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lips were pinched in a line. Her brow furrowed, as if she found his apology confusing.
    How could he make his meaning more clear? “I won’t touch you again. You have my word.”
    Much as he craved her hands on him, he’d never keep his word if he let her tend his injury. He stood, welcoming the pain ripping through his leg. “Rest, lady. I’ll wrap my wound in my preservation hut. But first I’ll fetch you water to bathe with.”
    “You’ll do no such thing. Get on the bed.”
    He headed for the door.
    “If you want my forgiveness, you’ll take off your bloody trews and get on the bloody bed. Now.”
    He could not resist glancing at her, not when her voice held such fire and strength.
    Her eyes blazed. Her beauty shone like the moon. She captivated him utterly and completely.
    He was helpless to look away. His tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth, so instead of responding, he merely shook his head and forced himself to leave.
    Outside, he took his time filling the water bucket, hoping the crisp night air would cool his lust. It didn’t.
    When he returned, he found Anya at the workbench, coating bandages with salve and muttering about “bloody thick-skulled fools.” Even angry, she made him want to wrap her in his arms and never let go.
    He cleared his throat before approaching the workbench and setting the bucket on the floor. “I’ll give you privacy,” he said as he collected the bandages and vinegar. “ Wash yourself and set your dress on the hearth. You can find a clean shirt to sleep in under my pallet.”
    He turned to go, but felt something catch on his sleeve. He looked down to see her hand curled in the fabric.
    “Stop being stubborn. I’m decent at healing. Let me do this. To thank you for rescuing me.”
    He wasn’t the only one being stubborn. Purple circles under her eyes spoke of her need for sleep, and yet she worried about him. He gently uncurled her hand from his shirt, keeping the touch as brief as possible. But when he spoke, he made his voice hard. “I’ve dealt with far worse than this on my own. I don’t need you to care for me. Now, let me lick my wounds in peace.”
    She flinched at his pretended impatience. It was for her own good. For the good of them both.
    He walked out, leaving her to the quiet cabin and his comfortable pallet.
    If he’d had any doubts before, they were gone now. He needed to take her to Chroina. She’d be safe in Marann’s capital. From the Larnians. And from him. Unfortunately, it was a long walk, and he had a sinking feeling the longer he kept company with her, the harder it would be to keep his word.
    He’d never been one to pray. The goddess, if she existed, had forsaken his people long ago. But if a little faith would benefit Anya, he had to try.
    Danu, don’t let me fail her.

Chapter 4
     
    Hands on her hips, Anya watched the door close on the cold autumn night and an enormous, stubborn fool. If the wound turned, it would serve him right.
    She considered following and getting him out of those trews by fair means or foul, but didn’t much care for the tone he’d used with her and was glad to be rid of him for a time. No matter what the pang behind her breastbone suggested.
    Sighing, she turned in a circle to survey his home. The single room with walls of log and mud was about the size of the front room of her da’s cottage, roughly ten paces square. Two stone pillars kept the roof from sagging, and between the pillars a rug of roan animal hide covered the floor. Mortared stone framed the door Riggs had just left through, as well as the two shuttered windows sharing the wall with the door. The next wall was dominated by a great sooty fireplace and a stone hearth cluttered with cooking things. Above the fireplace hung five sets of mounted antlers, all fierce looking and huge. Had he felled those stags with a party of hunters? By himself? She could almost believe it, given his size.
    He was taller than the largest man she’d ever met, Big