Page 37 of Anwen of Primewood
“I’m sorry about your eye.” I trace the very edges of the puffy skin with my fingertips. “I wish we had something to put on it.”
The skin is split at the corner, and a slow stream of blood runs down his cheek. Feeling responsible, I dab it away with my handkerchief.
Galinor’s expression softens when our eyes meet. “I’m fine.”
“Irving?” Bran collapses on a large boulder at the side of the road. “Who were those men, and what did they want? They ambushed you first, and they hollered your name.”
Irving rolls his shoulders and then stretches his neck. He glances at me, flashes a wicked smile, and then looks back to Bran. “I do believe they were a few of Lord Orick’s men.”
Galinor looks from me to Irving, his expression clearly surprised. “Why would they attack us?”
“Me,” Irving says, looking a little sheepish. “They attacked me.”
“But why?”
“I attended one of Alexander’s illegal dice games last night. I won fairly, but they weren’t eager to part with their coins.”
Seeing we’re now safe, Marigold rides back from the side of the road and scowls at Irving. “I’m sure you didn’t taunt them about your win, either.”
He grins. “Of course not.”
“Are you all right, Marigold?” Galinor stands and goes to her.
Her eyes drop to her horse’s mane. “I’m fine, thank you. Dristan saw them first, and he told me to take to the trees.”
“I’m glad you heeded his advice,” Galinor says to her. He turns to me and gives me a pointed look.
I set my jaw and stare back at him. His eyebrow twitches as if he’s about to lose his temper, but I turn away, biting my cheek so I don’t laugh. I’m certain that would do nothing to improve his mood.
The beast-man groans again. Galinor leans down and checks his pulse. He decides the man will live, and he tells us we should ride on so they can return to collect their men. Bran quickly checks the other man, who I believe is faking his unconsciousness at this point.
“How are you?” I ask Dristan.
He brushes the dust from his tunic and smiles at me. “I could have taken him, you know.”
“I know,” I agree, though we both know he probably couldn’t have.
“You should have seen the look on his face when you attacked him.” Dristan grins. “He froze up, and his eyes went huge when you bashed him on the head.”
Irving laughs, a bright sound, and he drapes his arm over my shoulders. “That’s my girl.”
“She shouldn’t have been in the middle of it at all,” Galinor grumbles, but he is ignored.
I eye Irving. “You faired the best out of everyone.” I poke his side. “Not even a scratch.”
Bran laughs. “When people ask what’s happened to us, they’ll think he ran away.”
A purple bruise is already forming on Bran’s cheek. Dristan has a gash on his forehead that needs to be tended, and, of course, Galinor has a very painful looking black eye.
Irving cringes and turns his cheek toward me. “Hit me, Anwen, right here. I can’t have people thinking I’m a coward.” He flashes me a taunting grin, thinking I won’t.
“I’ll take you up on that offer,” I say. “But not today.”
Bran whistles as he looks at the man at my feet. “Don’t make her mad again, Irving.”
I do feel bad about knocking the man out—but their men started it.
Growing impatient, Galinor says, “We need to ride.”
