Page 68 of Here in Your Arms
“Or the loss of blood has made you delirious,” she grumbled. Rose glared at him, deciding that arguing further was fruitless. With Brody’s help, Tiernan was already pulling himself into the saddle, his jaw locked against the pain.
She turned, wondering who she might ride with, now that Brody would be headed in the opposite direction.
“Rose,” Tiernan called her, turning her around again. “Ye have the dagger?”
She nodded and then stepped forward as Tiernan held out his hand, pulling the leather sheath and knife from her waistband. Tiernan took it and tucked it into his belt and then reached his hand down again to her.
“What?” Rose asked, confused. She didn’t have any other things that belonged to him.
“Ye ride with me, Rose,” he instructed.
“I can’t ride with you—your shoulder. What if I bump it or—”
“Ye’ll bring nae more harm than was already done,” he told her.
She didn’t waver, didn’t want to cause him any more pain, even accidentally. “There’s plenty with whom I can hitch a ride.”
“Ye ride with me, Rose,” he repeated, his tone advising he would have it no other way.
Still hesitating, Rose glanced at the cluster of men preparing to ride, waiting on her and Tiernan. Though no one offered her a seat on their horse, none of them seemed particularly alarmed by the prospect of her joining them—no quickly averted glances, no half-hidden frowns or glaring suspicion like she’d grown used to at Druimlach. The MacIntyre men weren’t shaken by her resemblance to Margaret, at least not outwardly.
Rose faced Tiernan again, wondering if he was trying to spare her feelings. “You’re afraid no one wants to ride with a ghost,” she guessed quietly, finally putting her hand in his, not quite willing to find out if it might be true.
Tiernan gave a low snort and rolled his eyes as he backed up in the saddle. Rose set her foot to his boot and bounced up and he pulled, sliding her leg over the saddle in front of him. Though she was cognizant and careful regarding the gruesome wound at his shoulder, she plopped down rather roughly, though Tiernan’s arm secured her swiftly enough.
“Or maybe you want me here to keep yourself upright?” She suggested, a small grin emerging—funny how even now, when everything should still feel uncertain, it suddenly didn’t. Now that Tiernan was recovered, now that he was lucid and strong enough to ride and now surrounded by allies and so close to Dunmara, where Tiernan would receive medical care, the weight of anxiety and the acute concern lifted, and a lightness rose in her chest. “Maybe you want a little ballast to keep you from tipping over?”
At first he only gave her a “hmph,” as he urged the horse into motion, following the smaller party making for Dunmara. After a moment, Tiernan’s breath came warm against her ear as heleaned in. “Wounded or nae, lass, I trust nae one but myself to keep ye safe.”
The words settled over her like a cloak against the cold, warming her in a way nothing else in this century had managed to do. But she’d be a fool to read anything into it, she decided quickly enough. He was, after all, escorting her to Dunmara today, removing her from Druimlach, away from him, likely pleased to be washing his hands of her.
“I think you insult the capabilities of the MacIntyre men,” Rose said instead, her grin evaporating.
“I dinna. I say nae more than what is true. These lads are green—Brody’d be the first to tell ye. He’s only just begun rebuilding his army in the last year or so. Some of these lads have nae a drop of bluid on their blades.”
They rode in silence for a bit until Rose felt him shift behind her. Worrying the he was weakening again, she laid her hand over his at her waist. “Are you all right?”
“Aye,” was his brief answer.
“Does it...does it hurt terribly? It looks like it would.” She wasn’t sure how he wasn’t passed out or much weaker at this point.
There was a pause, and then a faint exhale through his nose, not quite a scoff. “It willna kill me,” he said. “More than once now, in your company, I’ve been impaled by something sharp and unwelcome.”
Her lips parted with surprise. She wasn’t entirely sure how to respond. The statement lingered in the air between them, quiet and strangely charged. She told herself he meant the obvious, the arrow today and several days ago when she’d found him thrown from his horse, bleeding with a broken branch lodged in his arm. Those were facts. Tangible wounds. And yet... she couldn’t help but wonder if he meant something else entirely.
Something sharp and unwelcome.
Was that her?
Did he mean her presence? Her resemblance to Margaret? The memories she awakened? Had she somehow wounded him simply by existing—by arriving in his world?
She didn’t ask. She told herself she didn’t care. Tiernan was injured but would be fine. He might return to Druimlach this very day or the next. Whatever tumult her presence had caused would be done. Possibly, she would never see him again.
The silence stretched again, and Rose felt no need to fill it. She only shifted slightly, allowing her hand to slide away from his.
***
Tiernan MacRae was, without question, a terrible patient.
