By mid-morning, Alaura’s unconscious state filled Bronwyn with dread. Though she had turned during the night to face him, she hadn’t awakened, and now, with a slow, cool drizzle falling, he wrestled with what to do. He couldn’t return to the keep with her in this condition, and the nearest settlement lay half a day’s ride away, well past the location Isla had scribbled on the book page. If Alaura needed a healer’s attention then the longer he waited to decide, the less likely she’d recover.
He folded the map and shoved it into the pouch. He cursed himself for his inability to know what to do then he cursed for what he had done. If he hadn’t bathed or changed his clothes, those barbarians wouldn’t have gotten their hands on Alaura. She’d be well. He swore out loud. Never again would he leave her unattended whilst on The Trail! She belonged at Maskil, not in the wilds risking her life and well-being. He promised himself when he finally got her to the safety of home, it’d be where she’d stay.
Bronwyn dropped his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes. The sting behind the eyelids had become a common feeling since leaving home—not enough sleep and too much worry. The wicked dreams rekindled themselves, and he felt the anger grow. He should have been wiser, stronger, better prepared and this wouldn’t have happened to her.
“Bronwyn.”
He bolted upright. “Alaura?” He ran to her side and grasped her hand.
She sat up and looked around, confused, as if she didn’t recall what had happened to bring her here. But he remembered; he’d never forget.
“Where are we?” Her voice sounded strong.
“About three hours from the keep.”
“The keep?” She looked down as if searching her memory. “The keep. Those men!” Her eyes flashed at him. “They attacked me! They came out of the bushes.” She rubbed her head. “They struck me with a stick or club!”
“You were knocked unconscious.”
“They had hunger in their eyes. The kind…” She buried her face in her trembling hands. “They wanted to—”
“They didn’t. I took care of them.” Bronwyn jerked her to his chest and held her. His hand caressed her side, ran down her thigh, along her leg and back again. She’d feel his hand, not theirs. “They won’t hurt another woman.” His heart sank when he heard her sobs. He never wanted her to feel this way, like a piece of meat men sought for pleasure and nothing more. The rage idling on the sidelines flared again. If he had those men in his hands now, he’d tear them apart without a second thought.
Time passed, and whilst Alaura’s weeping ebbed, Bronwyn’s anger grew. He knew he had done the right thing, but he had done it the wrong way. He had crossed the line between honourable men who killed to protect and those who killed for revenge. Take a life to save a life—he had believed this from the moment he picked up his first sword. Now he questioned it.
Without warning, she slapped his chest. “I told you not to speak of me in that manner to those men! They saw me as vulnerable. They might never have followed us if you had spoken about me with respect.”
Bronwyn sank back. Did she speak the truth? If he hadn’t reduced her to an old nag and had corrected them when they offered to buy her, would they have come after her? Would they have seen her as his equal if he had spoken about her with respect? He swallowed hard. He had even joked about taking her back to them.
“Why did you do that?” She pushed the damp hair from her face and stared at him. “It’s not what you believe, so why didn’t you treat me as an equal in front of them?”
He didn’t know many things, including the answer to her question. After all, he was only a man. “I don’t know,” he said slowly then walked to the edge of the campsite. Had they been in Maskil, he’d have walked on and gone where his feet took him, but he was far from his birth town. Never before had he felt more lost.
He looked down at the clothes he wore. They were those of a traveller, not an Aruam Castle sergeant. Had he thrown away his principles with his uniform? He shivered when he felt Alaura’s arms wrap around his waist. She rested her head against his shoulder and held him tight.
“I don’t blame you.” Her voice fell softly on his neck. “You’d never hurt me. There is no one I feel safer beside.”
Bronwyn released his breath. She may not blame him, but he did. Yesterday he had changed into a person he disliked and disrespected, a man who had no right to be with her. He pushed her hands from his waist and walked to the campfire. “Eat. I’ll pack up the gear.”
“Let’s discuss this.” She followed him to the fire.
“Talking’s a waste of time.” He knelt, grabbed the blankets and forced them into a bundle. “The sooner we get on the move, the sooner we catch that bastard and give him what he deserves!”
Within a half hour, Bronwyn had everything packed and sat in the saddle. When Alaura looked up at him, he pulled his foot from the stirrup and reached out a hand to help her up. When she hesitated, he said, “Whilst you stand there arguing with your pride, we’re losing precious time.”
She frowned at him and mounted. Before she had herself settled, he nudged Clover forward. “You’re being more than rude today.”
“Say hello to the new me. A man who doesn’t give a damn!” As Bronwyn guided the mare onto the narrow road, he bit his lip and swallowed hard. The problem with this new man was he did give a damn. He felt her arms settle around his waist. He wished to enjoy the feelings they had once created, but he no longer deserved the pleasure. A pure spirit like Alaura wouldn’t forgive him for what he’d done, and he didn’t expect her to try. She had told him her blood burnt for him because of his status, but he no longer could claim to be an honourable man.