There were sharp rocks on the ground next to him, and he scooped one up, enjoying the reassuring weight of it in his hand. It wouldn’t be much, but at least he wouldn’t die without a fight.
One of them suddenly started to run, yelling as he did, his sword drawn. Ivor waited until he was extremely close, then threw the rock as hard as he could. It struck the attacker in the forehead, and he crumpled to the ground like a marionette with cut strings.
At least I took one of them down.
He closed his eyes as the rest of them charged, bracing himself, desperately hoping that he’d at least bought Eithne enough time to get away.
To his surprise, he heard the distinctive twang of a bow. A roar of pure agony followed by yells of surprise filled the air, then the unexpected sound of soldiers abandoning their fallen and running for their lives.
“He’s a devil!” one of the men yelled. “He’s got some fae witch on his side!”
“It’s nae witch. It’s the cursed Laird’s daughter,” someone else snarled. “She should be dead!”
In the swearing and cursing and fleeing that followed, Ivor turned and opened his eyes to see a Seelie goddess emerge from the woods. She stood straight and tall in a muddied blue dress, her long dark curls loose and tumbling down her back. In her hands, she held a bow – his bow – that had just recently been fired, and her gem-like blue eyes flashed with the intensity and strength of a thousand diamonds.
He glanced back at the fleeing men and saw the one who was nearest him sprawled on the ground, the arrow directly through his eye. Ivor wanted to gape, but he knew he had no time. Instead, he took advantage of the terror and confusion and ran toward her, grabbing her by the hand and pulling her back into the woods.
They didn’t talk as the pair of them rushed, hand in hand, back to where the horse waited, nor did they say anything as they clambered onto her saddle, setting off as fast as she could carry them.
Only when they were long clear of the forest did Ivor say, “Ye saved me life.”
“Well,” Eithne replied, still sounding a little breathless, “I suppose that means that now we’re even.”
He was sitting behind her, his useless arm flopping at his side while his other clung around her waist. She needed to handle the reins, as right now, he could not. The horse slowed to a trot, and Ivor leaned over and pressed his lips into her shoulder. “Thank ye.”
“Fair is fair,” she teased, but her voice held the softness of the warmest embrace.
After a little more silence, Ivor asked, “Where did ye learn to shoot?”
Eithne didn’t answer immediately, and Ivor knew the answer before she even said it. “From me brother,” she replied.
As they rode toward freedom, Ivor silently thanked his lost friend for being the reason that he still lived one last time.
* * *
They slept on the cold hard ground once again that night, but snuggled up with Ivor, Eithne didn’t mind so much as she had before. The relief from saving him was still keeping her warm hours later.
I dinnae think I could have handled losing another person I love.
Because she realized as she woke with the morning sun, she did love him. It was fast, she knew, faster than any love had a right to be. Perhaps, though, for them, it only made sense. She’d lost everything – her mother, her father, her brother, Neal, even her home…everyone and everything she’d ever held dear.
Eithne had resigned herself to walking north and probably dying in a vain attempt to get back to her sister. Still, instead, this strange wanderer had appeared from nowhere to be her guiding light. He had protected her and comforted her and, yes, loved her. How could she not love him in return?
The birds were starting to sing in the trees. Ivor was still asleep, and she turned on her side to look at him. He lay on his back, looking more peaceful than he ever did awake, and she longed to lean down and kiss him. She resisted only because she knew he needed his rest.
Quietly, she checked his arm. His shoulder with its two wounds had been bandaged last night to the best of Eithne’s ability, but she wished that she could take him to a healer. She knew that kind of wound could quickly become putrescent if left untreated.
Eithne frowned. Blood had seeped through the cloth, and no doubt sleeping in the dirt hadn’t helped. She decided to collect some water, boil the disease from it, then wash the wound and retie it.
I’m nae healer, but I’ll do what I can.
It took her some time to find water and collect enough wood to restart their fire, and the sun was fully up by the time she returned to camp. She expected Ivor to be awake, maybe even eating by now, and was surprised to see him still at rest.
Eithne lit the fire after a few tries, then set the bucket to boil. She went over to Ivor, touching his arm, ready to shake him away.
When she touched his skin, it felt like fire, and her stomach dropped in her chest.
A fever.
