“Thank ye.”
A smile cracked the dried mud around his lips. “Ye’re welcome. If it’s all right I’ll walk beside ye in case ye get dizzy again.”
She nodded. Having him close at hand sounded like a good idea.
“All right
mohr fear
, let’s go,” he said to Dubh.
The stallion’s ears flicked back in his direction but he didn’t move until Neala made a clucking noise at him. The fact that Bren had referred to Dubh as a big man in the old language made Neala smile. Outside of her own home she almost never heard anyone use the old tongue. Danes were known to kill people just for speaking it. Her delight faded as soon as Dubh started walking. The movement was slight but it was more than enough to send fresh waves of agony through her.
“I shall tell ye the story of the geese that got away, to keep yer mind off the pain,” Bren said.
He proceeded to tell an old tale that she hadn’t heard in years. His voice was calm and soothing, with a cadence to it that drew her in until she felt like she was experiencing the story. Such fantastic storytelling was considered a gift among her people and right now it was one she deeply appreciated.
As he talked, his hand came to rest on her leg above her knee. The intimate touch, not to mention the familiarity with someone she had just met, was completely inappropriate. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him to move his hand. Like before, his power seeped into her, mixing with her own. It took the edge off the pain. While it was a strange sensation, it was a very welcome one that made the ride tolerable. When she could unclench her teeth she had every intention of asking him all about how he did that with his power.
3
The ride to Bren’s house was blessedly short. The pain never subsided enough to allow Neala to talk. In fact, it was getting hard to think. Despite the strange comfort Bren’s touch brought, her entire leg throbbed, making it hard to sit still.
The fog had started to settle and she could see a cottage through the trees. The path they were traveling on led right to it. Thankfully, it didn’t look like the kind of a place a fiann would hang out. A sliver of suspicion had remained until now. The cottage rose like a stone hill out of the trees, looking completely natural as if it had always been part of the forest. Yellow and blue flowers blanketed the ground all around it. Vines dripping with purple clumps of wisteria crawled up the window frames and clung to the roof.
Bren took them around the side of the cottage to a small barn with an attached paddock. He locked Dubh in the paddock and lifted Neala tenderly from his back. Cradled in his arms, she could almost forget that her foot hurt so bad it felt like it was going to fall off. She’d never been in a boy’s arms and he was so gentle. As he closed the gate behind them—handling her like she weighed nothing—Neala told Dubh to stay. The stallion paced the fence line but didn’t challenge it.
“Ma! I need yer help!” Bren called as they approached the cottage.
The front door opened and revealed a tiny blond woman framed by the glow from within the house. She was so dainty she almost resembled a fairy. Neala wondered if the pain was altering her perception. There was a golden glow around the woman that had nothing to do with the light from inside. As they grew closer Neala realized it was her aura of power. Another druid.
“Bring her in. Lay her in the front room,” she said, stepping aside to clear the way.
Bren turned sideways and took great care not to hit Neala’s foot on the doorway. She clung to him and buried her face against his hard chest, fighting against a wave of pain. He laid her on a long wooden bench covered in enough black sheep’s wool that it made it quite soft. Warmth from the nearby open fire enveloped her, making her realize how cold she was. Bren stayed by her shoulder as his ma pulled up a small stool and sat near Neala’s leg.
For a moment she looked at Neala’s ankle then she met her gaze. Her pale hazel eyes were filled with kindness.
“What’s yer name, dear?” she asked.
“Neala,” she said, this time purposefully leaving off her last name.
“It’s nice to meet ye Neala, I’m Dierdre. I’m going to have to remove yer boot and it’s going to hurt. Are ye ready?” she asked.
She wasn’t but she nodded anyway. Dierdre started to unlace Neala’s boot. Slivers of pain shot through her with every gentle tug on the laces, but she managed not to cry out. The slivers collided and felt like they exploded as Dierdre pulled the boot off. Neala’s back bowed off the bench and this time she did cry out. A warm hand gripped her shoulder. By the comforting feel of the energy she knew it was Bren. Without thinking, she reached up and grabbed hold of his hand.
