Jamie took a breath to steel himself. Aftyn needed the best he could give her, but he didn't know if he could do what she needed without killing himself in the process. There was no one here to pull him from her if she slipped away. He clenched a fist. This was Aftyn. He would not let her slip away.
Even putting her into a healing sleep seemed too great a risk. If ever he was going to trust her, now was the time. “I have a confession to make,” he started, but stopped when she groaned.
“I, too. My fault da locked… yer men… dungeon.”
A chill ran up his spine. What did she mean, her fault? He didn’t know what to process first—her fault or her father. “Ye can tell me later. I must make ye better.”
“Ye canna. ’Tis too much…”
“Nay, lass. I owe it to ye to show ye how I heal.”
Jamie pulled aside her torn dress and placed his hands on her belly where the men’s boots had done the most damage. Agony assailed him. She bled inside. It took some time, but Aftyn finally uncurled a little and took a breath.
Jamie fought to control his own reaction to the pain and pressure he’d taken from her. It now encircled his torso like a vise, crushing him. He lifted his hands from her and straightened, then wrapped his arms around his middle. A groan slipped out.
Aftyn went still and for a moment Jamie feared she’d passed out, but then her eyes opened and her gaze fastened on his. “I was right.”
“I dinna ken what ye thought,” he ground out, “but… let me show ye.” He took a breath to steady himself. The pain was ebbing. But he wasn’t done. He touched her neck, his senses reaching into her, clearing the bruising from her muscles and her kidneys, soothing her pain, and taking it into himself. His body went cold and he started shaking. How had she stood the agony? He willed himself to concentrate, cursing under his breath.
“Ach, what have ye done? Did ye take… into yerself? Ye mustna!”
She pushed his hand away, breaking the contact before he was ready. Fire flashed along his veins and spread throughout his body. He couldn’t breathe.
For a moment, he thought this must be what it feels like to be struck by lightning. A groan escaped him, and his chest expanded. He breathed through the pain and took her hand, noting the skinned knuckles, but leaving them for later. He moved to the swelling around her left eye next. He didn’t want her to lose her sight. With his other hand, he lightly skimmed the area around her eye, nodding as the swelling went down, feeling the pressure and pain inhabit him. At least they hadn’t managed to break the bones around the eye, or her jaw, but she was bruised and swollen there, too.
He stroked the side of her face to soothe her, but also to repair the damage the men had wrought. Aftyn whimpered and drew back, but he still held her hand and didn’t let her pull away from him. They’d hurt his woman. They’d suffer the same, and more.
“Dinna fear me, Aftyn. Dinna fear what I can do. I am helping ye.”
“Dinna fear ye. Fearforye. Why must ye suffer?”
Jamie managed a chuckle around the tightness that still coiled around his middle, his back and belly burning, his lungs on fire. “That is a question… I’ve never gotten an answer to. ’Tis the way this works.”
“'Tis unfair,” Aftyn said, and laid her free hand on the side of his face.
She breathed more easily. If he squinted, he could tell her color had improved.
“I’m so sorry," she told him. “And thankful ye are willing to bear this for me.”
“I would bear… anything for ye, Aftyn. Anything… to make ye better. To save ye. Ye must ken that.”
She shook her head. “I didna. But I do now. Who else would take my pain into himself, save ye?”
Jamie forced a smile, then looked away. “I dinna think there’s another who can, lass.”
“Then I’m lucky ye are here.” She pushed herself to sitting, wincing as she braced herself on one arm.
“Yer shoulder?”
“Aye, but it can wait.”
“I’d be grateful for that,” he said, attempting a jest but meaning it. He needed to rest. To let the pain subside. “Do ye ken where Mhairi keeps her mead? Or ale? Or even water? We could both do with something.”
“There’s a pitcher on the table. I dinna ken what’s in it.”
Jamie pushed to his feet and stumbled to the table, hugging his middle as he moved. When he reached it, he placed both hands on it and rested there, breathing hard. Once he could, he poured a cup and sniffed. “Perfect. ’Tis cider.” He swallowed it down, then poured another and took it to Aftyn, along with the pitcher. He watched her drink, then joined her on the pallet and poured another. “Drink. Then I will. Then ye’ll have another until we are ready to continue.”
“What if Mhairi comes back in?”
