“Thank you,” she said again when they were done.
Clara gave a tired smile. “Let’s hope we never have to do that again.”
Aoife nodded. “Tell Lord Halverton I’ve a headache. I won’t be joining him for dinner.”
“I’ll bring breakfast up to you here, and I’ll tell the scullery maid not to come in.” Clara paused at the door. “You should barricade it behind me.”
When she was gone, Aoife pushed the chair against the handle as instructed.
Cormac hadn’t stirred since he passed out. Her bracelet lay beside his head on the pillow and she quickly slipped it back on. Her wrist had felt empty without it.
She lay beside him, listening to the rise and fall of his breathing, as she had done in the treetop. Was that only two weeks ago?
This time she was too scared to touch him and listened from a distance. This time his breathing wasn’t deep and rhythmic but shallow and strained. This time she didn’t listen for comfort. She listened because she was afraid it might stop.
She lay there for a long time, afraid to sleep. When her eyes closed, she forced them open again, struggled out of the bed and walked the perimeter of the room, murmuring a prayer to the Sheedar to keep the evil spirits away. The pattern repeated again and again and again.
Near dawn, exhaustion clawed at her. She sank onto the bed, counting each shallow rise and fall of his chest.
She didn’t remember closing her eyes.
Chapter 19
Aoife woke to a soft touch on her shoulder.
“Someone’s at the door,” Cormac whispered, his voice barely audible.
For a heartbeat she thought he’d dreamt it, then the faint knock came again. She slipped from the bed, pulling on a nightgown. “One moment,” she called.
“It’s only me,” came Clara’s muffled reply.
Aoife moved the chair from the door and opened it. Clara slipped inside, a tray balanced carefully in her hands.
“Lord Halverton sends his regards,” she said. “He hopes you’re feeling better soon. He’s certain it’s the fright from yesterday.”
Cormac shifted slightly against the pillows. “You’re the one from last night,” he said, voice hoarse, breathing laboured. “Thank you.”
Clara blinked at him, taking in the colour that had returned to his face. “I’m pleased to see you alive,” she said honestly, setting the tray down. She gave a quick nod and slipped out again, closing the door behind her.
Aoife took a bite of an apple and offered it to Cormac. He refused. A glare from her did nothing to change his mind.
“In that case,” she said, setting the apple on the tray and placing it on the floor. “Lie still so I can check your bandages.”
She lifted the dressing as gently as she could, but Cormac still fought to hold back a hiss of pain.
“Sorry.”
The wound looked good, if you could call a gaping hole of burnt skin good.
“So,” Cormac said after a moment, watching as she worked. “Was it really as bad as all that?”
“Oh, you know…” She reached for a fresh poultice, her hands shaking as she pressed it against the wound, then secured the bandage. Cormac’s right hand found hers, gripping it, steadying the tremor that ran through her.
“I’m here. I’m all right,” he told her.
Aoife tried to smile, but it slipped from her face at once. Tears pricked her eyes, and she looked away to hide them.
“You lost so much blood I thought…” she broke off. The tears came freely now. “You nearly died.”
