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Inside, the gloom fell like a blanket over her head. But the child pulled her blindly deeper into the musty space where only a lurching jump sideways kept her from barking her shins on the huge, rusty anvil in the middle of the room.
“She cut herself. There’s blood.” The child’s fear trembled her voice. Her hand clutched Sabrina’s.
Threading their way between a rickety ladder and a stack of crates, they entered the smith’s storeroom. Tools hung from pegs upon the wall or lay covered in a fuzzy layer of dust on shelves and counters. In one corner leaned a broken shovel, a scythe with a bent blade, two rakes with missing tines, and a sagging burlap sack. Muffled weeping and loud snuffling came from a corner near the smashed remains of a barrel. One skinny, stockinged leg sticking out at an awkward angle.
Sabrina knelt, plucking aside the splintered staves to discover a scrawny, bedraggled, tear-stained young girl. The gash on her forehead bled all over her pinafore, but it was her ankle that would require Sabrina’s aid. Painfully swollen already and bent in what had to be an uncomfortable position. “What on earth did you do to yourself?”
She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket. Dabbed at the cut. Like most head wounds, more blood than harm.
“I was tired of being caught first. I tried hiding up there.” The child pointed to a narrow ledge some ten feet above them. Wide enough to accommodate her skinny body, but inconspicuous in the dim space.
“Here. Press this against your forehead while I examine your ankle.”
The child sniffed. No more than seven or eight, she gazed up at Sabrina with worshipful, pain-filled eyes.
“And?” Sabrina probed the ankle with gentle fingers.
The girl flinched but didn’t cry out. “I used the barrel to climb up, but it broke, and I fell.”
“That ankle will have to be set. Here, can you . . .” Sabrina tried levering the girl up, but she moaned, new tears streaking her bloody face.
The floor creaked as someone entered behind them. “Let me help.”
Of course. It had to be Daigh. Just his voice sent a buzzing skitter up her spine. The room shrinking and shifting until his presence took up every square inch. She hoped the embarrassing flush of awareness didn’t show on her face. Angry at him for her own silly reaction. “Is this your idea of a game?” she hissed. “Stop following me.”
“I didn’t follow.” He drew her eye to the wood splitter he carried before leaning it against the wall.
Stepping closer, he scooped the child into his arms. For a moment, the obsidian gaze brightened. A rough-edged smile tipped a corner of his mouth. “What’s this? No tears now. Be a brave lass.”
The child hiccoughed and scrubbed at her eyes with the back of one hand, though whether it was due to Daigh’s words or stunned awe at the grim-faced giant carrying her, Sabrina couldn’t tell.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she charged.
“Helping, or will you carry her yourself?” He made as if to hand her the child.
She stepped back. “She’s too heavy. I’d hurt her ankle if I tried.”
“Then out of my way so I can.”
He didn’t wait for her answer. Simply ducked his head beneath the doorway, leaving Sabrina hurrying after him, fuming and grateful and furious and excited.
In the hospital ward, he laid his burden upon a cot. Stood back with a reassuring nod.
“What’s this? New trouble?” Sister Ainnir approached in a whirl of gray, glancing between Daigh and Sabrina, lips pressed together, eyes gleaming in her wrinkled face. Snorting, she knelt to examine the little girl’s ankle and the gash on her head. “These people keep me running from dawn to dusk with their complaints and their troubles. Half the time they don’t even heed my advice. I’ve not seen my bed for the space of ten minutes together since they began arriving. I’m too old for this.”
“Let me.” Sabrina tried taking the roll of bandages from the priestess’s hand.
Sister Ainnir snatched them back with a sharp look. “It’s no longer your place.” Sabrina blinked stupidly as the woman softened her tone. “Ard-siúr’s orders. You’re to be treated as a guest until your brother arrives to claim you.” She put a gentle hand on Sabrina’s shoulders. “I’d have you back in a wink if I could. You know that.”
“But—”
She shooed Sabrina along as if she were no older than the child before them. “Run along, my lady. I’ll fix the moppet up and send her back to her parents.”
A guest? No longer allowed to heal? To help? Aidan claiming her? What was she? A stray puppy?
The words piled on her chest like stone after stone. Making her imminent exile real. She would have to leave. And this time, she knew there would be no returning. She would be taken to Belfoyle and there she would remain until Aidan chose to loosen his restraints upon her. After her escape from Dublin, he’d probably lock her in and throw away the key. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The walls closed in around her.
Warm hands settled on her shoulders. A voice droned in her ear. And she found herself propelled out of the scrubbed infirmary into the clear bleached light of day. A cool wind chilled her face. Snapped her from the downward spiral of her panic. She drew in a quick gasping breath, salty tears sliding into the corners of her mouth. “Oh gods, what have I done?”
