Page 48 of Dark Embrace

Aidan was injured.

And then her knees seemed to break into a million pieces. She went down, moaning in agony. Suddenly Will was beside her. “Lady? What passes? Is it poison?” he cried.

She was briefly blinded by the pain. After all she had withstood that day, she was incapable of movement, incapable of making a sound. Brie stared up at Will. Aidan had just been terribly wounded. Her vision blurred with tears.

“Dinna move,” Will said.

Brie closed her eyes, finally breathing. She did not know how long she lay there, but at some point she opened her eyes, meeting a blue-black night sky that was winking with stars. The moon was nearly full tonight, and it was starkly white. The torment was fading.

Will sat beside her and cried, “Thank Jesus.”

Brie sat up, aching in every fiber of her being. What had happened to him? “Is Aidan back?”

Will’s face tightened.

Brie covered her face with her hands—and then she heard hoofbeats.

Will stood, surprised. “’Tis the black stud. He bears our master!”

Brie staggered upright and saw the black stallion cantering toward them, Aidan astride. She cried out, rushing forward, overcome with relief.

But her relief was short-lived. The horse halted, and Aidan stared down at her. She took one look at his blood-soaked tunic, then at his crimson left arm, and became faint. “Can you get down?” How utterly calm she sounded.

“Aye.” He slid from the horse as if he had a sprained ankle, nothing more.

She now saw his swollen, black-and-purple knees. “Oh, God,” she gasped.

“I’m fine,” he said. He handed Will the horse and strode to the tent, not even limping. The flap closed behind him.

She had witnessed an expression on his hard, grim face that she had never seen before—one of vast concern.

Brie hurried into the tent just as Aidan tossed his bloody leine to the floor, standing only in his boots. “Get Will. I want my boots off,” he said tersely.

Brie looked at his raw torso and his left arm. “Sit down.” She whirled and left the tent to find Aidan’s page. “Will, bring water and soap, and whiskey or wine and anything else to clean his wounds.” Did they even have whiskey in the sixteenth century?

Will nodded and ran off.

Brie returned to the tent and saw Aidan standing there, unaware of her, lost in thought. She had been right. Something terrible had happened. She went to him and touched his arm, about to help him sit. As she did, a memory swished through her.

Her hand on Aidan’s jaw, his thick, dark lashes fanned out, a harsh cry, simmering desire.

She was confused. Aidan suddenly looked into her eyes. She focused. “Let me clean you off.”

He sat. If it hurt to do so, he didn’t make a sound. “Can ye get my boots off?” he asked very quietly.

She hated his calm demeanor! Now she prayed he’d erupt into rage. She took a boot and pulled it off, but not without a huge effort. She looked past his groin at his raw body. “How much does that hurt?”

“It doesna hurt.”

She reached for the other boot and yanked it off after a few moments of tugging. He was covering his pain. “What happened?”

“Doesna matter.” He lay on his back on the bed.

He was really hurt, and blocking it from her, she thought. She had never seen him appear tired, let alone lie down. The tent flap moved behind her and she was relieved to see Will with a bowl of water, soap and linens. “Thank you,” she said.

Aidan slowly sat up. “Will can attend me. Leave.”

“Like hell,” Brie cried softly. She already had the basin and linen and soap. His face hardened, but she ignored it, gently going for his raw chest. His body tightened as she tried to wash it, but he didn’t make a sound.