now still made her angry. The Danes had come close to ruining all hope of her gaining her independence.
But there was still a sliver of hope. If nothing else, she could ask Lord Oswine for help. There was always hope.
Hurrying inside, she found her home empty. The girls had finished the pieces they had been embroidering and left them neatly folded on the table in front. Resolving to check their work later, she rushed past the hearth in the centre of the house and placed the pack with the plants on the table where she prepared her meals to be dealt with later. The day was turning unseasonably warm, but the plaster walls still held in the cold of the previous night, so she added two pieces of wood to the fire. Then she filled a large bowl with stew simmering in the pot over the fire and placed it inside the basket she used in the garden. She covered it with another bowl to help contain any spills and grabbed a long length of linen, before grabbing her flagon of water and adding it to the basket.
The entire walk back to the stranger, she said prayers that she would find him alive. People were starting to trickle in from the fields, but she kept her gaze averted in the hopes that none of them would offer more than a greeting. The warriors at the gate were so accustomed to her coming and going that they barely gave her a glance. She still waited until she crossed the field and reached the forest before turning in the stranger’s direction.
She walked as fast as she could without sloshing the stew all over the basket. When she finally saw his form in much the same position as she’d left him propped beneath a fir, she sent up a prayer of thanks. He wasn’t asleep as she’d anticipated and he hadn’t left. He was watching her through slitted eyes, a faint smile on his lips despite his pallor. He looked horrible. A fine sheen of sweat now dotted his forehead and his skin seemed even paler than before. But, somehow, he was still striking.
Sinking to her knees beside him, she opened her basket. ‘I’ve brought some food.’
His eyes widened as she lifted out the bowl and his nostrils flared as he caught the scent. ‘The gods have sent you to save me.’ The soft smile lingered on his lips.
Gods? She’d heard the Northmen believed in gods. Her heart pounded, but she didn’t comment on it as she brought the bowl to his mouth for him to drink. It wasn’t until he’d taken a fair amount and leaned his head back to take a breath that she asked, ‘What do you know of gods?’
He shook his head, wincing and stopping, because he’d forgotten the pain it caused. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know of any gods. I spoke before I thought.’
He seemed genuinely unaware. Keeping her hands on the outside of his, she guided the bowl back to his mouth so he could drink down a bit more. She used the opportunity to get a closer look at the ugly gash on his head. It had definitely festered and was pink and swollen at the edges. It should have been sewn up, but it was probably too late for that now.
‘I’ve brought some linen and water to clean your wound, but it needs a poultice.’
He pulled back after taking a healthy drink. ‘I told you, I’ll not stay.’
She bit the inside of her lip to keep from pointing out that he didn’t have much of a choice. She’d wager he wouldn’t be able to make it more than a handful of steps. ‘Then I should at least attempt to clean the grime from your wound before you go.’
His deep brown gaze caught hers again, warming her. ‘Aye, I’d be grateful.’ Then he brought the bowl back to his lips and his eyes never wavered from hers.
When a delightful shiver ran through her, she broke his stare to take out the linen and rip it in half. Retrieving the flagon of water from the basket, she pulled out the stopper with a pop and wet a wadded half of cloth. He gave a barely perceptible nod when she raised it in question, so she gently pressed it to his wound. The soft moan deep in his throat tugged at her heart.
She chewed her bottom lip as she gingerly moved the cloth around the edges of the wound, working her way inward as far as she dared to without causing him more pain. Except it was fairly well crusted over and not hurting him was impossible. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, as she cleaned the area around the wound. Once that was done, she had no choice but to attempt to clean the wound itself. ‘This may hurt,’ she warned.
He didn’t answer, so she chanced a glance down and found his eyes watching her, studying her. Swallowing against an unexpected feeling of breathlessness, she turned her attention back to her task. He didn’t so much as grimace when she started to clean the wound in earnest and he didn’t look away from her face.
It was a delicate task to clean the grime while making sure it didn’t start bleeding again. But after a few minutes she was satisfied that she’d done all that she could. She’d have to see Edyth about a poultice, if she could convince him to agree to come home with her. Discarding the soiled linen, she folded the clean linen and wet it through. The flesh around the eye under his injury was an angry blue and swollen. ‘Let’s keep this over your eye for a while. I hope the cool water will help the swelling.’
He’d finished the stew and placed the bowl on the brown pine needles that were his pallet. When she put the linen in place, his hand came up to cover hers. She almost gasped at the strange pleasure that skittered up her arm, before pulling her hand away. Her gaze jerked to his and she knew he’d felt it, too. He was studying her with a puzzled look.
‘You should at least rest before you move on.’
He nodded, a slight move, but he didn’t speak as he continued to watch her. His body was sagging against the tree more now than when she’d first come upon him. His eyelids were heavier and she knew that it would be but moments before sleep overtook him. She only hoped that he’d wake up.
She began to cautiously repack the items in the basket, but when she moved to set it aside, his eyes didn’t follow her. ‘Stranger,’ she called. He found her then, but he seemed to have trouble focusing, blinking several times. ‘Rest and I’ll keep vigil.’
The command hardly mattered because his large body was already sliding down to the ground. She lurched forward and barely managed to put her hands under him to break his fall, before she gently placed his head on the pine needles.
He took a deep, shaky breath, his brow furrowing a bit before he spoke again. ‘You should tell your warriors about the Dane. If there are more of them close behind, you could be in danger.’
Now that he was almost unconscious, she hoped to wait. While she didn’t think the men in her village would harm him, she wanted to give him a few hours to rest and regain strength from the nourishment, before bringing that hurdle to them. Did he sense that he wouldn’t be waking up soon?
He must have seen her hesitation, because he grabbed her wrist and his eyes opened wider in entreaty. ‘Promise you’ll tell them.’ His words were slightly slurred.
‘Aye, I’ll tell them.’ She nodded and clenched her fist tight.
His chest rose and fell in deep, even breaths and she wondered how long that would hold true. His body was on fire.
The sun was sinking low on the horizon and the foreigner hadn’t shown any signs of waking up. She’d poked, prodded and even talked to him, but he hadn’t moved. His breathing had become ragged and slow, which was when she finally convinced herself that he wasn’t going to wake up. At least not that day.
Aisly had hoped that after his rest he’d be able to at least walk inside the village with her. She had wanted to get him settled in her home before presenting him to the others. That wasn’t going to happen, though. Reluctantly she’d left him in the forest and once again had made her way to the village. This time going straight to Cuthbert’s hall, where she paused and took a deep breath before going inside.
Bollocks. She’d forgotten that today was the day the council met.
The sight of her father-in-law, Wulfric, standing at