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He stood, shoving the napkin back into his pocket. “We both trusted him once. We were both wrong.”
“You saved Jock and the other soldiers.”
They watched the messenger heading down the drive toward the gates, carrying a pouch with letters and payment intended for Evan. Conor wasn’t surprised at Ellery’s comment. He’d felt her curiosity since the stables, and she’d been studying him on the sly for at least an hour. Each time he’d tried catching her at it, her gaze slid away. He’d allowed her the freedom. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had stared. And she had more reason than most. She’d seen him at his best and most definitely at his worst. It was really only a wonder she was bothering with him at all.
He knelt to fondle Mab’s ears. It gave him distance to think before he spoke. “He told you, did he? He loves that story, though it gets more exciting at every telling. Did I glow in this one? Or save an entire regiment?”
“No. Did you?”
His lips twitched. “No. There were only a few that wouldn’t survive. I gave them a chance, that’s all.” He risked a glance up at her.
She stood awkward and unsure, her head cocked to the side as if considering. “Like you did me when you took my wounds?”
“Aye. It was my fault you were hurt.” He looked out over the lawn. Afraid to meet her eyes.
Mab rose and stretched. Conor did the same, though his head spun and spots burst in front of him until the dizziness passed. He healed, but it was damn slow for his liking.
“Does Jock know?”
Ellery’s question caught him off-guard. “Know what?” he asked. Harsher than he’d intended.
Her lips thinned, her eyes darkening to slate. “Does Jock know you’re an Other?”
He sensed the annoyance in her voice. If it kept her at arm’s length, he’d live with it. “He has to know by now, though it’s never come up. He’s been remarkably reluctant to speak to me of what went on that day.”
“Is he an Other?”
“I don’t know.” When she looked skeptical, he laughed.
“He’s never said, though with his way with horseflesh, he could be. Being Other doesn’t always mean wizardry. It’s sometimes so subtle that you don’t even know yourself. Like Ruan’s weathersense or Jamys’s healing or…”
He swallowed his words. He couldn’t say why, but he’d keep what he knew of Ellery to himself. For now. What was one more secret among so many?
Chapter Sixteen
“Ellery?” Morgan’s knock was as brisk as her manner. “I’ve come with some gowns.” She strode into Ellery’s chamber dressed in a skirt slit for riding, leather breeches, tall riding boots beneath. A short military-cut jacket fit snugly across shoulders wider than normal for her slender frame. Her fiery copper hair hung gorgeously roped and braided, an odd feminine vanity in someone that seemed immune to all other female conceits. She tossed the clothing across the bed. “Not many, mind you. I’m not a follower of Ackermann’s, but they should fit you well enough.”
“It’s lovely.” Ellery held up a gown of soft forest green, trimmed in ermine with a wrap to match, noting the frosty look that passed across Morgan’s face like a shadow.
“The others are more day to day. Except for the silk.” The frost turned diamond-hard, and her mouth thinned to an angry line.
“They’re all perfect.” Ellery wondered at Morgan’s reaction, but didn’t ask. In her life, she’d learned not to bother others with her problems, and they wouldn’t bother her. There were too many tragedies around an army fire. It was best not to know.
“I won’t be needing them anymore.” Grief smoldered in her sherry-gold eyes for a moment, and then it was gone, leaving Ellery doubting if she’d seen it at all.
“Well, thank you. Again.” she stammered, unsure of where to go from here with this conversation.
Instead of taking her leave, Morgan lingered. Not comfortably. She seemed ill at ease as if womanly chats weren’t high on her list of pleasantries. Finally, she cleared her throat. “Conor hasn’t rested since breakfast. Gram’s worried. He’s barely healed from the mage sickness.”
Ellery’s earlier fury returned, burdened now with her guilt at the weakness that set her heart drumming every time the man so much as looked at her. “If he wants to make himself sick, let him. He’s a man grown.”
Morgan stiffened, her stare intense. Now she was the one who sought answers. “Jamys said he was close to death. I’ve only seen him worse once. After his struggle with Asher in Sp
ain.”
Ellery paused in the act of shaking the wrinkles out of the last of the gowns, tension curling through her. She fought to keep her voice even. “In the chapel of San Salas?”
“Aye,” Morgan answered. “He’s told you of it?”
