Page 81 of Wolfehound
But his words stuck with her, something poignant and powerful that she would never forget. Theirs was an old love story, as they’d been part of one another nearly their entire lives. A love that was embedded in them, part of their very bones. Something that could never be removed or separated.
I am your faithful companion, your protector.
He’d left out just one thing.
The love of your life.
And she was the love of his.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Two Weeks Later
The chamber wasdark and warm, with the only light and heat coming from the hearth. The little hearth worked quite well and the fires in it tended to be big and blazing, so much so that the entire wall above the hearth was blackened with soot. Even the bottom of the bed was blackened with soot in spite of the fact that they’d moved it as far away from the hearth as they could without actually moving it out of the room. That meant that the bed was right by the door, so when she walked in, he saw her immediately.
He must have started, or otherwise moved, because she approached the bed with her hand up in a soothing gesture.
“Be at ease, lad,” she said in a thick Scots accent. “I’m here tae check her wounds.”
He relaxed when he realized who it was. “Lady Warenton,” he said. “I am grateful for your attention yet again.”
Jordan’s gaze lingered on the big knight for a moment before she bent over and began to carefully pull away the bandages. Thefirelight wasn’t enough to really see the wounds in great detail, but at least she didn’t smell them anymore.
That was something.
“I’ve tended many battle wounds in my time,” she said, peeling back the first bandage. “I’ve seen worse than yers, though yer wound wasn’t nearly so bad as the poison that infected it afterward. Still, it seems tae have gone away.”
“Thanks to you,” Tyrus said. “Will I recover?”
“I believe ye will,” Jordan said, peeling back the second bandage. “But that is why we must talk.”
“What about?”
“This life ye lead.”
“What about it?”
She stopped with the bandages and looked at him. “I dinna heal ye simply so ye could run back tae Canterbury and tell him what ye know about Cambria,” she said. “This ends now or I’ll make it so ye’ll never rise from this bed again.”
Tyrus believed her. This small, old woman had so deftly taken on the wounds he’d received from the double-bolt shot to his torso because she was the only one at Folkingham who would touch him. Everyone else was focused on Liam and Kyle, but she wasn’t. She’d spent days and nights with him, tending the wounds, flushing them out with wine when they became infected and forcing him to drink a brew made from rotten bread. Whatever she did had killed the poison in the wounds, which were now healing, and Tyrus was the first one to say that he owed her everything.
He sighed heavily.
“I’ve never owed a debt of gratitude to anyone in my entire life,” he said, turning his head away as she began to poke at the healing wounds. “I am a man with no debts, no loyalties.”
“Untrue,” she said. “Ye’re loyal tae me now for saving yer life. I could have let ye die, but I dinna. I healed ye.”
“Why?” he asked.
She didn’t answer right away, focused on the wounds. “Because ye’re someone’s son,” she said softly. “I did this for yer mother, lad. Tell me about her.”
He looked at her then. “Mymother?”
“Aye.”
“There is not much to tell except that I had one.”
“Is she still alive?”
