“As am I,” Ryan concurred.
Catarina fetched a pot of salve and brought it over to Ewan. Angry and hurt, he spread the salve over his bleeding and torn wrists that throbbed and ached.
Nora seemed to have forgotten all about him.
And why shouldn’t she?
Ryan was her betrothed.
Ryan would be her husband.
By the way she was acting, it was what she wanted. Nothing like a near-death to make a woman realize where her affections truly lay...
Nora paused in her fussing over Ryan. She looked back to see Ewan with Catarina.
There was a pinched look to his features. A pain in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.
She left Ryan to check on him. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.”
She looked down at his raw wrists that were now covered in white salve. “Do they hurt overmuch?”
He shook his head.
Nora reached for Catarina’s sewing basket. “Here, you go lie down and I’ll?—”
“I think it best that we get moving,” Ewan said, interrupting her. “Viktor, hand me your sword. I’ll take the seat on the wagon since I know this area best.”
Viktor nodded and unstrapped his sword from his hips, then handed it over.
“Ewan,” Nora said, her voice thick with warning. “You are wounded.”
His tone was curt and cold. “I’ll live.”
Whatever was wrong with him?
She glanced back to where Ryan was glaring at Ewan.
Surely, Ewan didn’t think...
Nay. Ewan had to have more sense than that. He couldn’t be jealous over Ryan the Toad. Surely he realized the only reason she’d gone to Ryan was the fact that she was relieved he hadn’t died.
Nora started toward the front of the wagon.
“You need to be in the back, Nora,” Ewan said sharply. “We’ll move quicker that way.”
“How so?”
“Just get in the back.” His gruff tone offended her. She hadn’t seen him like this since the first day they’d been together.
Where was her gentle bear?
Her feelings hurt, she did as he said.
Fine. If he wanted to go off and sulk, so be it. They’d have to stop soon and eat. By then he should be more level headed and she would check and clean his wound.
If he wanted to be a baby until then, so be it.