“I’m sorry. In a moment all that pain will be gone,” Dierdre said.
A warm tingling started to flow into her ankle, seeping down into her skin, muscle, and finally the bone. The pain eased slowly until all that remained of it was a bad memory. A relief so powerful followed that it brought tears to her eyes. She wiggled her toes and when that didn’t hurt she moved her ankle. Still no pain. She hadn’t expected any but she had wanted to be careful. A huge sigh slid from her as she relaxed into the bench.
Each druid healer had a different level of healing ability. At least that’s what Neala had experienced with her parents. Her da could heal minor injuries while her ma could practically bring someone back from the brink of death. Not knowing Deirdre’s level of power, Neala had been skeptical. From the way her ankle felt though, Dierdre was quite good.
“Thank ye,” Neala said.
A huge smile spread across the woman’s face, lighting up her eyes. “Anythin’ for a friend of Brendan’s,” she said as she glanced at their clasped hands.
Heat rushed to Neala’s face. Both she and Bren drew their hands away at the same time and Neala sat up. That was
not
the impression she had wanted to give his ma. Dierdre gave them a knowing smile and walked to the kitchen.
“Ye’re a mess Brendan. Go wash up, the barrel is warm. Neala and I will get lunch on the table. I can’t have her go off without eatin’,” she called back.
Bren fetched Neala’s boot and handed it to her. With the blush still warming her cheeks she was afraid to look up, but he waited until she did. He gave her a crooked smile and a helpless shrug before rushing out the front door. It seemed odd that he was going outside. Most people warmed their water over the fireplace. Neala pulled her boot on and laced it up, grateful beyond measure for the complete lack of pain.
Even though she lived with druid healers she still appreciated what they could do. Her parents didn’t use their power lightly. It had to be a pretty serious need. They claimed the less they used it, the smaller their chances of being discovered were. Neala had grown up healing the old-fashioned way. It was not something she agreed with and she’d never been happy about it.
The wonderful aroma of simmering potato soup drove away all thoughts save for how hungry she was. Things had been so uncomfortable during breakfast at home she had barely eaten a thing. The kitchen was just big enough for her and Dierdre to both stand next to the table. Without a word Dierdre started handing her bowls and spoons. Neala set three places around the table because that was all the earthenware she was given. It made her wonder about Bren’s da but she decided not to ask.
“Where did ye and Bren meet?” Dierdre asked.
“In the forest,” Neala admitted.
“Well it’s a delight to meet ye. We don’t get many guests,” she said.
The woman continued to chat idly about the weather and how her garden was doing as they moved about the table. There was a casualness to her that made her easy to talk to. They had set out bread, poured drinks, and dished out the soup, and still Bren hadn’t returned.
“Would ye mind fetchin’ him, dear? He’s just around the back of the house,” Dierdre said.
“Of course,” Neala said as she started for the door.
“Just follow the stone pathway. It will lead ye right to him,” she said.
Neala stepped out into the cloud-filtered sunlight to find the fog had lifted, leaving everything glistening. Blues, yellow, and purples of the flowers around Dierdre’s home were made more vibrant by the dew that dripped from them. The sweet scent of pine needles was thick upon the air. For a moment Neala let her control slip so she could see the energy around her. Every living thing glowed with the energy that was its life force; the trees, the flowers, even the grass. Different plants were different colors.
But she wasn’t looking for the plants’ energy. She was looking for the energy trail Bren had left behind. And she saw it in the form of glowing footsteps like a stain upon the stones. They were starting to fade but she could still make them out well enough. They led her around the side of the cottage where Dierdre had said they would. When she passed between the cottage and barn Dubh called out to her. She paused by the fence to scratch his nose. When she left him and he went back to nibbling on the grass in the paddock, though he kept one eye upon her.
The stone pathway led her through a maze of herbs and spices that grew in organized pots and planting beds. There were chives, heather, dill, lavender, bay, rosemary and a few plants Neala didn’t recognize. This explained the spicy smell of Bren’s cloak. The path ended and the herb garden gave way to an open grassy area. A rocky hill rose behind the house. Between Neala and the hill was something that stopped her in her tracks.
