Chapter Nine
Raven knelt at Landyn’s side, inspecting his face, her gaze sweeping over every inch of his skin. From the nasty-looking lump on his forehead, down over his full lips and chin covered by a day’s growth of beard. He appeared unharmed, except for a red welt on his head. She sighed in relief. “You’re going to have a bump on your forehead.”
He nodded and put a hand to his injury. He attempted to stand but had to grip the back of a chair to steady himself.
Raven reached out to grasp his arm.
“My sword,” Landyn said, searching for it on the floor.
She skimmed the wooden pieces of the table on the ground for it. Finally, she spotted a sword across the room and rose, walking to the corner. She picked up the blade. “My father always said if you lose your weapon, you’re dead.” She displayed the sword to him, questioning if it was his.
Landyn rubbed his head. “Good advice.”
Raven handed the weapon to him, and he sheathed it. She gazed at the dead bodies on the floor. Two of them wore the heraldry of the king. The rest were the men that had attacked the Templar caravan. “Boucher and his men came through the town. I found their campsite and spoke with a farmer.”
Landyn nodded again. “Search these men. Take what you can.”
A woman with dark hair and a concerned, fearful look in her eyes peeked out from one of the doors.
Raven glanced at the carnage and the broken table. This fight would be costly to the owners. “Leave them,” she suggested. “Let the innkeeper keep what he can find.”
Landyn agreed with a nod.
Raven was beginning to like the bump on his head; she liked that he couldn’t argue with her. Or perhaps he actually agreed with her. That would be a stunning victory. “Can you ride?”
“Of course,” he said. He wobbled slightly.
He could barely stand; there was no way he could ride. She would have to find somewhere to rest for the night. She took a step and waited for him to do the same.
He did and began falling sideways.
Raven caught him by the waist to balance him, and her fingers spanned his middle. He had hard muscle and planes beneath his black tunic. Her stare shifted to his eyes, where she found them closed, strands of his dark hair swept forward. The bump on his head was rising.
She remembered a time she and Sage had been arguing. Sage had hit her over the head with a wooden sword, and Raven had been so dizzy that she had to sit down until nightfall. Oh, Raven had made Sage pay for that. She had pretended to be so shaky she couldn’t do anything. Sage had made her dinner, cleaned up, and even covered her with a blanket for the night. Sage had felt so guilty.
Raven wrapped an arm about Landyn’s waist and placed his arm over her shoulder. “We’ll walk.” She helped him to the door, pretending not to notice how much he leaned on her. She grasped the handle and opened the door.
“You’re good,” he said quietly.
“What?” she asked as they emerged into the setting sun.
“Your sword skills are excellent.”
A satisfied grin fell over her lips. “You had already taken out two of them.”
“And you took out four.”
Her horse stood beside his black steed. She reached for his animal’s reins without releasing Landyn. “I had a great teacher.”
He swayed and almost fell, but she steadied him.
“You can’t ride,” she stated.
He inhaled a deep breath, expanding his already broad chest. “No. I don’t believe I can.”
Raven scanned the landscape, checking to see if anyone was watching them or if there was a safe place to stop. She didn’t want to return to the squadron’s campsite in case some of Boucher’s men were lurking around. She didn’t want to risk being ambushed. She glanced at Landyn. He was in no shape to fight—he needed to rest.
“We’ll walk down the road and find somewhere to stop for the night,” she stated.
