Ivor gave her a brief smile. He didn’t blame her for her suspicion. He held a finger to his lips, and she nodded, silently agreeing to stay close. The two of them moved like shadows in the night through the trees back to where Ivor’s horse waited.
He helped her climb on and then sat in front of her, muttering soothing words to the horse and patting her neck so that she didn’t react in surprise to the extra weight. Eithne’s arms wrapped around his waist, and then, with a click of Ivor’s tongue, the filly started to move.
Neither of them said anything more, but as they rode away and the former Castle Kinnear disappeared over the horizon, Eithne buried her head in Ivor’s back and sobbed.
Chapter Four
The Cold
They rode for a night and a day without stopping. The filly – whom Eithne had taken to calling Aibreann after the juniper berries that she kept stopping to eat – tried her best. Still, eventually, the poor animal had to rest.
They were deep in a forest, miles from civilization, when Eithne spoke. “Aibreann needs to stop. She’s tired and hungry, and frankly, so am I.”
Ivor flinched in front of her, and Eithne didn’t blame him. Her voice sounded strange to her own ears after all these hours without talking. Her time had been split between sobs and silence, and Ivor never pushed her to speak. She wasn’t sure if she’d have been able to if he did; the images of her mother, her father, Neal, Killian, all of them cycled in her head and refused to let her go.
“Aye,” he said a little roughly. His voice sounded thick from the lack of talking, too. “Aye, we can stop for the night. I hope ye dinnae mind sleeping under the stars.”
Eithne couldn’t help it. She gave an exhausted laugh at the comment, imagining herself trying to be picky now of all times. Covered in blood, wearing torn clothes, hungrier than she’d ever been in her life – she hardly had the time to be prissy.
Ivor slid`` off the horse and helped her down. His hands felt warm and reassuring against her waist. When he set her on her feet, she felt dizzy and leaned forward, her head resting on his chest.
“Easy, lass,” he said. “Easy. Do ye ken how to gather wood for a fire? Are ye well enough?”
“I can do it,” Eithne insisted. She set off, stumbling a little, not daring to wander so far in case she couldn’t find him again.
Luckily, there had been a storm recently, so the ground was littered with decent sticks and even some branches. They’d dried off since the rains, and combined with the leaves on the ground, they’d have no problem keeping themselves warm even against the biting wind that the night brought with it.
By the time she returned to Ivor, he’d fed and watered Aibreann and even brushed out her hair. He’d also laid out some food and water from his pack, and he was currently preparing a hare he’d shot cleanly through the eye.
“We can have a good meal here,” he said. “Ye’ve done a grand job with the wood.”
They started the fire together, and then when Ivor had finished skinning the meat, Eithne began to cook it on a skewer. As it roasted over the flames, she felt her muscles start to relax for the first time, and she let out a shaky breath.
“I never thanked ye,” she said softly. “For saving me life. I wouldnae be here at all if it wasnae for ye.”
Ivor snorted. “Dinnae thank me, lass. I just did what any man would do if he heard his friend’s wee sister was in need of help.”
“I’m nae sure that’s true,” Eithne said quietly, but she was grateful for his words, nonetheless. “But it isnae just that. Ye didnae force me to talk. It’s like ye kent what…”
Ivor didn’t say anything for a moment, watching the flames. Eithne almost suspected that he hadn’t heard her, but then he said, “I ken what it’s like to lose what ye love.”
She waited, but he didn’t elaborate. Eithne just nodded and, taking a deep, shuddering breath, said, “When will I feel like meself again? I dinnae ken if I’ll be able to rest because every time I close me eyes…”
“It doesnae go away, not ever,” Ivor told her, or perhaps he was talking to himself as his eyes focused on the dancing fire. “Me own mam and dad, and me own wee sister…I was just a lad. I remember the fire every time I see a flame. I remember me faither tossing me out of the window then going back for the bairn. I remember me mither’s screaming. I remember…”
He trailed off.
Hesitantly, Eithne put a hand on his arm. “Me mam…she died in me arms,” she said, then burst into tears. “Me poor mither, dead and gone while I held her, and I couldnae stop it. I should have done something, anything, I—”
“Ye couldnae,” Ivor said, his mouth in a hard line. “And it’ll haunt ye. After me family died, I didnae speak at all for five years. I was a bairn then, but still when I think of it…”
Eithne said nothing. It was an entirely different set of circumstances. Yet, this was the first time she’d realized+
that someone might even begin to understand her horror. It didn’t make her feel better, exactly, but it did draw her a little out of herself. “Ye didnae need to tell me that.”
“I did,” he replied. “Because ye need to ken that ye arenae alone. Nae here, nae with me. I’m hurting as well, but I swear to ye, nae matter what, I’ll see ye safe to yer sister.”
“Thank ye,” she whispered. They held eye contact for a long moment, and then she looked away, busying herself with the cooked meat. Whatever happened next, her savior had a good heart. And right now, that meant everything.
