Page 80 of Alliance Bride
Aevar motioned toward the door. “I can stand guard.”
“We have men for that. You’re wounded.” Runar glanced meaningfully at Eadlyn before giving Aevar a prodding look.
With an understanding nod, Aevar turned to her and ushered her toward their room. But after only a few steps, her insides lurched, and her head grew light. She stopped, swallowing hard as her heartbeat elevated.
“Eadlyn?”
“I need…” She couldn’t finish. She bolted for the door.
Outside, she stumbled past the threshold and doubled over. Her stomach convulsed and emptied itself onto the grass. Spasms racked her body, her muscles wringing themselves out. The night air was cool, but the stench of battle clung even here. Her knees wobbled. She braced a hand against the longhouse wall, trying not to retch again.
She sensed Aevar behind her. His hand pressed against her back, rubbing slow circles. She sighed at the soothing motion, but shame pricked at her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“For what?”
She straightened away from the wall and peeked up at him. “For being so weak.”
“What makes you think you’re weak?”
“I don’t see your mother or Ranvi out here emptying their stomachs.”
Aevar reached out, cupping her face and tilting her chin until she looked at him. “You’re not weak. This was your first battle. Your body reacts. It’s not something you can fight.” He gave her a crooked smile. “After my first battle, I didn’t even make it to a tree. I ended up spilling my guts all over Braan’s shield.”
A weak laugh cracked from her lips and helped ease the tension in her body.
His thumb brushed her cheek. “No one here thinks you’re weak.”
“Except maybe Oda.”
He smirked at her attempt at humor.
Footsteps approached. Kian handed Eadlyn a cup of water with an expression that conveyed understanding. She thanked him and tried not to think of how many had seen her get sick. Maybe they’d all done the same at some point.
She rinsed her mouth and took a careful sip. Her stomach still rolled, but it no longer revolted. She drew a fortifying breath. “Do attacks like this happen often?”
“Not here. Raiders rarely make it this far south, and never in numbers like this.”
She looked towards the village. “Do you think there are more?”
Aevar followed her gaze. “It’s hard to say. We’ll search at first light. But if any survived, they’ve likely fled.”
Chapter Thirty
Aevarsatup,carefulnot to pull at the stitches in his side, but the pain sliced through him like a freshly honed blade. He clenched his jaw, hissing through his teeth as the muscles around the wound protested. Still, lying in bed while others combed the village or counted the dead was worse.
He pushed to his feet and his attention pulled towards the bed. Eadlyn still slept, or at least she appeared to be. She lay curled on her side, arms wrapped around the pillow, knees drawn up tight like someone who’d fought for every moment of sleep. Her hair was tangled, and the flowers that had adorned it now lay crushed and wilted among the strands. A sad remnant of what had begun as a perfect day.
The lamp on the table near the bed flickered low. She’d asked if they could keep it burning through the night. He’d already relit it once when the flame had sputtered, but now, with dawn’s haze creeping through the window, he blew it out.
Her lashes fluttered, but she didn’t stir. He watched her a moment longer, the image of her in last night’s chaos etched intohis memory. He would never be able to forget the moment the raider lunged at her. She could have been taken from him. In an instant.
The urge to lie beside her, to hold her and feel her breathe against him, almost broke his resolve. But he wouldn’t risk startling her. Wouldn’t invade her space without an invitation. So he turned from her, gathered his sword and knife, and slipped out of the room.
The longhouse was nearly silent. Just the soft rustle of the thralls near the hearth and Móthir’s quiet instructions. She appeared calm and collected despite the turmoil of last night. She’d always been a pillar of steadfastness and strength. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t remember ever seeing her cry. Perhaps his father might say differently. He had no knowledge of what emotions his mother allowed to break through in the privacy of their bedroom.
He thought of Eadlyn’s words the night before. “Weak,” she’d said. She couldn’t have been more wrong. She had faced blood, death, and terror, and had still helped. Still served. Her hands had trembled, but they’d moved anyway. That was strength.
