Did he flirt with me, at a time like this?
Of course he did. He was Thomas.
My heart still galloped within me, and my mind whirled about with questions, but I had no time to dwell upon them. I had to get Thomas safely home.
And then, to get myself across the Veil. To find out if the ungodly wolf did hail me true.
Tend to the shepherd king first.
For he gazed upon me as if I were not the wood nymph he dubbed me, nor the homely farmer’s daughter I seemed, but a very goddess. “I owe you my life.”
At these words, something changed inside me, a thread wrapped around my heart. It neither pulled nor constricted, only made me aware it was there.
“Not yet, you don’t,” I rasped out. His words had too much import, gave me more credit than I yet deserved. I could not let him say them and mean it, lest they build a bond neither of us understood.
Worries crashed about inside me, born out of the pallor of his face and the questions he might ask. I did not know how to explain to him what had just happened.
I did not yet myself understand what it meant.
There were deeper concerns. “The wolf did not touch you?” For malevolent fae can cause paralysis, or loss of wits, neither of which I could cure.
Not as Mairi Grieve’s daughter, in any case.
I could not but recall her on her deathbed, how I tended her for five years, yet never made her well.
“The wolf did not touch me.” Thomas’s cheeks grew red. “I backed away from him, intent on keeping eye contact, as ye must with such predators, when I fell over the tree. Something snapped, and my leg was nigh onto crucifying me with the pain. I thought I was done for.” He lay back, closing his eyes, breath belabored.
Oh, shepherd, do not faint.
He did even worse, opened his eyes again and asked me, “Bess, what was it? A wolf, it seemed, but I never knew one so large.”
My pulse quickened. If he caught on that the wolf had been a fae beast, would he then realize I was faery as well?
There are some who toss changelings into the fire. Who starve their own children and attempt to beat the faery out of them. I did not believe my shepherd king might be one of those, yet I thought I could not endure if I should see such horror in his eyes.
“Save your breath.” I examined the rountree branch again, noting it forked at the top and might make for a good crutch. Wrapping my hands again in my skirt, I snapped off the blossoms and smaller branches, casting my eyes about for another limb. There—a few steps away lay a shorter branch, thick as both my thumbs together. That would do nicely for a splint.
I dropped beside Thomas on the forest floor, measuring the length of his calf with my hands. I pulled up my long skirts and tore off a wide strip of fabric.
“Bess,” Thomas protested. “It is hardly a good time for a romp.” Even pale as milk, he favored me with a lascivious grin.
I rolled my eyes, though an impertinent Thomas was easier to deal with than a worshipful or overly curious one. “Cease your feeble jesting, mortal, and let me get on with my work.” Too late I noted the words that came out of my mouth, and inwardly cursed. “I mean to say, I am trying to help you. Be still.”
Father Auberon save me if the wound is infected. He might have avoided the faery stroke only to die from his injury anyhow.I pushed up his trouser leg and the blood drained from my face. The angle was twisted and disturbing. The skin, however, had not broken; no infection then. But the limb had wrenched out of position.
“I would not hurt you for the world, dear Thomas,” I told him. “But this may sting a bit.” And like that, I twisted his leg into place.
I have never heard such a sound as he made then. I hope I never do again.
“It... is... nothing,” he squeaked out.
“Liar,” I murmured, not unkindly, as I fastened the splint to his leg. “Ye must be honest with me. If I help ye, can you stand? Can we walk together to your cottage?”
“My lady, it would be an honor to escort—” He pushed himself up, groaning, then fell back. “On the other hand, perhaps it would be better if you should escort me.” He pushed again, and this time allowed me to help him to his feet.
I gave him the crutch for his other side, then slung his arm over my shoulder. The warmth of his body intoxicated me; his breath stirred my hair.
“Good,” I croaked out, determined to get him to safety, even if he collapsed and I dragged him the rest of the way.
