Page 56 of Bound to a Highland Beast
Walking through the forest, Tiernan held Isabeau close to him. In the distance, dawn began to break in the horizon. Around them, in the branches of the oaks and the firs, the birds started their morning song. And Tiernan may not have known what awaited him once they got back to the castle, but as long as he had Isabeau by his side, he didn’t fear it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Isabeau had lost all track of time. Hours must have passed since they had left the clearing, she and Tiernan hand in hand as they made their way through the forest. The sky was a bright steel grey now, the sun shining brightly behind the clouds that hid it, illuminating the world from the outside. They had long since left the forest, walking instead down a well-worn path, but neither had they met any other travelers nor was there any sign of a village or town nearby.
They had no horse, no food, no gold. But worst of all, they were both covered from head to toe in blood, long since dried out and turned a dark crimson, tacky and thick on their skin and hair.
Isabeau didn’t know how they could possibly get any help like this. At best, people would avoid them. At worst?—
She didn’t know what the worst scenario could be. Getting attacked, she supposed, by someone who didn’t know aboutTiernan and his reputation. After all, in their state, he was hardly recognizable.
All this time, they had walked in silence, neither of them knowing what to say to fill it. What was there to say after what they had seen, they had been through? If there was anyone who understood it as well as she did, it was Tiernan, but that only meant that words were unnecessary; insufficient even. Their silence was comfortable, easy, if a little weighted by everything they had gone through that night. There was nothing to be said. Their experience transcended words.
Only when Isabeau heard the bubbling flow of water did she come to a halt. That entire time, she had pushed through, walking next to Tiernan without protest even as her entire body ached, even as her legs threatened to give out at any moment. But now the promise of some fresh water was too tempting to resist. Not only did they need to quench their thirst after walking for so long, but they could finally wash off the worst of the blood from their bodies and their clothes. It couldn’t compare to a fresh change of garments, but it was better than nothing. Isabeau would rather delay their travel rather than stay like this, covered in the blood of men she knew were now long gone.
“Come,” she said, her voice sounding hoarse and strange even to her ears after not using it for so long. Her throat ached too after all that screaming, after all the smoke from the fires and the torches, and she could hardly get the words out. “There’s a creek or a river or… or somethin’ over there.”
Tiernan looked at her as though he could hardly comprehend what she was saying, and Isabeau couldn’t blame him. He had fought for both their lives; he had seen her almost die time and time again that night, and she thought that was bound to leave an impression behind. No matter how strong Tiernan was, no matter how many times he had stared death in the face, fighting and winning battle after battle, the previous night’s savagery would not be easily released from his mind.
Gently, Isabeau guided him to the edge of the path, following the sound of water. Tiernan followed her, their fingers intertwined, their hands never once parting. They made their way through bushes and thorns, twisted roots and large rocks that threatened to trip their feet, the sound of water getting louder with every step. Soon, the creek revealed itself before them; a long, winding rush of water that snaked its way through the woods and down the hill to the valley below. It wasn’t very deep nor wide, but it was enough for them to bathe and so clean that the waters sparkled brightly under the morning light.
Upon seeing it, Tiernan let out a sigh of relief. He and Isabeau made their way to the muddy bank, her feet sinking in the soft earth as she walked. The air around them smelled of wildflowers and fragrant, freshly-watered grass, but all Isabeau could smell was the metallic tang of blood still clinging to her nostrils.
The moment they were close enough, they both fell to their knees by the creek, Tiernan ducking his head straight into the water as Isabeau furiously tried to clean her hands, rubbing them together to wash the blood away.
It was far from an easy task. Dry and caked as it was on her skin, it came off in small flecks that were difficult to remove, stubbornly adhering to her hands, and the longer it took her to wash it off, the harder her heart beat in her chest, a strange panic as unbridled as the water rushing through her fingers gripping her.
It wasn’t until Tiernan took her hands, stopping her from scraping the blood off with her nails that she looked up, some of her panic quickly subsiding. Without saying a word, Tiernan proceeded to wash her hands carefully, making sure he didn’t miss a spot, but that he also did it gently, unlike Isabeau’s previous attempts.
Once her hands were finally clean, a sense of calm fell over Isabeau. She knew it was little more than an illusion; soon, the weight of their reality would once again come crashing down on her, reminding her why the panic had set in in the first place. Never before had she seen so much death. Never before had she seen so much blood, so many bodies around her, so many lives lost.
But Tiernan is still here. He’s alive. He’s with me.
And as long as he was next to her, she had nothing to fear.
Their silence continued to stretch over them as they undressed, Tiernan helping Isabeau peel off her bloodied clothes. The chilly wind hit her skin, raising goosebumps on her arms and legs, but Tiernan was quick to pull her in his arms in an attempt to keep her warm with his body.
When she dipped her toes in the water, she almost immediately recoiled, the icy creek no longer as inviting as it had been only moments prior. The thought of staying covered in blood, though, was much less appealing, and so Isabeau took a deep, steeling breath and let Tiernan pull her inside, up to her waist in the freezing waters.
It felt as though she had stepped in a pool of glass shards, sharp and scraping and stinging. Still without saying a word, Tiernan began to wash her gently, cupping water in his palms and bringing it up to her shoulders, her arms, her chest—anywhere the water couldn’t reach. The skin of his hands was rough against her, callused and hardened by years of hard work, but also warm—a stark contrast to the wind and the water that lapped at her waist.
Little by little, Tiernan washed the blood off her, scrubbing her clean. It was then that Isabeau felt the entire weight of her exhaustion and shock, letting him do as he pleased without even attempting to help him. She was tired. She was ready to go home, but home felt so far away.
And even if she made it home, she knew she would never be the same person she had been when she left.
Was that what she truly craved, she wondered? The Isabeau she had once been had been naive, carelessness. Did she want the lack of concerns, of fear, the perfect, unspoiled life she had once had?
Even if she craved it, she could never have it back. It was long gone.
“Come.” Tiernan’s voice was quiet and soft as he pushed at her shoulders. “Let me wash yer hair.”
Ach, o’ course. There’s blood there too.
Bending forward, Isabeau dipped her long, dark hair into the creek. It would take several vials of oil to get the mats out, several comb-throughs to untangle the knots, but for now Tiernan’s fingers would have to do. Once again, he worked in silence, pouring water over her head and thoroughly scrubbing through the strands until the worst of it was gone, only a few small flecks of blood remaining behind.
By then, Isabeau was shivering from head to toe. The cold had seeped all the way into her bones, chilling her from the inside, and she had begun to fear that she would never be warm again unless she fell into the flames of a fire.
We should have lit one afore gettin’ in the creek.
