Return of the Border Warrior. Blythe Gifford
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walk the wall. The hall would be full of snoring men. But she had prowled the tower at night often enough to find a perch at the curve of the stairs where there was a hole in the wall for a lookout. There, she could sit, watching the hills, to be sure no one was coming.
As she approached it, she heard steps coming towards her. She had not brought a candle, needing no light to find her way, but this was not a footfall she recognised.
She gripped the dirk that was ever by her side, comforted by Belde, who was right behind her, but did not growl. Was it someone the dog knew? She slowed her steps.
Stopped.
He did the same.
She took a step.
So did he.
Her heart beat fast and the blood in her ears almost drowned the sound. Was someone beyond the curve of the stair? Ready to take her again?
No. She would not let that happen. She would run him through first.
She held out the dirk and rushed down the stairs, blade poised to hit a man in the belly.
But just before she reached him, a hand grasped her wrist, tight as a manacle, and jerked her arm up, pulling her closer. ‘What the hell are you doing, Cate?’
Her body still carried the dream’s fear. It took two breaths, three, before she recognised John Brunson. And then, pressed against him, his lips close to her cheek, she felt something she had never thought to feel for a man.
Desire.
The dog pushed himself between them, sniffing John in greeting. ‘Traitor,’ she muttered.
John let her go quickly, and she pulled away, back against the wall, still clinging to her dirk.
Holding his hands up and well away, he spoke. ‘I didn’t know it was you, I swear. I only touched you to save my skin. Don’t run me through.’
Shocked and disorientated, she stood shaking, slow to recognise his light, coaxing tone. Her fingers tightened about the hilt of the blade.
He leaned forwards. ‘Are you all right?’
Surprised he had dropped anger so quickly, she jerked her head, not sure whether she signalled no or yes.
‘Did you hear something? An intruder?’ His hand hovered over his own dagger now.
‘No, no.’ She found her hand on his arm, trying to quiet him before the whole tower waked. ‘You just startled me.’
‘Then why were you prowling the stairs?’
She exhaled her pent-up breath. ‘I had a bad dream and could not close my eyes again.’
The sound of his breathing next to hers in the dark was oddly intimate. In this bend of the stairs, they were hidden from view and for the first time since she woke, she breathed easily. An unfamiliar feeling. One she barely recognised.
‘And you,’ she asked. ‘Did dreams rouse you?’
Even in the dark, she sensed he shook his head. ‘Worries, not dreams.’
The moon Rob had warned of cast faint light in through the opening in the wall. She sat, taking her favourite perch. Belde moved to the step above her and settled, warm and familiar at her back. John sat two steps below, not asking permission. His position, so close and in the dark, seemed more intimate than a touch.
She struggled for distance. ‘We’ll send no men to the king. At least, not until we kill Scarred Willie.’
‘And when you kill him, the Storwicks will kill a Brunson and we’ll strike back and it will go on until after all of us have been gone for as long as that Viking on Hogback Hill. Is that what you want?’
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