Chapter 6

His shoulder was afire with pain, and his shirt was turning crimson with his blood. Blake was aware of both of those things, and yet, he couldn't seem to make either his body or his mind obey him. He couldn't stand, couldn't lift his hand to staunch the blood, or make any response to Reyna's startled gasp of horror.

He'd been hurt before. He didn't know why this wound, of all the ones he'd suffered, was making the world spin lightly around him and go gray at the edges. It was deep, but... he wrenched the knife free, and nearly collapsed where he was.

Arms caught him around the shoulders, and he looked up into Reyna's frantic face as she berated him. "O' all the foolish things tae be doing, nae bothering tae parry that blow or block it.. yer a fool, Blake." He blinked hazily at her, and she shook him, even as she tied a makeshift bandage made from some of the cloth she used to wrap her herbs over the wound. "Dinnae ye dare faint or worse on me. I'll nae have ye be leaving me behind again, dae ye hear me?"

She tightened the bandage a little further, then rose to her feet. "Stay here, and stay awake, or I'll dump cold water and thistles down the back o' yer trews, see if I dinnae." He shuddered at the image.

Reyna disappeared among the trees, and Blake stared after her, feeling slightly shocked at her apparent dismissal of his condition. He knew he deserved her scorn, and it was only fair if she left him to deal with his injuries himself. Even so, he knew she was a healer to her soul, and he hadn't thought she loathed him so much she'd leave him when he needed her.

Och, ye daft bugger, and what better time fer her tae make her escape from ye? She kens where yer horse is, and all the supplies both o' ye were carrying. Besides, she made it fair clear earlier how she felt about ye. And it's the sort o' thing that would appeal tae the gods' sense o' humor, isn't it? Tae be abandoned and left tae wait until there's nae hope left, as I left her all those years ago.

His throat ached, and his eyes stung. Before he could sink further into his despairing thoughts, however, he heard the soft thudding of horse's hooves. He raised his head, and spotted movement in the underbrush, which resolved into Reyna, leading the horse gently but firmly by the reins. Her basket was slung over one side of the saddle. The animal shied a bit at the smell of blood that permeated the clearing, but Reyna soothed it and led it forward.

Once it was beside him, she tied off the reins and bent to grip his shoulder. "Come on. We need tae get ye tae some sort o' shelter, so I can tend that wound properly."

He blinked at her again, his thoughts foggy and incoherent in a way they hadn't been since the last time he'd gotten stinking drunk with one of the other Murray guards. Still, one thought floated to the surface with enough persistence that he managed to catch hold of it. "I thought ye left. Went back home, or somewhere else. Even on tae Murray Keep fer yer braither, without me."

Reyna snorted, a soft, bitter sound, as she tugged him further upright and urged him to his feet. "We need the horse, fer I cannae carry ye any distance, and ye're in nae shape tae walk more than a few steps. But unlike ye, I come back fer those I've given me word tae, or those who need me." Her expression softened a little. "Besides, ye did rescue me, and we were childhood friends, long ago. Even if ‘tis because o' old memories and honor debts, I'd nae feel right tae leave ye untended."

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if those were truly her only reasons, and if it was only duty and honor that kept her with him, along with determination to ensure Laird Murray had no reason to take retribution against her kin. His words, however, were cut off by a gasp of pain as she tugged on his arm to help him rise.

With her help, he got onto the horse, and she perched on the saddle in front of him. It took both of their hands to hold the reins, for all that he tried to stop their shaking. He knew he'd lost a fair amount of blood, and the wound was a deep one. Still, when she offered to let him hold onto her, he tried to force his cold mask back into place. "I'm well enough."

"Dinnae be daft. Ye can barely hold ontae the reins." She exhaled. "We need a place tae stop fer the night, somewhere secure where we can hide from bandits like those."

‘Better tae continue on."

She glared at him over her shoulder. "And let ye bleed all the way tae Murray Keep. Nae a chance. We'll be stopping somewhere tae tend tae that shoulder afore night truly falls."

