Page 30

Grianne Nixon knelt down beside the pallet, careful of her aching joints. The man lying on the straw tried to lift himself but fell back, one hand clutching his bandaged head.

"Lie still," she said in the toneless voice of the deaf.

His lips moved, and though she could not hear his words, the meaning was plain enough.

"My grandson pulled ye from the river," she said, offering him a spoonful of hot broth. "I've been tending to ye since."

His lips formed the words, "How long?"

"About a fortnight," she answered, putting the spoon to his lips. He accepted the broth hungrily, but before the bowl was empty he lay back and fell asleep.

She rose stiffly to her feet and shuffled back to the fire, picking up the torn plaid the man had worn and squinting as she threaded her needle.

Not a word of thanks did he think to give me, she thought, shaking her head. But then, what could you expect from a Maxwell?

CHAPTER 15

Deirdre woke with a start, heart pounding in her breast, Maeve's panicked screams ringing in her ears.

"What?" she said, straining to see into the darkness. "Maeve—"

Maeve twisted beside her on the forest floor, tangled in her cloak, her small fists flailing wildly. Deirdre caught her hands and held them close. "What is it, Maeve? Are you hurt?"

"Ugly!" the child cried. "No—get away—"

"It's just a nightmare."

Alistair's voice came, deep and calm, as he bent over Maeve, thrusting his dagger back into its sheathe.

"Wake up, love," Deirdre pleaded. "'Tis a dream, no more, it cannot hurt you—"

"No!" Maeve sobbed. "Ugly! Mam!"

"I'm right here, love, just beside you. Wake up now."

The child stopped struggling and lay very still. "Mam?"

"That's right," Deirdre breathed. "I'm here."

Maeve was crying in soft, heartbroken sobs that tore at Deirdre's chest. "What is it, baby?" she asked.

"The man," Maeve sobbed. "Ugly."

"Hush, now," Deirdre said. "It was just a dream, it wasn't real."

Maeve twisted from beneath her hand, her breath coming in great noisy gulps. "No!" she cried. "Real—"

"Was it a monster, then?" Alistair asked.

The child trembled in Deirdre's arms. "Monster."

"Ah, well, then you've naught to fear," he said. "I've fought more monsters than you can count. Why, there was one I met just the other day, a great hairy fellow with long arms and huge white fangs. But after we'd fought a bit he ran off, crying for his mam."

"He did?" Maeve gulped.

"Oh, aye. And then there was the other one, a huge great dragon with red-gold scales and teeth as long as my arm, sitting on the biggest pile of gold you've ever seen. He riddled me three times and three times I answered. Dragons are no' so clever as they think they are," he added confidentially. "The trick is to keep your sword to hand and your wits about ye. We parted well enough in the end, for I let him keep his gold, all but a pretty bauble I took, just in case one day I should meet a lady who needed one."

Maeve's body was soft and heavy against Deirdre's now. "Dragon," she whispered drowsily. "Giants?"