When that was done, he corked the bottle and set to cleaning away blood, alcohol, and anything else that didn't belong. Once that was done, and the bleeding had slowed enough, he pulled out needle and thread. Moving to sit beside her, he settled her arm in his lap, across his cape so it wasn't resting on his cold leathers, and with a bit more pain-dulling magic, set to stitching the wound shut.
Throughout, nobody spoke, not even Everard, who could always talk.
Though the stitching took only moments, it seemed to last for hours. After he was finally finished, Leonine applied a salve and bandaged the wound, then cut away her ruined sleeve and used the clean, untorn section to serve as additional protective wrapping. "There. Keep it dry and change the dressing twice a day, and you'll be fine."
"Thank you, L— Sir Leonine."
Leonine tucked away his supplies and rolled the bag up again, tying it deftly before standing. Then he finally put his full attention on the pair. "What in the name of the goddess are you two doing all the way the hells out here? Have you lost your fucking minds? What's so damned important that it couldn't wait until spring?"
"My mother died, and I have to settle her accounts and collect her belongings before the end of the month, or the landlord will sell it all off and send out debt collectors," Odilia said, eyes on the ground. "We apologize for troubling you with our problems, good knight."
He wanted to scream. So they didn't love him the way he'd loved them. Fine. That was his own stupid fault. But he hadn't thought they were so fucking indifferent to their time together that they were happy to treat him like a stranger now. Somehow, that hurt even more than the initial rejection. Despite every kiss, every laugh, every shared moment… he was a stranger now.
Too much of all the wrong things. Never enough of whatever it was people were looking for.
"I'm sorry for your loss, mistress," he said. "What is your destination?"
"Tesser," Everard said. "We didn't want to risk it, but we don't know what kind of mess her mother left behind, and we'd rather not let it build and find it even worse come the thaw. We'd rather be at home, believe me."
Of course they were headed to Tesser. Leonine had stupidly hoped that maybe they were heading for a nearby farm, one of the tiny, nameless villages scattered all over the countryside. He should have known he wouldn't be that lucky.
He had one chance to avoid the absolute misery staring him down. "I am headed to Tesser. I can speak with this landlord and convince him to learn a little patience, have everything put in storage for you, so that you can return safely home."
"I thank you for the gracious offer, sir knight," Odilia replied, "but I'm sure you are attending important business and should not be troubled with our trifles. You've already done enough for us."
Sir knight. Trifles. Like he'd never really mattered to them for a single moment. Had they ever meant a single word or action of the past months? Had Leonine been the only infatuated fool the whole time? He'd been so certain the answer was no, especially after they said they'd come to his knighting ceremony.
Now, the bitter taste in the back of his throat, the way his heart felt pierced by a thousand thorns, said the answer was yes, and he was a fucking fool for not realizing it until too damn late. He'd been caught up in a fantasy of belonging, of being wanted—even loved, though they'd never actually said any such thing—and reality had beaten that right out of him. Served him right. "Yes, I suppose I have. Even the most talented whore is only amusing for so long, after all. Fine. Whatever you want. As a knight of the realm, however, I am honor-bound to see you safely reach your destination, especially as we are bound for the same place. I suggest you prepare your camp for the night. I caught a hare earlier; that should suffice us for dinner."
He didn't wait for their reply, simply headed off back to his horse to get started on settling in for the night, half hoping he'd slip and break his neck and would no longer have to deal with this whole miserable fucking mess.
Chapter Two
After he took care of his horse, Leonine set to work piling up suitable branches from evergreen trees to form a rough bed. He rolled his spare cloak out over it, then laid out his bedroll and set his saddlebags in front of it, arranging his saddle to use as a makeshift pillow. All told, it wouldn't be a terrible place to sleep. He'd certainly endured worse.
With that attended to, he turned to make a fire—only to find Everard had that well in hand, along with an impressive array of supplies and equipment for cooking. It was leagues better than Leonine's barebones cooking set and single, lonely tin of powdery dried herbs.
Everard looked up, but then immediately back down, fussing needlessly with the fire that was already crackling nicely. "I can attend the hare if you like."
"By all means," Leonine replied, and handed it over. He wasn't so stubborn and prideful he'd subject them all to his cooking, which was passable at best, and more often best described as disastrous. He was much happier when all he had to do was enjoy the results.
Leaving Everard to the cooking, ignoring the thorns in his chest and the rocks in his stomach, he strode off to deal with the bodies, dragging each one deeper into the woods, where hungry animals would make quick work of them. He examined each for anything that might identify them, but came up only with a smattering of coin, a rather handsome knife he tucked away in his cloak, and a wool shirt on one that must have been stolen, as the quality was far too fine to have been purchased.
Returning to camp, he gave the shirt to Odilia before striding off once more to clean up.
When he finished, officially concluding his chores for the evening, he sat on his makeshift bed and bent to remove his spurs. He nearly started crying as he looked at them lying in his hands, large and heavy, beautifully made, bejeweled even. He had no idea what manner of jewel could look purple one moment and orange the next, but he loved it.
Tucking them carefully away in his saddlebags, he then dealt with all his weapons, putting them away or near to hand. Unfortunately, after that he ran out of things to do. If he were alone, he would simply fix his food and go to sleep.
With Everard cooking, however, dinner would be some time yet. Odilia sat close to him, the two of them occasionally exchanging looks, some silent conversation that Leonine would never be privy too. He and Cimar could converse like that. It had always made him feel special, to know someone that well, to be known that well.
They were both still hopelessly beautiful. Odilia's skin was just a slightly darker brown than Leonine's, with red undertones rather than his yellow. Her eyes were the prettiest shade of amber, her dark brown hair a mass of tight curls that she usually had up while working, but always wore loose otherwise. He'd heard some bar patrons call her mean, but he'd never known her to be anything but fair, stern at worst, and most often far kinder than people deserved. He loved her smile best, the way it filled her whole face, lit up her eyes and filled the room with sunshine.
Everard was built large, the sort of person who could lob problematic drunks from the inn with seemingly no effort. He was also as pretty as a painting, with really pale brown skin and black hair just barely tinged with gray, though he was barely thirty-five years old. He had smoky gray-blue eyes, and a laugh that could drive off even the foulest mood.