All of a sudden she had a horrible thought. One that made the pressure in her chest burn. God, was this her fault? “Could it have been MacDougall?”
Tor’s jaw hardened as if he knew what she was thinking. Had he thought it, too? “Possibly. But there are others as well.”
She looked back to the mother and child, tears sliding down her cheeks, praying that this had nothing to do with her.
“Come.” Tor carefully drew her away. “Don’t think about it.”
She turned on him, outraged, staring into that brutally handsome face. Not one flicker of emotion traversed his stoic expression. Surely, he could not look at the body of an innocent child and remain so unaffected. “How can I not think about it? What is wrong with you? Does nothing affect you?”
He gave her a hard look, his blue eyes glacial. “I can’t let it. But just because I don’t show emotion doesn’t mean I am incapable of feeling.”
The truth smacked her. This was how he functioned. For the first time, she understood why he might need to be so cold. How burying emotion could protect you in such hideous, brutal conditions.
She barely knew the woman and child before her yet she was stricken with overwhelming grief, sadness, and horror. What would it be like to see friends, men you’d fought beside for years, brutally killed before your eyes?
She shuddered. Ice was a protective shield he needed to survive.
Her heart went out to him. He might not show compassion, but he felt it. That he’d kept emotion inside was hardly surprising given his past. She just needed to be more patient with him.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
He nodded. She allowed him to lead her away, but the ground seemed to be moving under her feet as if she was walking down the deck of a ship in a storm. Her stomach rolled and heaved. Perspiration dampened her forehead.
She didn’t feel well.
“Why did you leave the castle?” he asked. “What were you doing in the village?”
She swayed.
“Tina, what’s wrong?”
She heard the alarm in his voice even though it sounded distant, as if he was underwater. Her head spun, and when she looked up at him he looked fuzzy, unfocused.
“I don’t …” she managed before everything went black.
She woke the first time to darkness. Her eyelids fluttered, but they felt so heavy she kept them closed. And why was it so hot? She felt as though she was sleeping atop a fire. She tossed off the sheets, writhed around, and tried to find elusive comfort.
She was aware of a big, soothing hand on her head. Of deep murmuring. The covers were over her again. She mewled a complaint, settling only when the voice started again. She sighed, contended, before darkness pulled her under again.
When Christina woke the second time it was morning. Her eyes opened more easily this time, lids fluttering a few times before settling open. She stretched, feeling refreshed after a deep sleep.
A frown pinched her brows. Sleep? How had she gotten back to her chamber? The last thing she remembered was …
Hearing a sound, her gaze shot across the room. Tor was shifting in a wooden chair, a blanket wrapped around him, trying—unsuccessfully, it appeared—to get comfortable. He swore, and something about his angry, flustered expression made her giggle.
Tossing the plaid to the floor, he jumped to his feet and was at her side in a heartbeat. “You’re awake.”
She smiled at the obvious. He, on the other hand, looked as if he hadn’t slept in a week. He’d changed and washed the stains of battle away, but the lines of strain and fatigue were not so easily erased. His dark, golden hair was mussed, looking as if he’d raked his hands through it repeatedly; his clothes were rumpled, and his jaw was shadowed by more than a week’s worth of stubble. Yet he still managed to look heartbreakingly handsome.
Her gaze flickered back to the chair and her nose wrinkled. “Did you sleep there?”
He frowned. “You were ill.”
Really? She felt fine. Though she did remember feeling strange and lightheaded right before she’d blacked out. The first time they’d shared the night together and she didn’t remember any of it. “For how long?”
“Two days.” He shot her an angry glare. “You are never to be ill again.” He crossed his arms, looking very chiefly. “I won’t permit it.”
She blinked and realized he was actually serious. He’d been worried about her. A bubble of happiness burst inside her. She started to smile, but seeing him glower, she quickly smothered it. “I shall do my best,” she said soberly.