He shook his head. "Ye dinnae need tae be so concerned about me. I dinnae need it, and I havenae earned it."

"And who says I am concerned about ye? Mayhap I just dinnae want ye tae bleed all over me nice clothing, seeing as it's all I'll have until me kinfolk arrives fer the wedding." He winced at the acid sharpness of her tone. "And ye ken, I am just a spoiled lass, who likes tae be comfortable, and I'd be more so in a safe place fer ye tae get better care rather than a makeshift bandage slapped over yer shoulder and already bleeding through."

He might have laughed, but it hurt too much. Even without that, his hands were shaking, and nothing he could do would make them stop. He recognized the signs of blood loss and shock. With a frustrated huff, he gave in.

"Take the path down tae the river and follow along the bank. There should be a cave close by, one big enough fer both o' us, and with enough grazing fer the horse. I'll surrender tae yer ministrations there if I must."

She snorted, clearly unimpressed with his bravado. Nonetheless, he felt her kick the horse into motion, and they started forward.

Blake tried to focus on the path, and on the horse, but he couldn't seem to make his vision work right. Or his arms. In the end, he was forced to focus more on his deep breathing, and hope that she found her way to the cave he'd described.

* * *

It was a nerve-wracking, confusing, yet also heady feeling to have Blake perched behind her, muttering nonsense phrases and snatches of whatever crossed his mind while they made their way down to the stream to look for the cave he'd mentioned.

It worried her how much he was shaking, and how fast the makeshift bandage she'd tied around his shoulder had turned crimson. She didn't think the injury was one that would require a heated knife to seal it against blood loss, but it was difficult to tell.

She guided the horse toward the sound of running water, until they came to a moderately sized stream. Reyna looked upstream, then downstream, and spotted a large, craggy outcropping a little way upstream. Heart pounding with the fear that it might be a hole hiding more brigands, she turned the horse and guided the animal toward it.

There were no bandits, but there was a small cave nestled into the stones. Reyna dismounted and led the horse in that direction, then set about the business of easing Blake out of the saddle and arranging their makeshift campsite.

A candle-mark later, Blake had been settled within the cave on a low pallet of blankets, with the saddle serving as a pillow. She'd managed to build a modestly sized fire and locate the food rations she knew he was carrying for the journey. By that time, Blake had dropped into an uneasy, half-conscious doze, his face pale and sweat-streaked as he tossed and turned restlessly. Reyna bathed his brow with cool river water, then set about using a battered cup she'd found in his pack, along with her own implements, to heat water for two. She wanted some water for a poultice to stave off infection and promote healing, and another fer a tea tae help do the same thing. She also started heating some of the meat and cheese they'd both been given to make a meal.

She turned from her tasks to find Blake staring blearily at her. His eyes were hazy with pain and half-delirious. "What are ye doing?"

"Making something tae ease yer pain and help ye heal."

Blake made a soft sound, his eyes filled with a complicated mix of emotions, some of which she recognized as shame and regret. "Dinnae deserve ye…"

"Nae, ye dinnae. But I'm here nonetheless." She'd need to get his shirt off to apply the poultice. The idea sent a soft, fluttering sensation through her belly. She squashed it firmly as she came and knelt beside him. His sash was easy to remove, and she began unknotting the laces of his shirt.

Blake woke up a little more. "What're ye doing?"

"Removing yer shirt so I can clean yer wound and put some medicine on it."

He gave her a drowsy, half-hearted smirk. "I can dae it, though I willnae stop ye if ye want tae undress me."

"And I'll nae entertain such talk from ye, nae when ye're fevered and sick and out o' yer head with it. And even less if ye were in yer right mind." She retorted. The last of the laces came loose, and she whipped his shirt off.

