She woke, her heart pounding in her chest, her eyes full of darkness. She would have moved, but her dream held her captive. All she could do was lie there and struggle to suck in breath.
She looked around her desperately. All her companions slept peacefully. Camid was not there; he was obviously on guard. Not that he could have helped her anyway.
Miach, however, sat across the fire from her, awake and watching her. Without saying a word, he rose and silently came around to where she lay. He sat down at her head, then stuck his feet out toward the fire.
"Was it bad?" he asked quietly.
"Very."
He paused for quite some time. "I'll stay here with you, if you like."
She was appalled by how comforting a thought that was. It was quite a while before she managed to say anything at all.
"My thanks."
"My pleasure."
"Wake me in an hour or two and I'll watch."
He put his hand briefly on her head. "Morgan, I have much to think on this night. I have no need of sleep."
"Wake me," she commanded.
"Hmmm," he said. "Go to sleep."
She didn't think she would, but somehow his presence was far more comforting than she wanted to admit.
She fell asleep without trouble and did not dream.
Chapter Thirteen
Miach yawned. He didn't like to admit to weakness, but he was fast coming to the conclusion that he would have to sleep eventually or he would be of no use at all. He wondered if anyone would notice if he slipped off to the deserted barn they were using to shelter the horses. Surely there was a scrap of floor there he could use without being trampled on.
Besides, he suspected that Morgan might be in there, seeing to the horses, and in spite of his instincts for self-preservation, he wanted to see her. Just to make sure she was well, of course. It was the least he could do. He had no selfish motives.
None at all.
He looked at Paien. "I'll go check on the horses. "
Paien lifted one eyebrow, but didn't argue. He merely waved Miach away and returned to listening to Camid recount an adventure that involved a handful of brave dwarves and a disgruntled troll. It was difficult to leave that engaging tale, but Miach forced himself.
He left the fire and walked to the barn, considering the spectacular steeds housed therein that had cost him that thousand-year enchantment of sweetness and Morgan several days of her own particular soft of magic. Though his bit had drained him and left him feeling a little sour, it had been worth it. He would have done it again in a moment, for it had given him a handful of days with Morgan of Melksham all to himself.
He came to a sudden halt.
He might have skidded. One tended to do that, he supposed, when one came to such a stop on the hay-strewn floor of a barn. He had, he had to admit, expected to find Morgan here, brushing her horse's mane.
He hadn't, in all honesty, expected to find her here brushing her own.
He should have turned right then and walked away. He should have walked from the barn, bid his brother good fortune, changed himself into a hawk of uncommon swiftness and fled for home. He would have been safe there, in his cold tower of stone, surrounded by books and potions and herbs drying in bunches that only he knew the purpose for. It would have been the most intelligent thing he could have done. It would have been the safest.
Instead, he found himself walking forward.
Fool that he was.
Morgan looked over her shoulder at him. "Fretting over the horses?" she asked.
"I don't fret," he managed.
