Halcyon Rising (10 page)

Thankfully, Trevelan seemed to realize what was at stake.

“Let me care for his wounds and settle him comfortably so he can regain his strength,” Sebastian coaxed. “Then let them go on their way, Simon. We have already inconvenienced them more than enough. Do not become what I spent so many years fighting against.”

Simon sighed and pinned Sebastian with a fierce look. “I will do this, because you have asked it of me, and you so seldom ask me for anything. But if any of my people should come to harm, I will never forgive you.”

“Thank you,” Sebastian told him, overwhelmed with relief. “I will take care of everything. You need never worry about them again, I swear it.”

Frowning, Simon turned toward the door. “Go ahead and cut him down. I will send for the healer and summon a servant to bring you some hot water and bandages. He is in rough shape. He will need every bit of you and Miranda’s combined skill to walk away from here.”

Sebastian waited until he heard his brother’s footsteps fade away before he cut Trevelan’s bonds. The large, blond man sagged forward, gasping with pain as his weakened limbs took the weight of his body after so many hours bound to the wall.

Sebastian caught him, wrapping an arm around his waist as he helped him to the narrow cot in the corner of the cell. “Lie down. I mean you no harm.”

With a soft moan, Trevelan curled up on his side, obviously unable to bear the mattress’ pressure against the wounds on his back. He had been given at least a dozen lashes, and the deep welts were bloody and enflamed. Lying on his stomach probably would not be any easier, because Sebastian feared several of his ribs were broken.

“Rhoswen is fine, sir,” Sebastian assured the man in a hushed tone. “I appreciate your support of my claim that you were mute. If you had said anything to dispute me, it would have been disastrous.”

Trevelan merely watched him, and Sebastian began to wonder if the man really was mute. Or perhaps he just did not understand. Foolish to assume the man would be able to speak his language just because Rhoswen could. She might be his interpreter.

A servant appeared with hot water and bandages, and Sebastian sent the man to gather the herbs and poultices he would need. Miranda, the village healer, would bring her own, but it would take at least an hour for her to arrive, and Sebastian knew enough of the healing arts to make Trevelan more comfortable.

When the servant disappeared, Sebastian began cleaning Trevelan’s wounds. His respect for the man grew when Trevelan remained stoic throughout the pain. This strong-willed foreigner was Rhoswen’s equal in a way Sebastian feared he himself could never be.

All his life, Sebastian had been accused of being far too fair to be a man. He had always hated his looks. People often thought him weak at first glance, made all sorts of erroneous assumptions about his character and sexual practices. After his comely face had caused Sa’id to pick him for his perverted games, Sebastian had even considered disfiguring himself to prevent such a thing from ever happening again.

But despite Trevelan’s wounds, the man was so handsome Sebastian felt like a troll in comparison. He could not help but wonder if Rhoswen’s sweet passion had all been an act, a desperate attempt to gain Sebastian’s help.

The thought sobered him, and he wished he had the ability to explore her mind the way she had explored his. He would dearly like to know if all her kisses and touches had been spurred by fear.

Jesu Christ, just yesterday he had sworn to never take what he wanted, no matter how freely she appeared to give it, in order to keep from becoming like his hated desert master. Already he had gone far past the line he had meant to draw.

“Rhoswen read my mind,” he told Trevelan, in a half-hearted attempt to explain the situation. “She must have found me worthy of her trust, so I hope you will come to feel the same.”

“If you have put your filthy hands upon her, I swear I’ll kill you.” When Trevelan finally spoke, his voice was hoarse with disuse, his accent even thicker than Rhoswen’s.

“I would never force myself on an unwilling maid,” Sebastian said sharply. Trevelan’s reply confirmed that there was more between him and Rhoswen than she had claimed. The man seemed very much the jealous lover. “If you wish, I will allow you to visit with her briefly so you can ask her for yourself.”

