Page 6 of The Guardian

Chapter Three

The insistent pounding of his head was hard to bear. Hendry refused to open his eyes, fearful that light would make things worse. The surroundings were silent, and the scents that permeated were unfamiliar. He was not at the keep; he was sure of it.

The aroma of food made his stomach growl.

As he adjusted himself on the blankets he lay upon, he winced when his side protested. By the pull of the skin, he’d been wounded and then stitched. The fact that he’d been cared for hopefully meant he’d not been taken by the attackers.

Slowly the memory formed of him returning from his parents and being attacked by three men. A dagger had cut his right side and one of them had driven a blade through his left side. That is where his recollection stopped.

By the way his head pounded, Hendry was sure he’d been struck from behind. A direct blow to the head. It was a miracle they’d not made sure he was dead before leaving. If not for the damn pulsing of his head, he would smile because one memory that remained was that of the men’s faces. It wouldn’t take much to find them.

Needing to know where he was, or at the very least get the layout of his surroundings, Hendry forced his eyelids up. Just a bit. There was nothing. He was in a modest bedchamber. On the floor, next to him was a small, neatly made bed, with only a tattered blanket on it. He scanned all along the walls for hints of where he was, but there were scant belongings. Only a trunk at the foot of the bed, and a small table upon which a candlestick was the sole item.

He took several deep breaths and pushed up to sit. The threadbare blankets that had somehow managed to keep him warm slid down from his chest and pooled on his lap. He was naked, not one stitch of clothing on his body. Fortunately, his head pains didn’t increase. Unfortunately, they didn’t decrease either.

It couldn’t be helped; he’d have to seek out who’d nursed him and thank them. Once dressed, he’d ride to the keep. The sooner he and the guard went after the attackers, the better.

He got to his feet and swayed a bit, but not enough to be worrisome. Not bothering to cover himself, as he was sure it had to be a lone male who’d managed to drag him into the room, he went in search of his clothing.

“I wish to thank ye for yer help…” He stopped speaking at seeing Ailith by the hearth stirring a pot. On instinct his hands flattened across his private area.

Her eyes flew to him, sliding down his body, hesitating for a moment on his bandaged midsection before dropping lower. Instantly realizing just where her eyes had fallen, her cheeks reddened, and her eyes flew to his. “Yer clothes are folded next to where ye lay. Did ye not see them?”

Once standing, he’d not looked to the side by the wall, not wishing to turn his head more than necessary.

“I-I didnae.” He turned to go and swayed again.

“Wait.” Ailith rushed to him. “I am nae sure ye should be upright yet. Yer head wound is very large and deep. It is a wonder ye survived.”

Although she was diminutive next to him, he allowed her to place his arm over her shoulders and lead him back into the bedchamber.

Once there, she pointed to the bed. “Sit.”

He did as he was told and cupped his hands between his legs. “Thank ye for all ye did for me. I can get dressed.”

Ailith nodded, her gaze searched his face, concentrating on his eyes. “Today is the third day since ye came to my door. Ye have been unconscious for most of the time.”

So this was the third day since the attack. He had to get to the keep. “I will dress and ride home. I am surprised no one has come in search of me.”

“No one has come.” She shrugged. “Where were ye traveling from?”

“My parents’ home.”

Her hazel eyes slid to look away from him. “They must assume ye decided to extend yer visit.”

It was true, he often remained a sennight when visiting. This time he’d cut the visit short because they planned a gathering that would include matchmaking. Not in the mood to indulge his parents’ fantasy that he marry a local woman and return to live there, he’d decided to leave.

She let out a breath, and her expression hardened. “Get dressed, then ye will eat. If ye are sure to be able to ride, then it’s best ye go.”

“It must have been hard not to let me die,” he said as if he was teasing, but there was truth behind his words, and she knew it. “I ken how ye feel about me. Would prefer if I had died in Brant’s place.”

Ailith’s gaze bore into him. “I dinnae wish anyone to have died. Once ye are dressed, I expect ye to leave immediately,” she said and practically ran from the room.

Dressing was a tedious process, each movement seemed to increase the headache, and he prayed it would ease. His tunic had been hemmed and everything was washed, giving him pause. So strange that although Ailith claimed to not like him, she’d not only cared for his wounds and given him shelter but she’d taken the time to mend and wash his clothing. Women were hard to understand.

When he finally emerged, the front room was empty. Save for a bowl of stew and flat bread left on the table, there was no other signs of Ailith or her dog.

He ignored the food, knowing she was losing a meal in order to feed him. Since his purse had been stolen, he’d return another time to compensate Ailith. He’d bring coin and food once he was able to retrieve more from the coffer in his bedchamber at the keep.