the cave, its icy tendrils permeating Elisande’s thin cloak. Eventually, she gave in to her body’s demands and closed her tired eyes for a moment’s respite. Just then, a stray thought nudged her into awareness. Try as she might to sink into the comfort of oblivion, something kept her from a deep sleep. When an eerie howl filtered through the confusion cloaking her brain, she jolted upright. The dank atmosphere of the cave started her teeth a-clatter, and the day’s horrific events flew at her in a rush of emotion.
Swiping tears from her eyes, she rose and tossed more branches on the diminished flames to revive the fire. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness beyond the orange glow, she realized Aeden watched her. She bit the insides of her cheeks, unable to make eye contact with him, afraid the death look was upon him, afraid he witnessed enough of her healing ritual to believe her a conjurer.
“Elisande.”
Her head snapped up, it was the first time he uttered her name. An unfathomable expression shadowed his features. Sweat beaded his brow and he grimaced in pain. He lifted his arm from under the blanket, rested it at his side, and turned his palm up.
“Please rest, do not exert yourself so.”
She went to him, her heart knocked against her ribcage as his eyes pierced the distance between them. She knelt by his side, her hand inches from his, and then he curled his fingers around hers with unexpected strength. The intimate contact dropped her stomach to her feet. She remained absolutely motionless for a moment and tried to sift through the torrent of fluttery emotions bedeviling her insides. He gave a light tug. She hesitated for an instant, then lay down against him beneath the blanket. Taking care not to jostle him, she settled against his uninjured side. Before she succumbed to oblivion, he brought their entwined hands to his mouth, pressed a kiss to her fingertips, and murmured in his native tongue.
“
Ní bheidh mé dearmad
, I shall never forget.”
• • •
“What do you think you are about?” Elisande demanded.
She released her skirt and dumped a bundle of sticks on the hard-packed floor. Aeden struggled to sit up, perspiration pouring off his body like a waterfall, a string of curses tripped from his lips.
“You push yourself too hard.” she scolded, a frown wrinkled her brow.
“We can no’ continue to dally here, ’tis dangerous.”
She ignored his words. “Is it your wish to re-open your wound? Because that is what you will do if you continue to disregard my instruction.”
“At the moment, all I wish is to sit upright.”
Weakened, he slumped over and cursed his feebleness anew.
She pursed her lips, fell to her knees, and bent over his shoulder to peel back the cloth. He guessed the infection had started to mend.
“It has seeped and crusted, though far from closed. We will have to stay a few more days.”
Cool air hit the gash and he flinched. Despite the discomfort, he could not fault her efforts. She possessed a firm, steady hand and he wondered at her ability to remain dispassionate.
“How is it that a woman of your station comes by knowledge of healing wounds?”
She stiffened, not quite certain what to make of his question. Was he testing her somehow? “I believe I once told you that I am an herbal healer.” She helped guide him back against the cavern wall, then situated the plaid over his lower half.
He studied the grim set to her lips. “So you did. Although I would no’ have guessed at the extent of your healing abilities. Women of your station are more inclined to direct the treatment rather than apply it themselves.”
She flicked a glance over him. “Well, it is fortunate for you that I took more of an interest and practiced on my father’s men. Now, you should be able to sit without too much pain.”
He shook his head. “We must hurry along the healing.”
“It has only been a few days. You must give the wound time to knit properly to guard against
Swiping tears from her eyes, she rose and tossed more branches on the diminished flames to revive the fire. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness beyond the orange glow, she realized Aeden watched her. She bit the insides of her cheeks, unable to make eye contact with him, afraid the death look was upon him, afraid he witnessed enough of her healing ritual to believe her a conjurer.
“Elisande.”
Her head snapped up, it was the first time he uttered her name. An unfathomable expression shadowed his features. Sweat beaded his brow and he grimaced in pain. He lifted his arm from under the blanket, rested it at his side, and turned his palm up.
“Please rest, do not exert yourself so.”
She went to him, her heart knocked against her ribcage as his eyes pierced the distance between them. She knelt by his side, her hand inches from his, and then he curled his fingers around hers with unexpected strength. The intimate contact dropped her stomach to her feet. She remained absolutely motionless for a moment and tried to sift through the torrent of fluttery emotions bedeviling her insides. He gave a light tug. She hesitated for an instant, then lay down against him beneath the blanket. Taking care not to jostle him, she settled against his uninjured side. Before she succumbed to oblivion, he brought their entwined hands to his mouth, pressed a kiss to her fingertips, and murmured in his native tongue.
“
Ní bheidh mé dearmad
, I shall never forget.”
• • •
“What do you think you are about?” Elisande demanded.
She released her skirt and dumped a bundle of sticks on the hard-packed floor. Aeden struggled to sit up, perspiration pouring off his body like a waterfall, a string of curses tripped from his lips.
“You push yourself too hard.” she scolded, a frown wrinkled her brow.
“We can no’ continue to dally here, ’tis dangerous.”
She ignored his words. “Is it your wish to re-open your wound? Because that is what you will do if you continue to disregard my instruction.”
“At the moment, all I wish is to sit upright.”
Weakened, he slumped over and cursed his feebleness anew.
She pursed her lips, fell to her knees, and bent over his shoulder to peel back the cloth. He guessed the infection had started to mend.
“It has seeped and crusted, though far from closed. We will have to stay a few more days.”
Cool air hit the gash and he flinched. Despite the discomfort, he could not fault her efforts. She possessed a firm, steady hand and he wondered at her ability to remain dispassionate.
“How is it that a woman of your station comes by knowledge of healing wounds?”
She stiffened, not quite certain what to make of his question. Was he testing her somehow? “I believe I once told you that I am an herbal healer.” She helped guide him back against the cavern wall, then situated the plaid over his lower half.
He studied the grim set to her lips. “So you did. Although I would no’ have guessed at the extent of your healing abilities. Women of your station are more inclined to direct the treatment rather than apply it themselves.”
She flicked a glance over him. “Well, it is fortunate for you that I took more of an interest and practiced on my father’s men. Now, you should be able to sit without too much pain.”
He shook his head. “We must hurry along the healing.”
“It has only been a few days. You must give the wound time to knit properly to guard against
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