Trevelan’s anger visibly deserted him. “I’ve been so worried. I feared I’d lost her forever.”

Sebastian could well imagine how hard such a loss would be. “Remember who saved you from such a fate before you make any further unfounded accusations. Do not judge me by my brother’s actions.”

Trevelan looked as though he would like to say something else, but then he closed his eyes, overcome by either exhaustion or common sense.

Sebastian sighed and set his supplies aside. He had treated the worst of the damage; he would let Miranda worry about the rest. “If you are feeling up to it, I will help you to a chamber upstairs where you will be more comfortable.”

“I can make it,” Trevelan replied with mulish certainty.

Sebastian nodded, and then, with as much patience as he could muster, he urged Trevelan up the endless flights of stairs from the dungeon to the upper warren of small chambers reserved for high-ranking knights and visitors.

Once Sebastian had settled Trevelan upon his pallet to regain his breath and composure, he posted a guard at his door and went to fetch Rhoswen.

* * *

Trevelan fell back upon the rough pallet, glaring after the dark-haired barbarian who’d arranged his release from the dungeons, anger and gratitude warring within him. The bastard had obviously done this for Rhoswen’s sake. His eyes had softened when he’d spoken of her, and Trevelan could only imagine what she’d had to do to acquire his help. The thought of his sweet, delicate woman beneath that huge, rutting savage made Trevelan wild with rage.

This was his fault. He should have found a way to save her during the trek here. He never should have allowed her to fall to the mercy of this group of savages. But she was strong. He could only hope Sebastian was telling the truth about letting them go and pray this nightmare hadn’t crushed her.

A shiver ran down his spine, and the wracking tremors sent pain ricocheting from one part of his battered body to the next. Withstanding the torturous inquisition had taken every ounce of endurance he possessed.

He’d never imagined such violence existed, let alone that it would be directed toward him. Surely they hadn’t used such brutal tactics on a woman? If they’d harmed one hair on Rhoswen’s head, he feared whatever veneer of civility he’d managed to retain would shatter completely, and he’d be driven to murder.

A soft, female voice conferred with the guard outside, and he perked up a bit, wondering if Sebastian had fetched Rhoswen already. Seeing her alive and well would do him a world of good.

Unfortunately, the door opened to admit a stranger, a woman whose green eyes assessed him with surprising intelligence. Her thick braid was the color of autumn leaves — a rich, startling blend of reds and golds.

“What have they done to you, poor lad?” The soft, sing-song lilt of her voice washed over him like the cool, mountain stream that ran beside the castle, inexplicably soothing. “You have nearly died from the thrashing they gave, have you not?”

An accurate appraisal of his condition, but hardly a test of her healing skills. He already knew he looked more dead than alive. Felt that way, too.

She knelt beside his pallet, her plain, woolen kirtle pooling against his forearm as she bent over him and pressed her small, warm hand to his forehead. Frowning, she swept back the rough blanket, leaving him naked from the knees up.

Stunned, he tried to reclaim the coverlet, but his weak attempt sent him reeling back against the pallet, gasping in pain. He wanted to curse, but remembered just in time that he wasn’t supposed to speak. Closing his eyes, he fisted his hands at his sides and resigned himself to letting this lovely young healer look her fill.

“Ah, you are a handsome one, are you not?” Her sweet voice matched the gentle hands she ran over every inch of his body, seeming to probe through his skin to the bones below.

He couldn’t contain a sharp moan as she moved down his ribcage, and he wondered angrily if she were capable of speaking without asking a question.

“Mute, are you?” Finishing her exploration of his ribs, she continued down his stomach, pressing here and there until sweat broke out across his chilled body. “Pity, that. You have old eyes; they tell a story of their own.”

Startled by her strange claim, he forced himself to meet her gaze, only to find her staring at him with a pensive frown.

“Mute, perhaps,” she murmured, more to herself than him. “But not dumb. Not dumb at all.”

