In the act of shaking the dress out, she turned. Keegan already wore trousers, a shirt, and was pulling on his second boot. “How did you get dressed so fast?”
“I’ve been dressing myself for some time now, so I’ve got the hang of it. Straight to your room when you’ve got the hang of your own, and don’t go out without Marco at the least. Not yet.”
He smiled at her as she stood holding the dress in front of her. “You look all rumpled, and it makes me want to toss you back in bed and rumple you more, but needs must.”
He gave Bollocks a pat on the head. “If you don’t see us when you come out, call for him.”
“All right, and thanks, but—”
He just strode over, gripped her shoulders, kissed her until the thoughts drained out of her head.
“Let’s go, lad,” he said, and Bollocks happily trotted out with him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
She didn’t really sneak down to her room, but she made a concerted effort to avoid any who hustled up stairs or down corridors. Still, she couldn’t go into her room until she’d let Marco know she was back.
He yanked open his door seconds after she knocked, and an instant later, he yanked her into his arms.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t—”
He just squeezed tighter. “I wasn’t so worried because Tarryn came and told me you were safe. You and Bollocks both tucked up in Keegan’s place in the tower, but, girl, it sure feels good to see for myself.”
He drew her back, then his smile flashed to a grin. “And tucked up’s what we can call it. You got that all-the-knots-untied look going.”
“They’re going to tie up again if I stand out here in last night’s dress much longer.”
Still holding on to her, he walked her to her door and in. “You can change your loose self in the bathroom or WC or whatever you call it. I’m not leaving. Hey, where’s Bollocks?”
“Keegan took him.” She grabbed clothes out of the wardrobe. “I want a shower, and I think I can conjure a rain of warm water while I’m in the tub.”
“I’m talking through the door,” he said as she closed it behind her. “Did that bitch really try to knife you in the back?”
“I stopped her.”
She did her best to fill him in while she got out of the dress, took the pins out of her hair, and finally managed to call a shower of water.
It felt like glory.
When she came out, Marco was still talking. “Brian came back a few hours ago, and had to take off again right before you came back. He says they’ll find her, that no one in Talamh will help her after this. But—”
“He’s worried she’ll hurt someone before they do find her.”
“It’ll be harder since you hurt her, and good. Wish I’d seen it. Let’s go dig up some breakfast, and find out what’s going on.”
It shouldn’t have surprised her Marco knew his way to the kitchen, or that those manning it called him by name.
She ate bacon and eggs in the big, warm room while a gray cat slept on a wide stone windowsill and a man and woman argued, as they scrubbed pots, over whether the rain would come by midday or wait until nightfall.
When she and Marco strolled out into the pretty sunlight, she wondered why either thought it would rain at all.
As they walked down to the bridge, she started to call for Bollocks, but saw him—and Keegan—in the training field.
Since she wanted the walk, she kept going. “I’m not sure what we’re supposed to do with all this going on. I’d like to explore the woods, but I’m pretty sure they’d want half an army to go with me, and that sort of kills the point. I think I’ll try to write for a couple of hours. If I can manage it, it would take my mind off all this.”
“I might catch a nap. I didn’t sleep real easy last night. It’s a pisser, you know, because that was a hell of a party.”
As they approached the field, Bollocks spotted them and raced to Breen as if they’d been separated for weeks.
Keegan gestured them over to where he stood with a handful of others.
“Good, I was about to send someone to find you, as I’ve got to leave. So, Hugh, work with Breen. Archery for her, and I’ll warn you, keep everyone back from twenty feet either side of the target, for she’s pitiful at it.”
“Well now, we’ll fix that, won’t we?” Hugh spoke cheerfully, gave Breen a quick pat.
“And you, Cyril, you’ll have Marco for hand-to-hand. An hour, then switch, and another hour.”
“What? Why?” Breen demanded.
“Training,” Keegan told her. “You’ve had enough of a holiday from it. You there, Bran, why aren’t you in school?”
“It’s not started yet, has it? And I thought to speak to my ma a minute. She’s in the next field.”
“Did you? This is Bran, Morena’s nephew. Seamus and Maura’s oldest.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” About ten, Breen judged, with clever eyes. “Your school’s nearby?”
“Oh, it’s just over that way a bit. I was thinking,” he said to Keegan, “I could miss the day there and train instead. With my ma. She’ll be fine with it.”
“I expect you think to tell her I’m fine with it to try to sway her on it.”
With a grin set to charm, Bran lifted his shoulders up to his ears.
“School before training, boy. Warriors need good brains as well as sharp swords. Be off with you, and learn something.”
His shoulders slumped, and his feet dragged as he walked away. “Learn something, and impress me with it,” Keegan called out, “and you’ll have a ride on Cróga.”
Like magic, the boy turned, all grins. “I will, be sure of it, Taoiseach.” He raced a few feet before wings fluttered out and he flew.
“Someone else has a good brain as well as a sharp sword,” Breen commented.
“Someone else remembers being a boy wishing school away. Train them hard,” he added, and glanced at the sky. “With two hours of it, you’ll likely be done before the rain that’s coming midday.”
Cróga glided down out of what looked to Breen like a clear sky. Keegan walked to him, mounted, and without another word, soared up and flew west.
“So.” Hugh, as cheerful as ever, gestured to the targets on the far side of the field. “We’ll get you a bow and quiver.”
Breen mustered up a smile for Marco. “I guess we found out what we’re supposed to do today. See you in an hour.”
And knowing exactly how Bran felt with his heels dragging, she followed Hugh over the field.
It did rain at midday, but by then Marco was taking his nap, and Breen sat at her writing desk. She knew the minute Bollocks decided to try the bed for his own nap rather than his spot by the fire.
She let that go, and watched the rain fall.
Finally, she picked up the pen and tried to close herself in another world—the world she’d built with words.
After a while, after some fits and starts, she pushed everything away and succeeded.
Shana huddled under a lean-to outside a stable. She’d stolen a dress off a line early that morning. An ugly dress, and one she deemed far too big for her own fine form. But hers had been in ruins after the long night.
She knew, when the sun came up, she’d headed west, and though she tried, she couldn’t remember enough of her geography or map lessons to be sure exactly where she was.
She’d slept, what little sleep she’d had, inside rocks, and that burned humiliation into her. She wanted a bath in scented oils, her kidskin boots, and the feel of soft, combed wool against her skin.
Instead, she wore some farmer’s hideous homespun dress. She was filthy, her hair in tangles, and she’d had to crouch with a horse under a lean-to while the rain poured down.
Her hand ached and throbbed despite the poultice. Her throat burned from thirst, and her head pounded from hunger.