“Ye’re hurt!” Ava’s words burst from her, and he turned to see her open the carriage door and stumble out onto the forest road. She charged toward him, clearly without thinking.
“Ava.” He called out sharply. “Get back in the carriage.”
He raised an open palm toward her, causing her to stop instantly. He was scanning the tree line, jaw clenched, one hand still resting on his sword hilt. Not looking at her. Still working.
He could see the realization dawn on her face. She might have walked straight into danger.
“Now,” he snapped, quieter.
He watched her retreat to the carriage step without climbing back in.Damn it, the stubborn lass.Noah moved to check the edge of the tree line and then looked along the road in both directions. Only then did his hand leave his sword. Only then did his shoulders relax some of that coiled readiness.
He turned back to her, his expression changing when he saw the way she was watching him.
“I told ye to stay inside,” he said, crossing toward her.
“Ye’re bleedin’.” She lifted her chin. “I’m nae gettin’ back in until I see how bad it is.”
Something flickered across his face. Irritation, she thought. And underneath it, something else she couldn’t name. He stopped in front of her and held out his arm, the torn sleeve already dark with blood.
“It’s a scratch,” he said flatly.
“That’s nae a scratch.” She reached for his arm, and this time he didn’t stop her, but he went very still.
Her fingers worked at the torn fabric, exposing the gash that stretched along his forearm. Long, but not deep. She exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
He’s all right. He’s all right.
“Sit,” she said, and pointed at the fallen log at the edge of the road.
“I’m nae sittin’ for this.”
“Sit.”
He sat. Ava knelt beside him, pressing the handkerchief she’d tucked into her sleeve that morning firmly against the wound. Her hands were steady. She was grateful for that, because her pulse was not.
“Ye fought three men with this,” she said, keeping her voice level. “What if the blade had gone deeper?”
“It didnae.”
Ava looked up at him and saw that he was watching her work. Not her face, just her hands, with an expression that was unreadable. There was no warmth there yet—only something like measurement, assessment, as if she were a problem he was analyzing.
She wrapped the handkerchief around the wound and tied it tight.
“This will hold until we reach the castle. Ye’ll need it cleaned and stitched properly.”
“Aye.” A pause. “Ye shouldnae have gotten out of the carriage.”
“Ye were bleedin’. Why are we still talkin’ about this?”
“There could have been another man in those trees.” His voice was quiet, but the weight behind it was not. “The third one ran. I wasnae certain where he’d gone. If he’d come back while ye were standin’ out here, it’s enough distraction.”
Ava realized then that he wasn’t upset with her for fussing. He was upset because she’d made herself vulnerable, and that had split his attention when he couldn’t afford for it to be divided.
He was still protectin’ us. Even then. Even hurt.
The thought settled into her chest like something unfamiliar and warm. She didn’t know how to handle it, so she focused on smoothing the edge of the makeshift bandage.
“Thank ye,” she said quietly. “At the tavern. And now. I daenae think I’ve properly thanked ye for any of it.”
