Page 19 of Fallen
Coira frowned. “It depends on how yer wound is faring.”
“Take a look at it then.” Craeg sank back against the pillows and pushed down the coverlet covering his bare torso.
After a moment’s hesitation, Coira moved close to him. Even injured and weakened, this man had a strong physical presence. His chest was broad and heavily muscled, with a light dusting of dark hair across it that narrowed to a thin strip at his belly. And that strip then disappeared under the waist band of his breeches.
Coira hurriedly averted her gaze. It wouldn’t do for a nun to stare at a man’s groin, even if it was clothed.
Stepping forward, she removed Craeg’s bandage with deft, practiced ease. Observing the wound to his flank, Coira relaxed a little. She had packed the arrow hole with a poultice of woundwort, and it had done its work beautifully, withdrawing the evil humors from the flesh. The wound no longer festered, and it was beginning to heal.
Coira glanced up, catching Craeg’s eye once more. “It looks like it is mending well.”
Craeg’s mouth lifted at the corners. “Thanks to ye.”
Coira smiled. This man had a warmth and charisma that was hard to resist. No wonder he had inspired a band of loyal followers—men and women who lived as fugitives simply because they believed in him.
I’d believe in him too.
Catching herself, Coira straightened up.
Mother Mary, what a foolish thought.
Coira set her jaw and began to clean the wound. Fatigue had clearly turned her witless this morning. She then reached for her basket and extracted a small wooden pestle and mortar. “I need to mix up some more woundwort,” she murmured. “Just to make sure the injury doesn’t sour again.”
“I should leave,” Craeg said after a pause. “My band is waiting for me … if I don’t reappear soon, they will think I have died here.”
Coira glanced up to find him watching her, his expression shuttered. “Ye are gaining strength,” she replied, holding his gaze, “but ideally ye should rest for another day or two before moving on.”
A muscle bunched in his jaw. “I don’t have a day or two. My brother still hunts me … I can’t stay here.”
“I’m aware of that … but if ye leave before ye are ready, all my work will be undone.”
Silence fell between them for a long moment, before Coira moved to the small table next to the bed and lowered herself onto a stool; it was hard not to groan as she did so. Her knees felt as if they belonged to a crone this morning. Trying to ignore her aching back and legs, she transferred a handful of fresh herbs to her mortar. She then began to mash them.
“The hatred between ye and MacKinnon,” she said finally, as the hush drew out between them. “It runs deep?”
He huffed a bitter laugh. “Aye … deeper than most realize.”
“Clan-chiefs sire bastard bairns all the time,” Coira pointed out as she continued to mash the woundwort into a paste.
“Aye, but few threaten the order of things,” Craeg replied, his voice lowering. Coira could tell from his tone that he didn’t want to continue this conversation. But, glancing up at him, Coira’s interest blossomed further.
“How so?” she asked.
Craeg’s face tensed, and Coira instantly regretted the question. What was she doing interrogating the man anyway? It was best she knew as little about him as possible, best that she healed him and then got rid of him.
“I see ye know of my origins,” he said, a wry tone creeping into his voice.
Coira nodded. These days, there were few folk in this territory who didn’t know that Craeg was the result of Jock MacKinnon plowing a whore. The story had often been told atThe Goat and Gooseduring Coira’s time in the brothel. Years earlier, Craeg’s mother was said to have worked there before succumbing to consumption.
“I grew up in a brothel,” he said, glancing away. Did she imagine it, or did he seem embarrassed by this admission. “While Ma worked, it was my job to clear tables, empty hearths, and run errands for the woman who ran the place.”
Coira tensed.Maude.“Were ye ill-treated there?” she asked softly.
Craeg’s mouth twisted, although he shook his head. “Not particularly … I was seen more like an annoying hound that gets under everyone’s feet. Although as I grew into a strapping lad, I had my uses. It became my role to throw out any patrons who became violent or mouthy. Maude—the woman in charge—kept me on, even after Ma died … and that’s how I met my brother.”
Coira stopped mashing the woundwort, her breathing slowing. She hadn’t heard this part of the story.
“Our father continued to visitThe Goat and Goose, even after Ma died,” Craeg continued. His gaze looked past her now, as if he was no longer seeing his surroundings, but his old life. “And one day he brought Duncan along … so that his son might bed his first woman.” Craeg paused there, his gaze snapping back to the present. He favored Coira with a harsh smile. “It was hate at first sight.”
