Page 51 of Fallen
Approaching the far end of the ravine, Craeg tensed, preparing himself for the worst. No word of Fenella had reached him for the remainder of the night. He’d slept fitfully and awoken in the pre-dawn, exhausted.
Had Fen died overnight and no one told him? A heavy weight pressed down upon Craeg’s breastbone at the thought of losing Fenella; she and Gunn had been with him since the beginning. They were the family he’d always longed for. The fear in Gunn’s eyes the night before had been a dirk-blade to Craeg’s guts.
He hated to see his friend suffer like this.
Gunn stood before the smoking ruins of last night’s fire, his face hewn from stone as he prepared himself for battle. He’d donned a mail shirt and was attempting to lace leather bracers about his forearms.
“Here.” Craeg stopped before him. “I’ll help ye with that.”
“Fen usually does this,” Gunn replied softly.
“How is she?” Craeg asked, deftly drawing the laces tight, fastening the leather bracer.
“Still alive.”
“Her condition has steadied overnight.” A woman’s voice intruded then. “And her fever has lowered a little.”
Craeg’s chin snapped up, his hands stilling.
A woman he barely recognized stood a few feet away.
Coira had removed her habit and dressed in men’s clothing: leather breeches, hunting boots, a léine that reached mid-thigh, and a brown vest. The only concession to her former attire was the small wooden crucifix that hung about her neck.
For a moment Craeg merely stared.
He’d spent far too much time in the past days dreaming what Coira’s hair looked like. He’d imagined it would be dark, and it was. Yet it wasn’t shorn against her scalp as he’d expected. Instead, it hung in a dark glossy braid over one shoulder.
“She’s the same size as Fen.” Gunn spoke up, when the silence stretched out. “So she might as well borrow some of her clothes. The woman can’t go into battle in long skirts, can she?”
Craeg tore his gaze from Coira and saw that his friend now wore a tight smile.
Still speechless, Craeg glanced back at Coira. She seemed taller, leaner, and younger dressed like that.
“Coira.” The strangled edge to his voice drew him up sharply. “What weapons do ye have?”
“Just this and a knife,” she replied coolly, holding up the quarter-staff with her right hand and slapping the blade strapped to her thigh with the other. “I need nothing else.”
Watching her, Craeg’s pulse quickened. Coira appeared transformed. The woman’s self-confidence stunned him; she wasn’t putting on a brave-face. He could see the steely determination in her eyes.
Craeg shifted his attention back to Gunn’s bracers. Quickly he finished lacing them, and then he stepped back, turning to face Coira.
“I need to speak to ye,” he said firmly.
Her eyebrows arched, her gaze turning wary. “Now?”
“Aye … follow me.”
Craeg walked past the two tents, leading the way to the farthest edge of the ravine, where a thin stream of water trickled down the rock face. The air here was misty and smelled of moss. The light of the braziers and torches down the ravine barely reached here—as such, Coira’s face was heavily shadowed when he turned to face her.
“Craeg,” she began, her voice husky. “I don’t think we should—”
“I know this isn’t the time or place for this,” he cut in. He was aware of the tension in his own voice, yet he pressed on. “But since we’re about to depart for battle, I think there are a few things that need to be said.”
21
Remember
COIRA’S JAW FIRMED, although her gaze was suddenly wary. “Go on then.”
