it was because she’d found him, or that he’d saved her. She really didn’t want to examine it too closely.
Cuthbert cut a glance at her before staring back down at the warrior. ‘I’d have to leave a warrior to guard you. I can’t spare the men, not after the massacre.’ It had been mere weeks since the confrontation that had killed Godric and his warriors, but a retaliation was always a possibility.
‘But we need him to recover. That’s a mercenary’s tunic. He could prove useful.’ Aisly was grasping at anything to make him important to them, though she wasn’t sure why that was so important to her. She hadn’t even known this man when she awakened that morning. But he had saved her life.
The warrior who had spoken before leaned down to examine the embroidered figure on the stranger’s tunic. ‘Aye, it’s a mercenary tunic. But it’s possible he’s a Dane. He has their look.’
‘We’ll need to question him,’ Cuthbert said. ‘The fact remains that he killed the rebel Dane, so he very well could be useful to us. Dane or not, if we could buy his loyalty, he’ll prove useful.’
Aisly didn’t bother pointing out again that the man hadn’t any memories. She’d already mentioned it more than once. Perhaps they’d return once he awakened. ‘Whoever he turns out to be, he needs rest and I’m in no danger.’
‘Nay, not yet, but when he awakens, he could have his strength back,’ Cuthbert argued.
She couldn’t argue that. ‘Then leave him with me bound. He’s already injured. If he’s bound as well, what harm could he be?’
Cuthbert gave a deep sigh, but he relented. Aisly imagined that he didn’t want a wounded warrior lurking around his hall anyway.
* * *
He huddled back into the limbs of the fir tree, hiding himself from the buffeting wind coming in across the water and the people stirring in the small village below. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he wrapped his thin right arm around them and tried not to shiver too hard. His left arm he kept cradled against his ribs. It was the only way he’d found to ease the near constant pain in them.
A jolt of terror bolted through him when the door to the small house opened and a man stepped outside. He despised that cowardly emotion, so he forced himself to watch the man walk down to the dock where his boat was moored, not looking away once. It wasn’t until the man pushed away from the dock that Magnus breathed a sigh of relief. Only when the boat disappeared did he take his first step out of the forest in a sennight and make his way down the slope to the edge of the village. The pain on his left side tried to slow him, but he ignored it. There was no telling how long he had, so he must make the most of it.
Still...he hesitated when he reached the door of the house, afraid of what he might find inside. His small hand was shaking when he reached out to push the door open and his heart was pounding in his ears.
Magnus awoke abruptly to the sound of muffled voices. The strange dream along with his pain had kept him from finding a peaceful sleep. He was certain it must be a memory from his childhood, but on his life he couldn’t figure it out. As soon as he opened his eyes, it began to dissipate.
It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the low light in the room. A fire flickered somewhere near his feet, but pain throbbed through his temple if he attempted to look at it, so he kept his eyes looking forward. A few moments later he realised that he was looking upward, staring at the underside of a thatched roof. A tapestry hung to his left, separating the area where he slept from the rest of the house. Just past his feet, a hearth glowed with a low burning fire and on the other side of that hearth was a crudely built table pushed up against the wall with cooking implements on top of it. The voices from the front of the house had stopped, but he could hear shuffling sounds.
Before he could even begin to fathom where he was or who could be with him, he became aware of an aching pain in his shoulders. It wasn’t the ache of his ribs, which had been hurt in that mysterious battle, but a new ache. A throb that sent pinpricks of pain through his arms when he tried to move them. When they wouldn’t move, he looked over to see that his wrists were tied to an unfinished, rudimentary headboard. A wave of panic chilled him to the bone and he pulled in earnest, only to realise that his ankles were somehow tied to the foot of the bed. Anxiety tightened in his body and made his heart pound.
His body twisted and heaved as he tried to jerk himself free, no doubt drawing the attention of his captor, but he didn’t care. He needed to get free.
‘Foreigner?’
He turned his head at the sound of her voice and just the sight of her was enough to soothe him. It was her. The side of his body where he’d pressed her against him as he walked warmed at the memory. She wore a different dress, this one a green that made him think of her eyes, with a wide apron tied double around her waist. Standing with her arms slightly raised in front of her as if she was afraid she would scare him, she spoke again, but the words were a rush that he couldn’t distinguish.
He opened his mouth to demand an explanation for the restraints, but the words wouldn’t come right away. Finally, after turning them over a few times, he asked, ‘Why am I bound?’ He had a suspicion that the words didn’t sound as harsh as he intended them, though, because she smiled at him and he couldn’t hold on to even a shred of anger when she did that.
‘They wouldn’t allow you to stay here without restraints. I’m sorry.’ She walked closer and kneeled down beside the low bed. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Let me go.’ He made sure his voice was firm. She flinched back and he regretted it immediately. He tried again, this time keeping his voice even. ‘You know I won’t hurt you, fair one. Untie me so that I can leave.’
‘I know. I don’t think you’ll hurt me. But it was a condition of them allowing you to stay here.’ Her brow furrowed as she leaned forward, her small hands resting on the bed beside him.
‘Them?’ It was a pointless question. Obviously he was in her village and the leaders didn’t trust a stranger, a foreigner as she’d called him. The fact that he was even alive and hadn’t been run through beneath the fir where he’d fallen was a testament to their feelings. Though it was possible they were only waiting to verify his identity before taking that step.
‘The elders. Cuthbert is our chieftain. After you fell asleep, I couldn’t wake you and worried that you wouldn’t wake at all. I had no choice but to tell him that I’d found you. He came and a few others carried you here.’ Magnus couldn’t take his eyes from her face as she spoke. She was so vivid, so vibrant, so alive, that he only wanted to watch her, causing his concentration on her words to falter. It took all the determination he could muster to focus again and make sense of what she said. ‘They wanted to take you to the hall, but I didn’t think that would be the best place for you. I wanted to watch over you myself, so I asked them to bring you here. They did, but only on the condition that I keep you tied down. I only meant to tie your arms, but you were thrashing in your sleep and I was afraid you’d hurt yourself, so I tied your ankles.’
Confusion must have shown on his face, because she gave him a shy smile and blushed. ‘My apologies. I ramble on and on sometimes.’
Blotches of pink swept across her cheeks, drawing his attention to the bit of hair tucked beneath her headrail at her temple. Streaks of russet, or perhaps a darker red, were visible in the low firelight. He wanted to push the atrocity from her head and see it all for himself. An enticing thought that had no right to exist. Pulling himself away from her allure, he shifted and almost grimaced at the pain sparking through his arms from the unnatural position. It had nearly begun to match the throbbing in his skull.
‘How is your head?’ She reached up towards his temple, her fingers pressing lightly against the edges of a poultice and following the line of a strip of linen that held it in place around his head. Satisfied the binding was tight enough, she pressed her palm to his uninjured temple.
‘It aches,’ he admitted.
‘I’ve a draught for you if you’d like to drink it.