Page 44 of Fallen
Coira’s expression shadowed. “I’ve given her something for the fever, which should slow the sickness’s progress,” she replied softly.
“Join us at the fire,” Craeg spoke up, motioning to the hunk of bread and cheese that sat on an oiled cloth beside him. “I’ve kept some food back for ye.”
Coira nodded, relief suffusing her face. She crossed to him and lowered herself to the ground with a stifled groan.
Craeg looked at her sharply, concern knotting his belly. “Are ye unwell?”
She shook her head. “No … just exhausted.” She paused there, looking about her. “Do ye have some water and soap. I need to wash my hands.”
“The water’s cold,” Craeg said, rising to his feet. “Will that do?”
“Aye, well enough. Thank ye.”
Craeg brought the bowl and soap to the fireside, handing them to her. He watched as Coira washed her hands and then devoured her supper.
“Are yer men ready to face MacKinnon tomorrow in battle?” Coira asked finally, brushing the crumbs off her habit. Her tone was guarded, and she avoided his eye. He wondered if she thought him rash.
“Aye … they’ve been ready for weeks now,” he replied. “And with the sickness in the camp, it will give them something else to think about.”
“The men are eager to fight.” Gunn spoke up, his jaw set, his gaze gleaming. “As am I. If the pestilence is going to take us … we want to see MacKinnon go down first.”
Coira glanced up, before her gaze flicked between the two men. Her mouth compressed. Craeg sensed she wanted to say something but was holding herself back. Moments passed, and then her attention settled upon him. “How is yer wound?”
Craeg smiled. “Healing well … thanks to ye.”
Coira stared back at him, her cheeks growing pink. The nun’s blush intrigued Craeg. Everything about Coira fascinated him.
She cleared her throat. “If ye are set on going into battle tomorrow …I should take a look at it.”
“What … now?”
“Can we go to yer tent?” she asked, the blush upon her cheeks deepening. “I have something to ask of ye.”
18
Broken
COIRA FOLLOWED CRAEG into his tent, her heart hammering. Wiping damp palms on the skirts of her habit, she attempted to steady her nerves.
Calm down.
She hadn’t expected to be this anxious, but the thing she needed to ask Craeg made her feel as if she were climbing the steps to the gallows.
What if he denies me?
She hoped he wouldn’t, for her hopes rested upon his consent. If she never intended to return to Kilbride, she needed to carve another role for herself among these people.
It was a conversation that couldn’t wait.
Craeg’s tent was a lean-to built against the ravine wall. It was small and furnished only with a single fur on the floor and a brazier in the center, where a lump of peat glowed.
The outlaw leader turned to Coira, and suddenly the tent felt cramped and airless. His presence sucked the air out of the smoky interior. Craeg’s height and breadth made her feel tiny in comparison. Her thoughts suddenly scattered.
Concentrate, she chided herself.Ye must focus.
“What did ye want to speak to me of?” he asked with a slow smile. It was a purely masculine expression and a reminder that Craeg hadn’t forgotten what he’d said to her back in that moonlit glade.
Neither had Coira, but that wasn’t why she’d asked for a moment alone with him.
