Ruin=, page 2
Asa clicked to Abhain. “We have to go faster.”
The horse jerked to a stop. Asa turned to him, ready to plead, when their gazes met.
“Ride.”
She hesitated as she looked at Rory. Then she looped the reins over the horse’s head and climbed up behind the big Scot. The moment she was settled, Abhain took off at a gallop.
Asa steered the horse to the woods. It would offer them seclusion and protection. Her thoughts shifted from the men looking for her to the words Rory had spoken. Why did she need to run? She needed answers.
Unless Rory was lying.
Though she doubted he would wound himself just to give his story credit. Someone had wished him dead. He had the answers she sought, and the only way she would get them was if she got him to safety and saw to his injuries.
Frida flew ahead of them, her white wings bright in the moonlight. She disappeared into the forest long before them. Asa kept checking behind her, but she didn’t see anyone following. Maybe the men had given up.
She rode Abhain deep into the woods to where she had found the ruins of a croft. She’d used them before herself. They weren’t easy to find, which was another reason she had chosen the location. As soon as the stone mottled with years of moss and mold came into view, she tugged on the reins and slid from Abhain’s back. Frida was perched on a wall, waiting.
Asa let the stallion pick his way through the dense underbrush and stone before following her into the ruins. She found the smoothest spot she could and motioned to the horse. He lowered himself once more. Asa then used her magic to gently move Rory to the ground before cupping her hands around her mouth. She whispered a spell, opened her palms, and blew. Mist rolled from her fingertips, spreading and multiplying as it surrounded them.
It would shield them from prying eyes as well as hide the smoke from the fire she hoped to build. Abhain rose and walked to the other end of the ruins to keep watch. Asa used another spell to spark a fire. Once it flared to life, she turned to Rory.
His thick, dark hair half-covered his face while his bushy beard did the rest. She rubbed her hands together. She had to work fast, but first, she needed to see his wounds. She started by pulling away his clothes. Once the furs had been removed, she peeled away the kilt and saw the blood-soaked shirt beneath. She eyed the lumpiness beneath the fabric. Since it was already ruined with blood, she ripped it open to find clothing stuffed around Rory. She pulled away piece after piece until she’d bared his upper body.
She gaped at the five distinct stab wounds over his torso that still seeped blood. Asa quickly jumped into action. She had honed her healing spells while she’d been with Radnar and Edra. She covered one of the wounds with her hands but jerked back quickly when she felt heat. A fever raged, and by the looks of things, it was because the wounds had been left untreated.
Why hadn’t he seen to them? She feared the reason was because he’d been waiting for her.
She worked on his injuries one at a time. The stab wounds were deep, and two of them were so severe they’d affected his internal organs. It took her two attempts before the magic worked to even begin the healing.
Asa sat back once she’d mended the stab wounds and closed her eyes for a heartbeat. There wasn’t time yet to rest. She placed a hand on Rory’s forehead. He was still warm, but it seemed the fever was breaking. She rummaged around, hoping to find a bucket or something in the ruins. All she uncovered was a broken bowl, but it was better than nothing. She took it to the nearby brook.
After drinking her fill, Asa dipped the bowl into the water and swiftly returned to the ruins. She found a section of Rory’s shirt that wasn’t soaked in blood and used it for a towel. She wet the cloth and began wiping his face. Then his hair. To her shock, chunks of dried mud fell away. She considered the extra clothing she had found. It was as if he had attempted to make himself look different. He might have done the same to his hair.
It took Asa three trips to the brook before she got most of Rory’s hair and all of his beard clean. He had used the mud to disguise himself. She continued to wash him, wiping his chest and abdomen free of blood. It took a little time to free him of his coat so she could also wash his arms and hands.
All the while, she thought about the man she didn’t know who had risked everything to warn her.
She placed a hand on his forehead, which she now found cool to the touch. Asa dropped the cloth into the bowl and let her gaze move over Rory. She had touched so much of him, but she had done it without really looking. She had been healing. But now…now she could look her fill.
Thick, dark brows slashed over his eyes. He had wide lips, the bottom fuller than the top. Broad shoulders. Muscular arms—an Yggdrasil tattoo covering the upper part of one. A firm chest dusted with dark hair and rippled with sinew. The five injuries she’d healed weren’t his only scars. He had others, proving he was a man of battle. Though she only had to look at him to see that.
Asa used the long expanse of tartan that had been draped across his upper body to cover Rory’s chest. He would need time to recover from his injuries. She yawned, her eyes scratchy from exhaustion. She stretched out on the other side of the fire and used her arm as a pillow. The instant her eyes closed, she was asleep.
Rory opened his eyes. The sun blinked at him through the branches above him. Leaves fell from their perches, slowly swirling as they glided elegantly to the ground or got caught in the wind and were deposited elsewhere.
He waited for the inevitable pain that he’d lived with for days, but there was none. Had his body finally given out? The soft knicker of a horse drew his attention. He looked over to find Abhain watching him. The stallion used his left front hoof to paw at the ground while bobbing his head up and down.
