“Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired,” Shea told him.
He picked up her hand and pressed it to the cloth on her head. She kept it there as he turned and busied himself with his satchel of supplies.
“I treat warriors all day. Men who think they are immune to such common ailments as infection. I’ve learned to be direct.”
Shea snorted. She could believe that.
“If this can reduce scaring, it’s a wonder your soldiers have so many of them,” Shea told Fallon.
Chirron paused in what he was doing and looked up. “His men can’t be bothered with such things. They believe scars are a sign of strength.”
Fallon’s eyebrows were just barely lifted, and his mouth curved down with just the slightest hint of disdain. He gave them a long stare that said he had no interest in this conversation.
“Warlord, I’ve brought the village elder,” one of Fallon’s Anateri said from the entrance. He stepped aside to allow Eckbert to enter.
Eckbert was clad in leather armor and carried a quiver in one hand and a bow across his back. His face had been painted so that he would blend in with the forest and his eyes held a fierce light. One that she had seen many times in Fallon’s. This man was a warrior—old and past his prime, but he still held that spirit, and his garments and weapons said he was prepared to defend his people to the death.
Shea blinked at the odd vision. Eckbert had always seemed like a harmless old man.
“I’ve positioned my men in the trees surrounding this area. If there is another incursion by the eagles, they will sound the horn so our vulnerable can take cover.” Eckbert’s eyes landed on where Chirron was tending to her cuts and softened. “I am glad to see your adventures haven’t left you too worse for wear.”
Shea stiffened as her eyes slid to Fallon. She’d been hoping he wouldn’t hear about her jumping onto the back of a golden eagle while it was in flight. The downward turn of his mouth said that was a futile hope and probably had been since the beginning. The Trateri gossiped as much as any group of old wives she had encountered in the Highlands.
“Thank you,” she told Eckbert. “Your men’s assistance saved my life and Mist’s. I don’t think I would have been able to get the eagle to drop us if they hadn’t attacked it from above.”
“Yes, you have my gratitude,” Fallon said, his voice a deep rumble. “Your people have shown honor and bravery. I will be glad to have them in my army.”
Eckbert eyes got that familiar crafty gleam. “Perhaps my men will bring back Trateri wives and cement our bond by combining our bloodlines.”
Fallon’s lips twisted in amusement. “Perhaps.
“Did you lose many?” Trenton asked.
Eckbert’s eyebrows lowered and his cheeks sagged. Sadness coated his face. “Any loss cuts deep. Our people weren’t prepared, many of our most vulnerable fell to these creatures.”
“Has there ever been an attack of this nature before?” Shea asked, leaning to the side so she could see Eckbert better. She received a cuff to the head from Chirron. She glared up at him but sat back and let him clean the wound.
“I’ve asked my elders to review our oral history. I can say they haven’t attacked in so many generations that they’ve faded from our collective memory. It seems many things that were once myth are returning to this world.” His face turned grim. “I fear my people are not prepared for this.”
Shea feared the same. The Airabel knew the dangers of their forest and could slip through it like ghosts. With the outside world encroaching on their lives, they would have to adjust quickly or fall into the void like so many villages before them.
“Have your men get in touch with the Wind Division commander, Eamon,” Shea said. “He can give you some basic information about what you might be facing.”
It wasn’t much, but it was all she could give right now.
“What about your people?” Eckbert asked. “I know they have much knowledge that can be shared, and we have been on friendly terms in the past.”
Shea’s gaze turned inwards. The pathfinders, for all their knowledge, were loath to help others seeking guidance. They hoarded what they knew like dragons on a pile of gold, viewing any who had not taken their oaths as being unworthy.
“They are far from here. It would take months for any message you sent to reach them and be returned.” Shea settled on her response.
“And the pathfinder Reece?” Eckbert lifted an eyebrow, intelligence shining in his face. This was no befuddled old man. There was a reason he’d gotten to his position. Shea was willing to bet he used the persona of a kindly old man only intent on procreation to lure many off their guard. “I assume he is still alive. He could have much to share with us.”
Fallon unfolded his arms. “He is alive, but he will stay with us. I still have business with him.”
Yes, the pathfinder Reece. A man who had shown up mere days before this attack.
Chirron held up a needle and thread. “Hold still.”
He pulled the skin taut.
Something didn’t sit right with Shea. There was more to this. And she was betting Reece had some of the answers.
Shea pushed Chirron’s hands away, ignoring his squawk of protest. “I want to see Reece.”
She popped to her feet without waiting for a response.
“Where do you think you’re going? Sit back down. I still need to stitch up your wounds.” Chirron’s voice was angry as it followed her out of the tent.
Fallon was beside her. “Shea.”
“Where is he?” Shea waited a beat, holding Fallon’s eyes. He frowned at her, his eyebrows lowering.
She turned away. Fine. If he wasn’t going to answer, she’d find him herself even if she had to search every tent in this place.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“YOU’RE GOING the wrong way,” Fallon informed her.
Shea stopped, her shoulders tightening before she did an about face. Fallon waited for her with an expression that was both expectant and amused. She swept by him and stalked along the tents.
“Do you know where you’re going?”
He knew she didn’t.
She’d stormed out of the tent when he failed to answer, and now she was wandering around the encampment with no real clue as to where to find Reece. She was faced with admitting her hotheadedness or committing to this course of action.
Fallon paced along beside her, his large form shadowing hers. “How long do you intend to waste your time when you could just ask for help?”
Shea took a deep breath and stopped, turning to meet Fallon’s eyes. He lifted one eyebrow expectantly. Nope. She couldn’t do it. She turned on her heel and kept walking.
He grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop. His lips covered hers before she could form a protest.
Need rose in her—a torrential feeling threatening to subsume her beneath its fury. The pure gratitude that they were both alive to fight, and love, and everything that came with it.
The fury of their passion eased, and she pressed several kisses to his lips before she pulled away and pressed her face into his chest. His arms were a warm weight around her as he rested his chin on top of her head.
Together they breathed, Fallon’s hand smoothing down the back of her head.