Page 108 of Alliance Bride
He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close as he turned to guard her, knife still raised. She pressed herself against his side, her entire body collapsing with relief. Nearby, Erik and Ingvald finished off the remaining Kalgorans. Several others layscattered around the clearing. Within moments, the sounds of fighting fell silent, and Aevar turned to her. His eyes scoured her face before dropping lower, and his expression pulled tight.
Somewhere amidst the shock, pain broke through. Eadlyn looked down. Blood soaked the left side of her bodice around a slit in the fabric, starting at her shoulder and going up toward her neck. She winced, the pain sharpening. The blade must have just missed her throat.
“Sit down.”
His voice sounded distant through the buzzing in her ears. She took a shaky step back, and her legs gave out. Aevar’s hold tightened around her arms, lowering her to the ground. After wiping his seax knife in the grass, he cut the ropes from her wrists. Grabbing one of her sleeves that had been discarded nearby, he pressed it to the wound. She sucked in a breath, a groan rising in her throat.
Once the sharp stab of pain lessened, she settled back against the stone and met his gaze, afraid she was dreaming. “You’re here.”
He reached up and rested his hand against her cheek. “Yes.”
She leaned into it, and tears leaked out as the reality sank in.
She was safe.
Chapter Forty
Aevar’sheartthundered,theheat of battle still pulsing in his veins. He kept his hand pressed against Eadlyn’s wounded shoulder, but he eyed her face in mounting horror. She looked thinner, fragile in a way he had never seen before. Her lip had split and begun to heal. Faded bruising colored one cheekbone in a sickly yellow beneath streaks of rune paint. Her wrists, free of the ropes, were worn raw. These weren’t just signs of captivity. They were signs of suffering.
Rage flared anew, burning up his throat. If he hadn’t known Sig was probably already dead, he might have ridden back to finish him. But the anger faltered the moment he spied the tears. They trailed silently down her cheeks. Not sobs or weeping, but slow, steady tracks. She didn’t even seem to notice them. Her face was frozen, caught somewhere between relief and utter exhaustion.
He brushed his fingers along her cheek, smearing away one of the inky runes. “Are you all right?”
She nodded against hishand. “I am now.”
A rustle made him turn. Heida approached, almost silent on the blood-spattered grass. She stepped over the seer’s body and picked up the knife that had cut Eadlyn. Aevar’s lungs seized. What if the blade was poisoned?No, please.
Heida turned the blade in her hand and rubbed the edge with her thumb. At last, she shook her head. “It doesn’t appear poisoned.”
Relief crashed over him so fast it made him dizzy.Thank you.
Fathir knelt beside them. He set down a small bag of supplies and pulled out a roll of linen. “We’ll wrap the wound and take her to Kjolur. There will be a healer there.”
Aevar shifted Eadlyn to sit straighter so they could wrap the wound more easily. She winced, her breath hitching, and he tightened his hold on her. His father peeled back the makeshift cloth Aevar had used, and the sight of the wound robbed him of breath. The gash traced a deep line below her collarbone, curving dangerously toward her neck. Another inch higher and she might have bled out before he’d been able to reach her.
His hands trembled as he helped his father wind the bandage around her shoulder, binding it tight to stop the bleeding. He could hear every shallow rise and fall of her breath and the tremor in it.
He had almost lost her.
When they finished, Aevar reached for her and gathered her into his arms. She gave a soft gasp as the motion jarred her wound but then sagged against him. Her body, light and far too thin, curled toward his chest, and she rested her head in the crook of his neck. The familiar scent of her hair reached him—earthy and faintly sweet despite the dirt and blood—and something about it nearly broke him.
He swallowed hard and whispered, “I’ve got you.”
She didn’t respond in words, but the way she tucked herself more fully against him said enough.
He carried her to his horse. Though she tried to help as he lifted her into the saddle, her limbs trembled too badly to hold her own weight. She sagged once more, breath catching in pain. Aevar climbed up behind her and settled himself so her back rested against him. He slid his arm around her waist, anchoring her there. She leaned into him as if she had no strength left to do anything else.
He pressed his lips to her hair. “I will never let them take you again.”
Her hand found his and clutched it. Together, they turned from the blood and horror of the clearing and rode into the trees.
Kjolur, the place where Heida had grown up, unfolded along the slope of a rugged hill, overlooking a wide, lush valley streaked gold and rust with late-summer grass. In the distance, the river shimmered like molten copper beneath the lowering sun, its rippling surface catching every last shard of daylight. Smoke drifted from thatched rooftops as Aevar and the others approached, the horses’ hooves crunching on packed earth as they followed the winding path through the village. He hadn’t been here in years. Not since their last battle against Kalgora. It felt like a different life now.
As they approached the great longhouse at the center of the settlement, its carved doors swung open. Jarl Gudrik walked out, flanked by his wife, Jodis, and Heida’s brothers.
Gudrik was not a large man—shorter and leaner than Fathir or Erik—but he carried a fierce, untamed energy. Gray streaked his dark hair, his wiry frame hardened by decades of defending the northern border and surviving. Jodis stood beside him, tall and composed, with her silver-threaded braid resting over her shoulder. She was the only one capable of tempering Gudrik’s recklessness when necessary.
While Heida greeted her family, Aevar slid from his horse and turned to Eadlyn. Her face pinched in pain, but before he could lift her, she laid a hand on his arm.
