pull the ingredients out and lay them on the table. He sniffed them one by one.
“Mint,” he set down a green bunch and pulled out a few more, sniffing them in succession. “Lemongrass, and I’m not sure what this is. This looks like white willow.”
The children were clustered around him, watching him remove the ingredients. “Gerta says we need to mash them up and put them on her hurts.”
Gart asked the question even though he was fairly sure he knew the answer. “Why is Gerta not here to help?”
Romney looked sad. “Father told her she could not come.”
“But he said you could come?”
“He did not tell us anything. We just came.” He looked up at Gart, his expression somewhat fearful. “Does he know you are here?”
Gart shook his head. “Nay,” he said seriously. “He does not know I am here. He must not ever know or else he might hurt your mother again. You must never tell him. Do you understand?”
He looked to all of the boys as he spoke and received two serious nods from Romney and Orin. Brendt had no idea what he was saying until Orin snapped at the little boy and he finally nodded his head. Little Lacy, a gorgeous child who looked just like her mother, stared up at Gart with a thumb in her mouth. She was too young to understand in any case, but after several moments of staring at Gart, she wandered over to her mother and climbed onto the bed next to her.
Gart watched the little girl snuggle down next to Emberley, who was in such a deep sleep that she didn’t even stir. His gaze lingered on the pair a moment before he turned back to the herbs and began to pull them apart.
“Gerta said we must mash them up?” he asked Romney.