A small enclosure, its four foot high walls built of stacked rocks stood before her. A length of metal stretched from a water barrel perched upon the hill to a bucket that hung over the enclosure. Water was spraying out from the bottom of the bucket to pour over Bren’s head. Neala watched in fascination as water washed the soap from his hair, chasing it down his chest. The rock wall covered him from the waist down but that didn’t stop her from blushing so hot that it felt like her face was on fire.
Bren’s eyes opened and fixed on her. Neala’s heart tried to lunge up her throat. She turned away so fast that she nearly tripped over her own feet. But it wasn’t fast enough to miss the crooked smile he gave her.
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t know ye were…” she couldn’t finish the sentence. The word naked just refused to cross her lips.
“Tis all right. I took too long. The water was just so warm I couldn’t help it,” he said.
The sound of water falling onto flesh and stone ceased and she heard footsteps. There was no way she was going to turn around. Her mind struggled to fix on the strange part of what he’d said. It was hard with the image of his naked upper body burning behind her eyelids. The shirt had not done him justice.
“Warm water?” she asked.
Cloth rustled and she heard footsteps again.
“
Tá
come on, I’ll show ye,” he said as his hand closed over hers.
It was all she could do to fight the instinct to jump. His warm, callused fingers sent a thrill through her that brought up the image of his bare chest again. That coupled with his use of the old language—even if it was just the word yes—charmed her completely. She almost resisted his pull but found she didn’t have the will or desire to. Turning around, she found him clothed in a pair of clean black breeches and a tan tunic. Water darkened his brown hair and dripped from its tips onto his shoulders. Neala realized she was staring and looked quickly down, thankful for her long curtain of hair that hid her.
Wonder banished her embarrassment as he led her to the water barrel with the strange metal piece coming out of it. The barrel itself was metal and a fire burned beneath it. The long metal piece sticking out of it was like a small trough that carried water down to the bucket that hung over the small enclosure. Bren pointed to the fire beneath the barrel.
“The fire heats the water in the barrel, the trough carries the water to the bucket, and the holes in the bucket let the water shower down on ye,” he said.
“It’s brilliant. Did ye make it?” she asked.
A huge smile spread across his face. She had been right. Without all the mud he was very attractive. It embarrassed her a bit to realize this was the first time she had looked at his face since finding him back here.
“I did. When I’m not rescuin’ beautiful lasses, I’m a blacksmith. I love creatin’ things with metal,” he said.
Though she was deeply touched, Neala laughed to try and make light of his comment. No one aside from her da had ever called her beautiful.
Lifting her eyes to his face was no easy feat. Something hanging around his neck caught the sunlight, and her gaze. It was a silver-colored pendant that consisted of cords of metal woven in and around each other in an intricate knot work. Neala had seen designs like it before, though never in metal like that.
The knots were part of their ancient culture, one that was quickly disappearing due to the oppression of the Danes and other invaders. Different knots meant different things. She recognized this one, it meant family.
“That’s lovely. Did ye make it?” she asked.
It drew her in and she reached for it without realizing what she was doing. Energy radiated from it as if it was imbued with power. Before she could touch it Bren caught her hand and held it. His grip was gentle but the intent was clear, he didn’t want her to touch the pendant.
“It was the first thing me da and I made together,” he said. Sadness filled the soft tone of his voice, making it thick.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up a painful subject,” she said. That same tone darkened her own voice and she hoped he didn’t hear it.
Keeping hold of her hand, Bren started to walk down the flagstone path. His boldness made her heart pounded faster. Most lads weren’t so forward. She wasn’t sure if she liked it or not, but she didn’t pull her hand away.
“Don’t be. Everyone is afraid to talk about it and I get tired of that. I want to talk about it. Ye lost someone too, didn’t ye?” he asked, looking at her with piercing eyes that somehow managed to be gentle.
That old, familiar pain tugged at her. “Me brother,” she admitted.