“Aye,” he said. “That’s why I come here.”
He moved to unfasten the bags from the horse, setting them carefully upon the grass. Arianna lingered, uncertain what to do with her hands. The wind tugged at her cloak, and she felt suddenly idle, a spectator while he worked.
Ian began assembling the small tent with efficient movements, driving pegs into the soft earth. He worked with ease, sleeves pushed back to reveal corded forearms marked with old scars. Arianna shifted her weight, disliking the feeling of uselessness creeping over her.
“Is there aught I can do?” she asked finally.
He glanced up at her, surprised. “Aye,” he said after a moment. “Gather some wood for the fire.”
Her chin lifted. “Gladly.”
“Daenae wander far,” he added, his tone firm. “The ground dips in places.”
“I’ll be careful,” she assured him.
She moved toward the edge of the clearing, scanning for fallen branches. The meadow gave way to scattered trees and thicker undergrowth, the scent of moss rising as she stepped into the shade. She gathered a few small branches, cradling them in her arms, pleased to be contributing.
“Ye’ll nae be the only one capable out here,” she muttered to herself.
A bird startled from a bush, and she laughed softly at her own jumpiness. Determined to prove herself steady, she ventured a little farther than she had intended. The trees grew closer together, and the ground beneath her boots felt uneven.
“One more bundle,” she said quietly, bending to retrieve a thicker branch.
Her foot slipped.
The earth gave way beneath her with sudden, cruel swiftness. She cried out as she tumbled downward, the wood scattering from her arms. Dirt and leaves scraped against her hands as she landed hard in a shallow pit hidden by brush.
“Och!” she gasped, pain flaring through her ankle.
“Arianna!” Ian’s voice rang sharp through the trees.
“I’m here!” she called back, wincing as she tried to stand. “I’ve only… fallen.”
Moments later, his boots pounded through the undergrowth. He appeared at the edge of the concealed hole, fury and fear etched plainly across his face. “What in God’s name were ye thinkin’?” he demanded.
“I was gatherin’ wood,” she replied breathlessly. “As ye asked.”
“I told ye nae to wander far,” he growled, dropping to his knees at the edge.
“I didnae mean to,” she insisted. “The ground simply vanished.”
He extended a hand. “Can ye stand?”
She attempted to rise, but pain shot through her ankle, and she sucked in a sharp breath. “I believe I’ve twisted it.”
His jaw tightened. “Stay still.”
He slid carefully down into the pit beside her, his presence filling the small space. “Ye could’ve broken more than yer pride,” he muttered.
“Me pride remains intact,” she said weakly.
“Aye?” he challenged, one brow lifting despite his concern.
“Mostly,” she amended.
He crouched before her, hands gentle as he examined her ankle. His touch was careful, almost reverent, as he pressed lightly along the swelling joint. “Does that hurt?” he asked.
“Aye,” she hissed.
