Page 63 of Here in Your Arms
“And what about your men?”
His expression grim, he shook his head and turned east again. “If they were nae killed by the rocks, they were killed by the reivers. Or they’re gone, run off—they’ll nae be around here.”
“But... who were those men?" She asked.Banditsandthievesdidn’t seem to describe them adequately, not when they meant to kill with so little hesitation. “They weren’t soldiers. Not English. Just... thieves?”
"Aye," he said, a grimace tightening his features. "The war has made many men desperate, but some were lazy long before. Bandits, outlaws... men with no land, no lord, no trade. They take what they can from those weaker than them."
She shuddered. But then her brow furrowed. How had any one of those bandits looked at Tiernan MacRae and supposed him weak?
“Where are we going now?” she asked as she climbed over a thick root and into a denser section of trees.
“Dunmara. On foot.”
“You’re going to walk for an hour? Is that—"
“Aye,” he said. “The quicker we move, the better.”
Rose frowned, wondering if the quicker he moved, the weaker he would become.
They marched in silence for a hundred yards or more before Rose spoke again.
"Does it ever bother you?" she asked, voice quieter now, hesitant. "Taking a life?"
He was silent for a moment, long enough that she wondered if he would answer at all. Then, with the same calm conviction she had grown accustomed to, he said, "It did once."
She waited, but he said nothing more.
The forest grew quieter the deeper they went. The wind had settled, and even the birds had gone still. Only their footsteps broke the silence, and they were quiet, careful.
Rose kept pace beside Tiernan, eyes flicking to him now and then. His jaw was clenched, shoulders rigid, his tunic still dark with blood on his back where the arrow had entered, and on his front, where the arrowhead protruded just below his collarbone. The misshapen stains of blood were larger now. He hadn’t wavered once, hadn’t stumbled, but she wasn’t fooled—even a man like him couldn’t walk forever with a wound like that.
Just as that thought troubled her, Tiernan staggered.
She turned just in time to see him falter, his knees hitting the ground with a hard, jarring thud.
“Tiernan!”
She was at his side in an instant, kneeling in the damp earth. His breaths came fast, his chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. His skin had gone pale, lips parted as he tried to steady his breath. He didn’t make a sound, but his fingers trembled when he moved.
“All guid,” he muttered. The words were thin, nearly toneless.
“This is not good,” she said flatly. “Not at all.”
His hand moved toward the triangular head of the arrow, fingers curling around it.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her eyes widening.
He didn’t answer but winced as he tightened his fist around what remained of the bloody head.
“Don’t,” Rose snapped, grabbing his wrist. “You can’t pull that out now—not until we have something to...stitch it or sew it.”
His eyes met hers, and for a second, she thought he might do it anyway.
She held his gaze and hissed, “Don’t be an idiot.” And she waited, holding his blue gaze, until he released the missile embedded in him. He slumped a bit, sitting on his heels.
Rose took his face in her hands. “Tell me what to do,” she said, steady and direct. “Do I find your men? Go for help?”
He blinked sluggishly, and lifted his hand, trying to dislodge hers. “Nay. They’ll find us.”
