She should tell him to put her down and walk the rest of the way. But she was too tired, too sore, and too heartbroken over leaving her friend.
“Here we are.” Tor pushed open a door with his foot and carried her into a cozy room with a comfortable-looking bed and wide wingback chair, all decorated in rich browns and greens. The room was lit by a lamp and warmed by a small, cheerful fire, and a fresh set of clothes lay waiting at the bottom of the bed. It was almost too perfect to be real.
“Can you stand?” Tor asked.
She wanted to say no, to enjoy being held just for a few more moments, but that wasn’t her. She could—would—make herself stand. “Yes.”
Tor lowered her gently to the floor in front of the fire, leaving an arm around her, stabilizing her, as she found her feet. “You have to get out of those wet clothes. Jeremiel left a shirt and some clean trousers, but—” He paused as if looking for the right words.
“But the arrow is pinning the jerkin into my shoulder,” she finished for him.
Tor grunted. “Yes.”
She frowned, looking for a solution, but knowing there wasn’t one. She couldn’t do it alone. Damn. “I’m going to need some help getting undressed.”
Tor dipped his chin. “I’ll go get Nim.”
“Bard, no.” Nim was in no state to come and help her. And the last thing Keely wanted was to pull her away from Val and Tristan, especially after accusing Nim of intentionally abandoning Alanna. That had not been her finest moment.
She swallowed. And then did her best to straighten her spine. “Can’t you help me?”
“What about Val?” he asked slowly.
Val? What did Val have to do with anything? Oh…. She let out a small snort. “Val is not my lover.”
“But—”
“Val loves Alanna.”
Tor gave her a confused look. “He… what?”
Keely tried to smile. “He loves Alanna. They love each other. But she couldn’t…. Not with Ballanor as her husband. Val is a friend. I just said that because—” She shrugged. “I thought I was going to die anyway, and it might have helped Alanna. She’s suffered enough.”
Tor blinked slowly, one hand raising to grip the back of his neck as he watched her silently. The fire hissed and crackled as the moment stretched on, and she realized that he was not going to say anything. Because he was horrified that Val and Alanna loved each other—a Verturian and a Brythorian? Or because….
She sighed. “They did not plan the massacre at Ravenstone.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t say they did.”
“Yes. Well. I’m sure you were thinking it.”
“No, I—” He dropped his hand from his neck and cracked his knuckles instead. “Okay. I blamed them before. Not now.”
“Not now?”
He shook his head but didn’t say anything more. And it was enough. He had rescued them, after all. And she still needed help.
First, she had to get rid of her breeches so she could sit down without destroying the chair with muddy water. Then they could focus on her jerkin and the arrow.
“I need you to pull my breeches down,” she prompted. “I can’t do it with one hand. The leather is soaked, and they were already too tight. They’re Alanna’s.”
Tor glanced down at her breeches and then immediately looked away and took a small step back. Damn. He really was honorable. Keely lifted a heavy woolen blanket off the bed and wrapped it over her shoulders to hang down to her knees. She never asked for help. Not unless there was absolutely no other choice, and right now there was no other choice. “I need your help, Tor. I don’t ask often, so make the most of it.”
“Are you sure I’m the best person?” he asked slowly.
No. She was not at all sure. The last man she’d been even partially naked in front of was Niall. And that was ten years ago. But she was too exhausted and too cold to stay as she was, and her shoulder was on fire, her fingers tingling with waves of burning pins and needles. She couldn’t do it alone. “Yes. I’m sure.”
He nodded, once, and then knelt in front of her and helped her out of her boots. She balanced herself on his shoulder with her good hand, and he tucked his thumbs into the waistband of her breeches and tugged.
