He gave her an annoyed look and pushed his finger through the bag. “These protection and scrying charms will act as a beacon to the witch. We’ll need to get rid of them. Are these for…purification?”
“The water out here is foul.”
“We’ll filter your water through my waterskin. I wish I had another.”
Because his waterskin was blessed.
He held up one of the charms. “What’s this one? I don’t recognize the glyph.”
Damn.
The blood drained from her face, then rushed back, scorching hot.
Damn it, Tilly.
She didn’t want to tell him what it was, but he was standing there looking at her like he wasn’t going to budge until she talked.
“It’s to prevent a babe from catching.”
The captain’s eyes widened and then his gaze dropped to the bag. But she saw that flash of mortification. Or was it disgust? The women he slept with probably used the same kinds ofcharms, respectable God-fearing women. Or maybe they bought them from the Church and called them blessings.
His hand closed around the charms. Then he turned in his saddle, cocked back his arm and threw the whole bundle into the woods.
“Hey!” she cried out, startled. Copper danced beneath her seat but she managed to calm him. “Those were worth something.”
“Not where we’re going. They’re only a liability. We don’t need them” He gave her a hard look. “We’re not going to need any of them.”
And then he rode off, ending the conversation. She was half-tempted to go back for the charms, but she’d said she would listen to him. And she always tried to keep her word. No matter what he thought about the people of Toam, she still had a sense of honor.
She stared after him for a long moment and then followed the witch hunter, glaring at his rigidly straight back.
“It wasn’t for you,” she shouted after him.
She didn’t want him thinking she meant to sleep with him.
She didn’t.
She wouldnever.
He didn’t so much as turn his head to acknowledge he’d heard her.
Self-righteous bastard.
14
It was midday by the time they reached the place where she’d found him half-dead in the middle of the woods. The rain had washed away most of the blood. The churned leaves had been beaten flat by the storm, but she remembered where they’d been. Kneeling, she brushed aside the scarlet leaves to find a hoofprint pressed into the damp soil.
She looked up at the witch hunter’s frown.
“The attack happened here. The ground was trampled, and there was a pool of blood.” She pointed. “I found you over there, by the river’s edge.”
She slowly straightened from her crouch, every joint and muscle in her body complaining about the movement. She wasn’t accustomed to riding on horseback. She didn’t remember being this sore after hauling him back to the house, but she’d spent the hours after trying to save his annoying life. Maybe she’d been too distracted to notice. She was already dreading sleeping on the cold ground.
She headed toward the river, crossing the shallow creek and following the trail she’d taken just days ago. She noted the disturbed leaves that marked the passage of his patrol. Thattrail led deeper into the woods. She turned away, toward the river. The trees thickened and there below was the embankment where she’d found him.
The witch hunter stepped up beside her, looking down on the sand bar. There wasn’t much to see. The rock she’d climbed on to mount his horse. A scrap of cloth half buried in the sand from where she’d torn his clothes to get at his wounds. The image of him lying there came to her. His big body crumpled and utterly vulnerable. There’d been so much blood. She’d thought he was already dead. She’d almost left him there to die.
“I don’t know how you made it this far as badly injured as you were.”