She'd seen wounded, shirtless men in the healer's cottage. Knowing that did nothing to stop the blush that rose to her cheeks as she studied Blake's bared torso. The muscles his youthful build had hinted at were now fully defined. The lines of his chest and abdomen were well-formed, and not at all diminished by the scars of varying ages that marked him. Despite her anger toward him, she couldn't deny he was pleasant to look at, and that there was a very small part of her that longed to explore the contours of his frame.

She shoved the thought out of her head and went back to the fire. The poultice was heated enough, so she folded it together and brought it back to him. Blake flinched a little as she laid it across his shoulder and bound it in place, but he already seemed to be slipping into a half doze. She nudged him. "Dinnae sleep. I need tae get some restorative tea intae ye."

She couldn't tell if he was listening or not, but he was still at least partially conscious and aware when she returned to his side a few minutes later with a steaming cup of tea. He managed to open his mouth when she placed the cup against his lips, and swallow when she tipped liquid into his mouth. Once he'd finished the tea, she helped him lie back, and he was soon asleep, leaving her free to drink her own tea and try to sort out her feelings.

She was still furious at him for abandoning her and leaving her to mourn him for ten years. But at the same time, he was also Blake Sinclair – a grown version of the young man she'd fallen in love with. He'd stepped between her and a knife, taking a blow that she knew might well have been fatal if it had struck her.

She noticed he was sweating, his face pale, and the cloth she'd used to bathe his face was dry. She doused it again, wrung it out, and replaced it. Blake twitched and opened feverish, unfocused eyes. "Ye're upset…"

"Aye." She brushed some of his wild hair back. "Why did ye take that blow fer me, when ye kent I was angry at ye, and just as like tae knife ye meself?"

He blinked, honest confusion on his face. "Why would I nae?"

There was no good answer to that, so she poured some more tea into him. Blake made a face at the taste but drank obediently. "Little witch... always with yer teas and the like…" His voice trailed off as he dropped back into slumber.

Looking at him now, asleep and relaxed in a way he never was when awake, it was easier to see the youth who'd laughed with her in the meadow, and given her casual, friendly embraces, and let her lean on his shoulder to rest after hours of herb collection. Against her will, she could feel a little of her anger softening in the wake of the memories, only to be refueled a moment later as she remembered the long, lonely days in the meadow waiting for him to appear, and the nights lying away, heartsick and wondering what had happened, and why he'd not at least sent her message.

She shook her head.

Damn ye, Blake. Why could ye nae at least have given me a proper explanation? How can I decide whether or nae tae even consider fergivin' ye, when I have nae idea what happened tae ye, and why ye nae only left me, but came tae serve in the clan o' me faither's worst enemy?

Reyna sighed. She knew she'd get no answers while he was asleep. She could also feel the falling temperatures as night deepened, and she frowned. It wouldn't help his health if he took a chill, and the fire was too small to keep him adequately warm.After a moment, Reyna collected her blankets and moved closer to where she could monitor his condition and keep him a little warmer, and closed her eyes. Not long after, the events of the day caught up with her, and she joined him in a light slumber.

* * *

His world was being consumed by fire and pain. Agony screamed through him, along with heat, until he thought he might burn to ashes or collapse under the strain of it. The world was dark around him, illuminated only by memories and nightmares that danced through his tortured thoughts.

He relived his last fight with his father, and Hutch's words to him in the woods the day he'd lost everything. This time, not even Hutch believed him, and he was dragged before the Elders and delivered to judgment.

He dreamed of the attack that had scarred his face, but this time his attackers were Sinclair soldiers, and no help came.

He dreamed of standing on the executioners' platform, Reyna at her father's side as they prepared to take his life, her expression cold and hard and dismissive as he cried out to her.

There were other dreams too, other memories, a maelstrom of torment that he couldn't escape, no matter how he fought to find his way back to safety, sanity, or even consciousness.

He was a boy, trying not to cry under his father's stern rebukes.

He was fourteen, alone in the dark and fighting howls of grief for his father, along with the bone-deep regret that he'd not been able to say farewell to his mother or comfort her.