Maybe he wasn’t dead. Rory then spotted the fire, seeing the woman through the dancing flames. She was curled on her side in a gown of soft gray, thick furs around her shoulders. Her long, blond hair was how he had located her in the dark, the golden color unlike any he had seen before.
He had found her. He had also warned her. Rory recalled fighting against the weariness of his body to impart how important it was for her to leave. He frowned as he stared at her.
Obviously, he had failed to get her to understand.
He drew in a deep breath, shocked not to feel any pain. It was only as he exhaled that he felt the slight pull. He lifted his head and looked at his abdomen. The kilt he had stolen covered him. He tugged it away to find pink marks where his wounds had been. Tentatively, he touched each of them. Then, his gaze moved back to Asa. She had healed him.
And risked her life in the process.
He sat up and ran a hand down his face. He hadn’t expected to live through the night. Most already thought him dead. He had found his quarry, but he hadn’t completed his mission. He had given his word and would ensure he kept it.
At least they were no longer in the village, but they couldn’t tarry. Time wasn’t on their side. Rory climbed to his feet and looked around. He was thirsty, but more than that, he needed to wash. The mud and dirt had been good for a disguise, but it itched now. He would take a few minutes to see to himself, but then they needed to leave. If he had to throw Asa over his shoulder to get her away, he would do exactly that.
Rory paused to listen to the forest. Birds sang, squirrels tittered to each other, and a fox cried to his left. The animals didn’t seem disturbed. Rory walked to his stallion, speaking softly to the animal as he pressed his forehead to Abhain’s.
After the greeting, he rummaged through the bag attached to his saddle and found his kilt and a shirt. He fingered the golden-brown, red, gray, and black plaid that had once meant everything to him. Then he turned and followed the sound of water. The brook wasn’t deep, but it served its purpose. Rory stripped and walked into its icy caress. He quickly but thoroughly scrubbed himself from head to toe before emerging from the brook.
He raked his fingers through his hair to untangle it. Chills raced over his still-wet skin as a cool wind brushed past him as he dressed. It felt good to wear his own clothes once more. They were on Sutherland land, so the tartan allowed him to blend in. His face, however, was one others knew. The one advantage he had was that they believed him dead. And he should’ve been with the number of times the blades had found their way into his body. He didn’t know how he had survived. Though he knew who was responsible for him walking about now: Asa.
He made his way back to the ruins, feeling more like himself than he had in days. Remnants of mist hovered, clinging to the shadows where the sun couldn’t reach it. He walked along the broken wall and looked over to find Asa sitting up, her back to him. She braided the long length of her hair, seemingly unaware of his presence, but he was sure she knew he was there. He rounded the corner where the door had once been and came to a halt when her head swiveled his way. He found himself staring into eyes so deep a blue they reminded him of the ocean.
She watched him, curiosity in her expression, and tied off a small braid near her right ear. He pulled his gaze from hers to see delicate brows, a slim nose, and a luscious mouth, all set in a heart-shaped face. Her beauty was blinding, but her determination and fortitude robbed him of thought and reason.
For a full minute, he forgot about the driving need that had made him fight against blood loss to find her. “Thank you,” he said as he forced his feet to move and take him into the ruins. “But you shouldna have wasted time healing me. You should’ve put distance between you and the sea.”
“As I told you last night, I’m done running.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose with this thumb and forefinger before tossing the kilt he had stolen onto the fire. “Then I didna impart how critical it was that you do exactly that.”
“You know me. How?”
Rory couldn’t look away from her hands as they took another section of hair and began plaiting it. The pinkie, ring finger, and index finger on each hand had simple rune markings between the first and second knuckles. The middle finger of her each had binding runes that ran from the length of her middle finger up and over the knuckle. It took him a moment to make out each meaning. On her right hand was resilience. The left was wisdom. He wanted to look at each of them closer. Instead, he forced himself to look at her face. “I’d love to tell you everything, but you’re missing the point. Your life is in danger. You need to leave. Get far from here.”
“And you nearly lost your life finding me.”
“Aye.” He wished he could lose the memory, but he would never forget the feeling of the blades or his cousin’s smile.
She eyed him. “I’m not moving until I get some answers. So, you can either fight me, which means prolonging me doing anything, or you can give me what I want.”
“Asa,” he began.
She lifted her chin and raised a brow as if daring him to make her repeat her words. Rory contemplated tossing her over his shoulder, but he wouldn’t get far once she unleashed her magic. He sighed and looked around the forest again. They didn’t have time for this, but arguing would only waste more.
“I’ll accompany you. We can talk on the ride,” he suggested.
“Tell me how you know me.”
Rory realized then that Asa wouldn’t budge until she got exactly what she wanted. He blew out a frustrated breath. “Liss.”
Asa’s fingers stilled at the mention of her sister. She looked like a statue staring at him, frozen in place. Finally, she took a breath and resumed the plaiting as if his words hadn’t just shocked her. “Explain.”
“Once I tell you everything, will you promise to run?”
“I’ll make my decision once I have all the facts.” She sectioned out another portion to braid.
