pleasant stab of recognition. ‘I’ve been here before. We had to lower our sail to pass beneath.’
It had been a few hours before Donnel’s men had intercepted them. Risha tried to recall Gorth as he had looked that first time they’d met, but it was only Muir’s face that came to mind. It seemed a lifetime ago. She’d been little more than a child, ignorant of who she was in every possible sense.
Nolan must have recognised whatever expression the thought put on her face. ‘These last few years have been hard on you.’
She glanced at him sidelong. ‘I wouldn’t claim them as easy. But harder than life as an unwanted outsider in a village in Westlaw’s northern mountains?’ She shook her head. ‘Confusing, it’s fair to say.’
Nolan’s expression shifted to amused admiration. ‘One day I should like to hear the full story, Guardsman Rush.’
They spent the night in the grain loft of a mill on the eastern side of the River El. Nolan had them saddled up again at first light, but come midday he turned from the road to follow a meandering stream, looking smug when he led them to a broad swimming hole overshadowed by arching willows.
While Nolan lit a fire and Croft scouted the trees, Risha rescued a block of soap from her saddlebag, stripped to her undergarments and plunged in. The morning had been hot, sending itching trails of sweat down her back, but it was still a stretch to describe the shadowed water as anything but chill. She soaped her skin and hair thenwaded back to the shallows to rinse out her trousers and shirt. Juddering with cold she towelled herself hastily and tugged Lyse’s best dress over her head. The thin fabric clung to her damp skin.
As she spread her wet clothes over a branch at the top of the bank Nolan strode to the water’s edge, stripped off boots and shirt, and dived in. He spouted a plume of water as he surfaced, reminding her of the giant sea creatures she’d seen on her voyage from LeMarc.
By the time he joined her at the fire, her hair had begun to dry into soft curls, its lack of length still surprising as she combed it with her fingers. She felt him staring and looked up. Her cheeks reddened as she realised his eyes rested lower.
‘Forgive me.’ He leant down, his fingers pulling the neck of her dress aside to bare her shoulder, his mouth tight. ‘How, exactly, did this happen?’
Risha’s hand rose involuntarily to cover the bruising. It had blossomed into a full, dark purple that stretched the length of her shoulder and seeped across her upper chest. ‘It’s nothing.’ His fingers, carefully prodding her collarbone, were cool. She flinched from his touch. ‘I was behind the slats when the Westlarn kicked them in. It’s better than it was.’ Her reply sounded feeble, even to her own ears.
Muscles jumped in Nolan’s jaw. Risha cleared her throat. ‘I’m fine. Please don’t make a fuss.’
Without a word he straightened and walked away. She jerked her eyes from his naked back as Croft appeared through the trees.
‘Everything all right?’
She gestured, mute, towards the bruising visible acrossher collarbone and left him to work it out. He handed her their blackened pot. ‘Might want to fill that and set it on to boil. Fixings are in my saddlebag.’
‘You should swim, while it heats.’ Her voice was thin.
‘Aye, I’ll do that. Water warm?’
She shook her head and he grinned.
Nolan had pulled on a fresh shirt when she carried the slopping pot back into the small circle of their camp and hung it over the flames.
He finished repacking his saddlebag then crossed to her side. ‘Here.’ He offered her a small crock, sealed with wax. ‘It’ll help with the bruising. I’d have given it to you sooner if I’d known.’
The ointment was thick and smelled of the wild herbs that grew on the arid slopes of the southern Othgard Mountains. She smeared it cautiously across her bruised shoulder.
Nolan shook his head when she handed it back.
It had been a few hours before Donnel’s men had intercepted them. Risha tried to recall Gorth as he had looked that first time they’d met, but it was only Muir’s face that came to mind. It seemed a lifetime ago. She’d been little more than a child, ignorant of who she was in every possible sense.
Nolan must have recognised whatever expression the thought put on her face. ‘These last few years have been hard on you.’
She glanced at him sidelong. ‘I wouldn’t claim them as easy. But harder than life as an unwanted outsider in a village in Westlaw’s northern mountains?’ She shook her head. ‘Confusing, it’s fair to say.’
Nolan’s expression shifted to amused admiration. ‘One day I should like to hear the full story, Guardsman Rush.’
They spent the night in the grain loft of a mill on the eastern side of the River El. Nolan had them saddled up again at first light, but come midday he turned from the road to follow a meandering stream, looking smug when he led them to a broad swimming hole overshadowed by arching willows.
While Nolan lit a fire and Croft scouted the trees, Risha rescued a block of soap from her saddlebag, stripped to her undergarments and plunged in. The morning had been hot, sending itching trails of sweat down her back, but it was still a stretch to describe the shadowed water as anything but chill. She soaped her skin and hair thenwaded back to the shallows to rinse out her trousers and shirt. Juddering with cold she towelled herself hastily and tugged Lyse’s best dress over her head. The thin fabric clung to her damp skin.
As she spread her wet clothes over a branch at the top of the bank Nolan strode to the water’s edge, stripped off boots and shirt, and dived in. He spouted a plume of water as he surfaced, reminding her of the giant sea creatures she’d seen on her voyage from LeMarc.
By the time he joined her at the fire, her hair had begun to dry into soft curls, its lack of length still surprising as she combed it with her fingers. She felt him staring and looked up. Her cheeks reddened as she realised his eyes rested lower.
‘Forgive me.’ He leant down, his fingers pulling the neck of her dress aside to bare her shoulder, his mouth tight. ‘How, exactly, did this happen?’
Risha’s hand rose involuntarily to cover the bruising. It had blossomed into a full, dark purple that stretched the length of her shoulder and seeped across her upper chest. ‘It’s nothing.’ His fingers, carefully prodding her collarbone, were cool. She flinched from his touch. ‘I was behind the slats when the Westlarn kicked them in. It’s better than it was.’ Her reply sounded feeble, even to her own ears.
Muscles jumped in Nolan’s jaw. Risha cleared her throat. ‘I’m fine. Please don’t make a fuss.’
Without a word he straightened and walked away. She jerked her eyes from his naked back as Croft appeared through the trees.
‘Everything all right?’
She gestured, mute, towards the bruising visible acrossher collarbone and left him to work it out. He handed her their blackened pot. ‘Might want to fill that and set it on to boil. Fixings are in my saddlebag.’
‘You should swim, while it heats.’ Her voice was thin.
‘Aye, I’ll do that. Water warm?’
She shook her head and he grinned.
Nolan had pulled on a fresh shirt when she carried the slopping pot back into the small circle of their camp and hung it over the flames.
He finished repacking his saddlebag then crossed to her side. ‘Here.’ He offered her a small crock, sealed with wax. ‘It’ll help with the bruising. I’d have given it to you sooner if I’d known.’
The ointment was thick and smelled of the wild herbs that grew on the arid slopes of the southern Othgard Mountains. She smeared it cautiously across her bruised shoulder.
Nolan shook his head when she handed it back.
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