Then, still holding his gaze, she conducted an impersonal, business-like examination of his genitalia. To his utter disbelief, he hardened in instinctive response to her soft, warm hands, his pain ebbing as he swelled with uncontrollable and unwanted need.

One perfectly formed eyebrow quirked up in obvious amusement. “Impressive reaction for someone half-dead. You will live.”

With brisk efficiency, she swept the blankets back over him, hiding his shameful display from view. “You have a long, painful road ahead of you. A few broken ribs, and more bruises than I can count, but there does not seem to be any irreparable damage to your insides, so that is good news.”

He gave a soft huff of a laugh, only to wince in renewed pain.

“It
is
good news,” she told him sternly, as though he’d argued with her. “In time this will seem nothing more than a bad dream. Now try to relax, and I’ll make you a tisane to ease your pain and help you sleep.”

Sudden gratitude washed over him, stunning him with its humble simplicity. Her kindness was unexpected, yet more welcome than she could ever know. Though he knew she’d been assigned to see to his wounds, her concern seemed real.

As she rose to turn away, he grabbed her hand and squeezed it tight.

She stared at him for a long moment, then smiled. “You are most welcome.”

Rhoswen paced Sebastian’s tower as she waited for him to return. He’d been gone for an eternity, and she feared his attempts to help her had failed. What if his brother had seen through whatever story he’d chosen to tell and thrown him in the dungeon alongside Trevelan? She didn’t know how she’d live with herself if something happened to him.

Though she’d only known him a few days, her journey into his mind made him real and dear to her in a way she’d never known before. She’d never experienced this painful longing. When she left, she would miss him.

She understood how alone he was, how separate from those who surrounded him. He had an amazing mind. If he’d been born in Halcyon and given the benefit of the education he deserved, he would have accomplished great things.

Perhaps he still could.

She hoped he would make some great breakthrough, something that would catapult his backward world forward a bit. He might even ensure some future generation of her own people would one day have the chance to walk in the sun.

She prowled the different levels of the tower as she waited, learning more about him with each chamber she entered. The top level, where he slept, boasted the huge, surprisingly comfortable bed and several trunks filled with treasures from his travels. Fur rugs covered the wooden floors, a welcome departure from the filthy rushes his kind used for no fathomable reason. Heavy, striped blue and silver silk bed hangings turned his bed into a warm oasis against the Welsh winters.

His expansive workroom encompassed the second floor. She examined dozens of half-finished experiments, journals of careful notes and drawings of different mechanical inventions with a touch of awe.

Sebastian was a scientist by his very nature.

She longed to take him to Halcyon and show him the laboratories full of gleaming steel and glass. Oh, how he’d love the orderly rows of instruments and the vast libraries and databases where her people’s knowledge was stored.

Until she’d met him, she’d never truly appreciated the advantages of growing up in the sparkling city beneath the sea. She’d focused so much time and energy in the pursuit of Surface exploration; she’d stopped appreciating her home.

Well, all that would change once she got back. The driving desire to make her home on the Surface, which had consumed her for so long, had faded. She wondered if she’d ever be convinced to leave again. The Surface held dangers she’d never imagined.

Dried herbs and flowers hung from the ceiling of the bottom floor, and tinctures and elixirs lined dozens of shelves. The scope of his knowledge of plants and their possible uses amazed her. In this area, she imagined he could teach her people a thing or two.

She stared longingly at the cabinet that hid the entrance to the hot springs, but somehow resisted the urge to go below and look for the tunnels that could provide her a means of escape. She couldn’t leave without Trevelan and still couldn't believe he'd really come to her rescue. Perhaps his feelings for her ran deeper than she'd ever imagined.

Besides, she couldn't betray Sebastian in such a manner, not when news of Trevelan had already given him reason to doubt her. Right now he risked his very life to save her, had even agreed to help Trevelan, who was a stranger to him. If she left now, she would never forgive herself.