Rory watched her, wondering how many of the small plaits she would make. He liked observing her. He would like it even more as they rode far away from here. A quick look had him locating the sun through the thick clouds. It was early morning, with the smell of rain hanging in the air. “I’m sure you saw the dark clouds to the north. That isna any storm. That’s one created with magic to speed ships to our shores. Hosvir is coming. For you.”
3
Hosvir Ivarsson. It was a name that had once given Asa hope. He had promised her never to turn out like his father, but if Hosvir was coming, he had broken that vow.
“I see you understand,” Rory stated.
Asa finished the last of the small braids. “Aye.”
“He’s obsessed with you.”
“How do you know him?”
Rory’s nostrils flared. His dark strands, still wet from his bath, had a slight curl as they fell to his shoulders. He remained standing, his agitation and impatience clear. “That is a story I can share anytime. We shouldna tarry here.”
“Then leave.”
He had washed, removing the remaining blood and dirt to reveal even more of the handsome face she had seen by firelight. His shoulders seemed wider as he stood with his feet braced and spread like an immovable mountain. He was tall and imposing, a warrior in every sense of the word. His sigh was long and dramatic as he narrowed his eyes at her. They were a deep, rich brown and had been filled with warmth when she first looked at him. Now, they were calculating and piercing.
No doubt he was a man used to getting what he wanted. A man who rarely had anyone refuse him anything. He moved and behaved with the impeccable manners and authority that only someone raised in that environment would know.
But she was a woman who’d had her fill of running. She’d had enough of being hunted. It was time everyone knew that.
Asa stood and shook out her gown. She tried not to ogle him, but the very healthy, very vibrant, very masculine man before her was impossible to look away from. It was more than his size or his strength. It was more than his penetrating gaze or the sword he buckled around his waist. It was his command and his conviction.
His very presence.
“I’m no’ leaving you,” he stated as if the words would somehow change her mind.
“Perhaps you should. If the five wounds I healed are any indication…”
His face hardened at the reminder, but he didn’t retreat or back down. She glimpsed the warrior he was, the man who wouldn’t relent or veer from his course. And she was happy they were on the same side.
“They tried to stop me from getting to you.” Rory stated the words as if he were speaking about the weather, but there was a wealth of meaning in them.
“Who?”
“Men I thought were my friends. Men I believed I could trust that would have my back. Seems coin is worth more than kinship.”
She inwardly winced at the raw anger in his voice. “They were your kin?”
“One was a cousin. I grew up with the other two.”
“I’m sorry.”
Rory took a step toward her. “Do you understand now what’s at stake?”
“Far better than you, I imagine.” She had known from the moment she understood magic.
“I was ready to give up my life for you,” he bit out, anger flashing in his dark depths. “I stayed alive by sheer will to carry out my promise to Liss. I willna let that be for naught.”
Only someone who cared deeply for another would go to such lengths. Asa tried to imagine what her sister looked like now. Liss had been a pretty child with features that hinted at the beauty she would one day become. No doubt she had her pick of men. “You speak easily of my sister. Are the two of you together?”
“Liss is a friend.” Rory briefly looked skyward before raking a hand through his damp locks. “When she learned I was from Scotland, we struck up a friendship. Hosvir tried to arrange a marriage between us.” Rory paused. “I contemplated it.”
“Is there something wrong with my sister that you wouldn’t want her as a wife?” Asa knew it was irrational to be upset that anyone would rebuff Liss, but the emotion was too strong to ignore. She was family, after all.
Rory shook his head. “Even if I had wanted the arrangement, she made it clear she wouldna be my wife.”
It didn’t take Asa long to put the pieces together. “The only reason Hosvir would want you to marry Liss is if he believed you offered an opportunity for him. Here. In Scotland. Who are you?”
“Rory Sutherland.”
She gaped at him. “Sutherland. As in…?”
“Third son to Angus Sutherland. Laird of the Sutherlands.”
That explained a lot. Asa sat with that for a moment. “Why didn’t you go to your father? Why didn’t you go to your clan? They could’ve helped.”
“You obviously know verra little about my family if you think my father would’ve done anything.”
“You’re his son.”
“His third son. I have two brothers and three sisters who have all proven their worth by securing marriages to grant our laird more power. He expects me to do the same. The fact that I have no’ has been a point of contention between us. It was why I traveled to Norway. I was meant to strengthen trade agreements between our clan and the Norse.” Rory paused as his gaze lowered to the fire. “I found friends there. I found a place.”
She understood since she had found the same in England. Though that was gone now. The misery she glimpsed in Rory made her heart hurt for him. “You were happy.”
“Aye.” He lifted his gaze to her, his emotions now reined in. “But nothing lasts forever.”
“What changed?”
“Another chieftain Hosvir despises has apparently acquired a witch. A verra powerful one.”
Asa felt the first drop of rain but ignored it. “You said the storm to the north was magical. If Hosvir has a witch, which he must have, why does he want me?”
“He learned the truth of your blood.”
She had suspected exactly that, but it didn’t make hearing it any easier to handle. She immediately thought about her sister. “Liss. I have to get to Liss.”
“She’s safe.”
Her eyes locked on him. “You can’t know that. You’re no longer with her.”
