Kaelyn jerked awake in the chair by Aric’s bed not sure what had woken her. She couldn’t see anything in the dark and all she could hear in the room was Aric’s breathing. It was better than it had been in days with only a hint of a wheeze. Maybe it was the storm wailing outside, rattling ice pellets against the shutters.
“I thought I’d find you here,” said Talar.
Her heart skipped a beat and she bit back a gasp. “You shouldn’t sneak up on a girl.”
“I hadn’t thought I was being particularly sneaky.”
She wiped drool from her cheek, grateful for the darkness.
“Shall I light a candle?” he asked.
“No, let Aric sleep.” Besides, she didn’t know if she could face him. It had been three days since she’d almost kissed him in the closet and her face still burned when she thought of it. He probably hadn’t even noticed. A man as handsome as Talar wouldn’t recognize a feeble advance from someone as plain as her. But she couldn’t stop the fantasies from invading her thoughts.
She bit the inside of her cheek, determined not to let her mind wander, certainly not while he was in the room.
He shifted, his hard-soled boots hissing against the floor. “You know you can’t hide in here forever.”
Sure she could. She couldn’t go to the Great Hall or her room. The clansmen were waiting for her, with their awe and offerings, serving her as if she was royalty, wanting to be near her as if something about her would rub off on them. All but the shaman and Talar’s father. They watched her with sour expressions as if they knew the truth and she was about the grow a second head. But be it adoration or disgust, everyone left her alone when she sat at Aric’s bedside. Something about the sick-room was sacred.
Talar shifted again. She imagined him right beside her. If she inched over, just a little, she could lean against him, run her hands along his thigh. Heat blossomed low in her gut.
“My wife used to sit on sick vigils as well.”
The heat turned to ice.
The wind outside howled.
His wife. He had a wife.
The need to breathe kicked in and she sucked in a ragged breath. “Your wife?”
Ancient Father, her dreams, her thoughts! She’d almost kissed him.
“Funny story,” he said.
She bit her lip. She didn’t want to hear a funny story about his wife.
He cleared his throat. “Mac is Mac.”
“Excuse me?”
“Mac is Mac Theselon.”
“Right.” She snorted, cursed herself for not being ladylike then cursed herself for worrying what a married man thought of her.
“No, really. He returned to Court in Mythnar when we thought–”
Aric sighed in his sleep, but Talar didn’t continue.
“When you thought–?” But she had a feeling she knew what he was going to say.
“You left.”
“And we’ve already argued about this.” Besides, why would he care? He had a wife. A small part of her wondered where his wife was and why he wasn’t with her, but only disappointment would lie down that train of thought.
“Right.” The latch clicked and a sliver of light outlined him in the doorway. “When the storm ends we should head to Carthway.”
“What’s in Carthway?”
“Mac. And a town who doesn’t know who you are.” He opened the door wider. Light and shadow accentuated the sharp features of his face. Beautiful. Breathtaking. She wished she had kissed him before she knew he was married.
He turned to leave.
“Talar?”
His gaze settled on her, drawing that heat she knew she wasn’t supposed to feel any more. All because of one, simple word.
Wife.
And yet, she couldn’t stop staring at him, couldn’t stop her body’s reaction.
Aric wheezed and coughed, giving her an excuse to glance away. When she looked back, the door was ajar and he was gone.
#
The storm ended shortly before dawn. As Aric’s room began to lighten, Talar had poked his head in and told Kaelyn to go pack. Now, equipped with new winter clothes, a boy’s small sword, and a shaggy pony, she waited in the outer bailey for Talar and Gerid.
Sunlight flashed off the thick layers of ice that covered everything–the remains of the storm that had howled outside the keep–and illuminated Talar in an echo to the stark light and shadow of last night.
Beautiful and married.
Sighing, she closed her eyes and faced the dawn.
Talar, on his horse, approached and her pony shied away. She adjusted her seat in response, feeling the weight of her many layers of clothes and quilted coat about her shoulders. Winter itself was a weight that lay about her. Like her lack of memory and self. Still, even if it meant trekking through the snow and cold, she had to leave Angwyn. And for that she was grateful to Talar.
“See you in a fortnight,” said Talar, waving to Jillyn before his horse clattered out of the ward, leaving Gerid and Kaelyn to follow.
Kaelyn made a last quick check of her saddlebags. Cat lounged squeezed between her bedroll and the back of the saddle. She urged her pony into a sedate walk out of Angwyn’s courtyard. She wasn’t even going to begin unraveling the enigma that was Cat. It was easier to pretend she hadn’t heard him talk and really, she wasn’t sure she had.
She rounded the keep’s outer wall to follow the road east and found Talar stopped and taking to a clansman astride an enormous horse. As she drew closer, she realized it was the warrior she’d defeated in the trial by combat. The cut on his neck had healed well over the days, except now he sported a weave of thin scabs along his right temple, swirling out on his right check and finishing at his jaw by his ear. The tattoo–she could only guess that was what it was–was only a few days old.
He glanced at her, his expression grim.
