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He watched her with growing anger as she worked. Grabbing up a leather drawstring bag from her traveling case. Pouring out a small amount of red powder into a cup. Adding water from the basin on the washstand. Every action abrupt. Meant to show her displeasure and her scorn.
Well, fuck that. It was her fault. She shouldn’t have wandered off alone. If she’d stayed put like he’d told her, he wouldn’t have had to chase after her. Wouldn’t have had to take on an entire damned gang of thieves to save her skin. It was her fault. Not his. And he’d be damned if he’d play the chastened schoolboy for her.
Rescued? By Morgan? Not bloody likely.
“Here. Drink this.” She shoved the cup of thick, viscous liquid at him.
He wrinkled his nose. “What is it?”
“Trust me. You don’t want to know.” She tipped it up, making him swallow. “But it will speed the healing charm.”
He gagged, his fragile stomach revolting at the smoky-chalky-pepper taste of whatever she’d just forced down his throat. It was worse than Brodie’s hair-of-the-dog elixir, and that was saying something.
“Lie back. This may hurt before it’s over. Now, let me see the wound.” She pushed his hand away. Moved aside his necklace chain. As her fingers brushed the cross, she jumped, her eyes widening in surprise.
“What’s wrong?”
She pursed her lips, her eyes staring beyond him for a moment, and then she was back. “Hmm? What? It was nothing. Just a…” She fumbled, obviously troubled. “I thought I saw…It was nothing.” She frowned. Once more all business.
He shivered. When had the room grown so cold? And when had the lights gone so dim?
She examined the stab wound. Smelled it. Ran her fingers around the flesh where the knife had penetrated before striking bone.
Clenching the blood-soaked rag in his hand, he fought the sudden urge to vomit. “A surgeon too?”
She shot him a long-suffering look. “I have a little healing ability. Enough to do what needs to be done.”
He waited for the scathing words to follow, but she’d passed through fury and come out cold and contained. He wasn’t sure he liked this version better.
He let himself relax under her slow, steady scrutiny. In fact, it was hard not to. Lethargy weighted his limbs. His chill was gone. Replaced by a warmth spreading outward from his shoulder. Penetrating through his system. He closed his eyes, letting the pain recede into the background. Whatever she’d given him to drink was potent stuff.
“Airmid gwithyas a’n fenten. Ev sawya. Dian Cecht medhyk a’n spryon. Ev sawya.”
“What did you say?” His words came out slurred and thready.
“Shhhh.” Her voice was low and soft and captured the memory of past times. Lost moments. His body reacted with ridiculous ease, his groin tightening in instant arousal. If he weren’t floating in a drug-induced haze, he’d have been embarrassed as hell.
A sultry-sexy laugh met his ears. “You must not be hurt as badly as I thought.”
He tried grabbing her wrist. Pulling her down next to him. She smelled so good. And he’d missed her so much. If only she’d waited for him to explain. If only he’d been able to. But she’d run. And he’d let her go. And the chance for the two of them had slipped away—if it had ever been.
She yanked her arm away. “Lie still. I told you this might hurt before it’s over. And you may feel sick and dizzy after. It takes some people that way.”
The warmth increased. Grew hot. Intensified into a cauterizing burn that started deep in the injured tissue and muscle. He grimaced. Bit his lip. Groaned. Chills and fever swamped him simultaneously. The burning became unbearable as if she held an open flame to his skin. He refused to cry out, but his back arched off the bed. His nails dug into his palms.
She held him down. Kneeled across his thighs to keep him steady. And still the words kept going. “Leuvyow. Hwythow.” A drone that went on and on, sh
ooting slashes of agony into him at every syllable. “Goes. Keher.” Far worse than the pain of the actual stabbing. “Ev sawya.”
And then it ended.
His limbs trembled as if palsied. His breathing came rapid and shallow.
She rose, shoving her hair off her face with the back of her arm. Walked to the basin to pour him a second cup of water. This time with no added hallucinogens. “Drink it all. And then sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
A few drops made it past his lips before exhaustion overcame him. His last dismal thought—she was right. He’d failed.
Chapter 7
