Keir took my hands in his and gently started to work the bandages loose. He cursed when he saw the abused flesh underneath.
“It’s not that bad,” I whispered. “They’re better than they were.”
Apparently, that didn’t impress him. “Marcus!” Keir called out, not bothering to lift his eyes from my hands.
“Warlord?” Marcus answered from the main area.
“Fetch Lara’s satchel.” Keir brushed his fingers over my hands. I shivered at that slight touch. They did look better to my eyes, the swelling was down and the redness greatly eased.
But Keir remained unimpressed. He eased me over to sit on the edge of the bed.
Marcus coughed and entered with my satchel. He raised an eyebrow at the sight. “Next time, wear gloves.”
I smiled, but Keir didn’t see the humor. “As if she had a choice,” he barked.
I jerked my head back in surprise at the tone in his voice. Keir still wasn’t looking at me as he continued. “I throw her on a horse, no saddle, no reins, and expect—”
“And I’m taken to safety,” I pointed out gently. “As you planned.”
“Planned!” Keir grabbed my satchel and tore it open violently. His voice was filled with disgust. “I’d thought you safe and—”
“Find the green jar.” I kept my voice mild, but I feared for my satchel and its contents, the way Keir was rooting around. If he broke the jar with the ehat musk in it, we’d all regret it. “Marcus, I could use more kavage. And more stew, if there is any left.” Marcus gave me a nod and turned to go. “Oh, and gurt, if you’ve any.”
Marcus turned, and raised his eyebrow.
I shrugged. “I’m hungry.”
“At least you eat,” he grumbled, with a sharp look at Keir. “I’ll bring what I can.” With that he vanished beyond the flap.
Keir had the jar now, the contents of my satchel strewn about the bed. He reached for my hands, but I pulled them away. “They’ll bring water for washing, Keir. Once they’re clean, we’ll put on the salve.” I gave him a smile as I toed off my shoes. “Why not take off your armor?”
“No. Better to be prepared in case of attack.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You’re not sleeping next to me in that. My hair will get caught, and then where will we be?”
His laugh burst out, catching him by surprise, and I knew that he’d remembered exactly when my hair had gotten caught in his mail. But he shook his head just the same.
My stubborn Warlord. I leaned in close. “Keir, I want you in my bed this night, and all the nights of our lives. Skin to skin, beloved.”
His eyes blazed bright blue. He leaned down, and I lifted my mouth, and we kissed again. I reached up to pull him close when there was movement at the entrance.
The tent flap moved.
Keir snarled, pulled a dagger and lunged, placing himself between me and—
Amyu, holding two buckets of steaming water. She looked up, then dropped to her knees, the buckets sloshing over as they thumped down. Amyu lowered her head, showing the back of her neck.
“Keir,” I cried out, afraid that he’d kill her. But Keir managed to stop, and stood over the poor girl.
A soft snort, and Marcus stepped in with a tray. He raised that eyebrow of his as he stepped past Amyu to set the tray on the bed. “Foolish child.” Marcus carefully pushed the tray close to me. “You serve a warlord now, not a warrior. Never sneak up on a warlord. Always give warning, to let him know where you are and what you are doing.”
“Forgive me, Warlord.” Amyu spoke carefully. She remained on her knees, her head down.
Keir sheathed his dagger.
“Hisself is even more on edge than normal, given events,” Marcus scolded Amyu as she rose to her feet. “You should know better. Fetch drying cloths now.”
Amyu left as fast as she could.
“Marcus.” I eyed the tray next to me, with two bowls of stew, a pile of bread, and two mugs of kavage. “There is enough here to feed an army.”
Marcus snorted. “Eat what you can. You were wasting away on the slop the warrior-priests were feeding you, no doubt, if you ate at all.”
There was a cough from outside, and Amyu’s hands pushed through the flap, filled with cloths. Marcus ac cepted the bundle, and Amyu’s hands disappeared. Marcus shook his head, and placed them at the foot of the bed. He then eyed Keir, who had not moved. “Simus has the watch. Rafe and Prest are outside. My daggers are sharp, as are Amyu’s.”
Keir drew in a deep breath, then gave a quick nod. He started to shrug out of the mail shirt, and Marcus moved to help him.
“I’ll see to this,” Marcus offered, as he placed the heavy mail over his arm. “You’ll see to your own blades, before they are all over with rust?”
Keir nodded.
“I’ll bring what you need, then. Call if you need anything else.”
“Thank you, Marcus.” I smiled at him.
He paused, then reached out to cup my cheek with his hand, a rare gesture from this man. “Sleep well, Lara.”
I turned my attention to Keir as Marcus left. My Warlord was standing there, in his leather trous and thick quilted tunic he wore under the chainmail. His face was grim as he looked at me.
“Keir,” I started, but he shook his head. He hefted a bucket and moved it close, then grabbed up one of the drying cloths. “Why did you say you could not command them?”
“Let me see to your hands.” He knelt before me, and soaked one end of a cloth in the warm water. I held out my hands, palms up, and he lightly stroked the wet cloth over them.
I looked at his head, his black hair shining in the light from the brazier. But he was focused on his task, so I could drink in the sight of him. It seemed forever since I’d seen him last, although I knew it had been only days.
“What has happened?” I asked softly.
Keir sighed. “A warlord is responsible for the lives of the warriors that follow him, Lara.” He kept his eyes on his work. “Those lives are dear, and are not to be wasted. Death in battle is honorable and expected. Death from affliction is a horror.”
“The Council held you responsible for the plague?” I asked.
“For the deaths,” Keir continued, his voice soft. “I am stripped of my title, Lara. No longer a warlord of the Plains. No army at my command.”
I sucked in a quick breath.
Keir paused, and looked at me with tired eyes. “You may wish to claim another, Warprize.”
I glared at him. “I did not come all this way, Keir of the Cat, to claim another. You are my chosen Warlord.”
“Lara, this changes—”
“Nothing.” I replied. Keir was worn, and tired. I could see it in the tautness of his jaw, in the depths of his eyes. “It changes nothing.”
Keir shook his head, and focused back on my hand. “Oh, but it does. Antas made much of sending a messenger to Water’s Fall, to the warriors I left there. What will they do, when they learn that I am no longer a warlord? What will your people do?”
“I am the Queen of Xy, Keir. That has not changed. You are still Overlord of Xy, and my chosen consort.”
“There are those that will take advantage of this, Lara.” Keir spoke softly, still focused on my hand as he cleaned it. “Durst will certainly see it as an opportunity to—”
I leaned in closer and whispered in his ear. “It changes nothing between us.”
Keir’s hands stilled, his head down.
“I thought you dead, lost to me forever,” I choked out. “Yet here you are, warm and alive and next to me.”
He lifted his head, his eyes brilliant with his own tears. Some of the light in their depths was dimmed. The Council’s actions had been a blow to him, I could see that.
“Nothing else matters, Keir,” I repeated. “Nothing except our love.”
He drew a shuddering breath, and I leaned in and kissed him gently. His lips were soft and gentle, and the touch reassured us both. It might have led to more, except that my stomach chose to grumble at that moment. I broke the kiss, and Keir chuckled,