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I just stare at him until he drops his hand and backs away.
“Thank you. Thank you so much.” Quiet tears run down Mira’s face while she clutches her child and addresses Esme directly. “Aldric here is a trained healer, if you need someone to take another look at your wound. Prim and Mal are the ones hiding behind him. Elan’s the elderly woman. She found me two days ago.”
The children huddle together, watching me with wide, frightened eyes as they assess how much of a threat I pose.
Smart kids. They already know not to trust adults.
The old man shuffles toward Esme. “Arrow wound?” He clicks his tongue. “Field dressing’s adequate, but we should check for infection. Do you have a fever? Chills?”
Esme answers his questions, explaining everything I just did to cleanse the wound.
She smiles at me over Aldric’s shoulder, the first genuine one I’ve seen.
Shit. She’s planning something.
Of course she is. This is a perfect opportunity for her. This group could create chaos, allowing her to slip away while I’m distracted protecting the refugees.
She’s not wrong, but she’s also not as clever as she thinks.
Fine.
Let her try.
Chapter Eleven
Esme
Gray morning light filters through the canopy overhead, waking me. Something soft and warm cradles my face, and I snuggle into it, wondering when I’d gotten a pillow.
“Good morning, princess.” The words rumble under my cheek.
Wait. I recognize that voice.
Bolting upright, I roll to the side, cursing as pain lances my wounded shoulder.
Agnar straightens, stretching like he has all the time in the world. “You turned over in your sleep. I thought it best to leave you here to keep your shoulder up and protected.”
The shoulder in question throbs, and I touch the bandage, a blush creeping up my neck. Deciding to ignore him, I focus on the others and strive to forget that his arm made the most comfortable pillow ever.
The camp has already come to life.
The mother, Mira I think she said her name was, sits next to the fire near the bed and crib Agnar fashioned for her from the ground. She changes her toddler’s clothes with practiced efficiency. I don’t remember the name of the child who tended the fire, coaxing last night’s coals back to life. Leif inspects his blade and acts like his stomach isn’t growling.
Aldric sorts through his herb pouch, muttering to himself. “We need to take a look at that shoulder and change the dressings.”
Agnar helpfully hands over the bandages he cleaned and sanitized the night before.
The morning routine is almost familial, with Agnar easily slipping into the role of father figure. I’m not sure who the kids belong to, but after joining Agnar for a quick trek to find eggs for breakfast, they stick to him like glue.
I cannot fit this new facet of Agnar with the man who effortlessly slaughtered twelve men. Agnar has to have a lot of experience with children to balance one on each leg, feed them and himself, and keep their hands and faces clean.
Surely they’re both old enough to feed themselves. At their age, I was already taking care of myself.
Since the newcomers have bedrolls with their gear, clearing camp requires longer. But once those bedrolls are shaken out, rolled up, and stuffed in bags, we’re ready to go. We walk in a loose formation Agnar dictates after a short discussion with Leif and the old woman.
Leif assumes the lead, Agnar stays in the middle with Mira, the three kids, and the old woman, and Aldric brings up the rear, constantly motioning for me to move ahead of him.
Aldric taps his cane at me like I’m a stray sheep, eliminating any need for Agnar to check on me. These additions to our group were supposed to provide me with allies and distractions, yet somehow, Agnar has already won them over. The big lout didn’t even want to travel with them in the first place. But he managed to charm them, and now they watch me with even more diligence than he does.