He was a youth, fighting back involuntary tears as he lay in the dirt, knocked on his back by the brutal blows of the warrior assigned as his teacher for the day.

He was a young man, looking at the blood on his blade and fighting not to feel anything, despite the sickening knowledge that he was now a killer for Oran Murray, the very man he'd once despised.

He was standing in the darkness, face to face with his father, his features warped and bloated in death. Ghostly voices swirled around him, his father's and others, including one he thought was Reyna's.

Why did ye abandon me? Why did ye scorn me? Why did ye kill me? Why... why... why…

"I didnae! I didnae want tae leave... I had nae choice. Faither… I didnae kill ye, I swear I didnae, I swear…"

Something cold slashed through the heat and the pain, and Blake found himself catapulted back into the waking world, the ghosts of old regrets and grief chasing him like the hounds of the legendary Wild Hunt as he went.

* * *

Reyna woke to the sound of moaning. The fire had burned down to soft-glowing embers, and beyond her, in the depths of the cave, Blake was tossing and turning in a restless, nightmare-filled sleep. She wet a fresh cloth, and moved over to bathe his face once more.

Blake's eyes shot open, wide with anguish. "Nae! I swear... I didnae…"

He blinked at her, eyes unfocused and still half-lost in whatever nightmares troubled him. Reyna brushed the black hair back soothingly. "Ye didnae what?"

His voice cracked on a sob, as if he were a boy once more. "I didnae kill me faither. I swear I didnae. Ye have tae believe me. I didnae kill him, and I dinnae ken who did…" His voice faded, breathless, as he slumped against her. Even those brief words seemed to have exhausted him.

She stroked his hair and washed away the sweat that coated his skin, murmuring soft words to ease him back into slumber. "I believe ye, Blake. I believe ye. I ken ye'd never dae such a thing."

His breathing was slowing, and she thought he might be asleep once more, but when she made to move away, he shuddered and looked up at her with wide, pain-filled eyes, clutching at her with his good hand. "Please... dinnae leave me…"

Reyna paused, torn. On one hand, she knew quite well it was highly improper for her to even think of remaining in such close contact with the half-clothed warrior. She was also somewhat troubled by his previous words, and her own anger of earlier. The more she knew, the more confused her feelings became, and she knew proximity wouldn't help in that regard.

On the other hand, he was sick with pain and fever, both of which he'd gained in defending her life. And it was obvious that his rest was neither peaceful nor easy. To stay with him might soothe his nightmares and aid him in recovering faster. The sooner he was well, the sooner she could demand more information, so she could truly understand what had happened between them – and decide what she wanted now. She sighed. "Let me get ye some more tea."

He let her go then and drank the tea willingly enough when she brought him a fresh cup. But when she would have moved back toward the fire, he gripped at her again. "Please... stay."

She knew he'd not ask her if he were in his right mind. She sighed, then leaned over to get her blanket, before scooting down so that she could pull him close. "Aye. I'll stay."

Blake dropped off into slumber almost immediately, obviously comforted by her presence. Reyna stayed awake for some time, thinking over what he'd said, and what his delirium had revealed.

He was accused o' killing his faither? Surely nae! I ken they argued, but surely nae one would have truly thought he'd dae such a thing. And why... there was nary a whisper that the previous laird Sinclair was murdered. Why would they hide that, instead o' sending the hounds after him?

On the other hand, if he was forced tae flee from such accusations to survive, it would explain why he vanished. And it certainly makes more sense, kenning him as I dae, than the idea that Blake fled tae avoid his responsibilities as laird.

Could this be why he never came tae meet me? Was he afraid I'd scorn him, or did he think it might cause more strife between our clans? Or mayhap, that we'd hear the accusations and turn on him as a kin-killer?

She had far too many questions, and Blake was in no shape to offer her any answers. After several minutes of fruitless pondering, Reyna closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, until the soft steady rhythm of her breaths and his sent her softly into an exhausted, restless slumber of her own again.