Heir of Thunder (Stormbourne Chronicles Book 1) (6 page)

The battered and unconscious young man on the table before
me looked so far removed from the formidable figure I knew as Gideon, I half
wondered if I had retrieved the wrong person. Was this how the storybook girl felt
as she stood over the giant who had died from his fall off the magical
cornstalk? The past few days had felt much like a fairytale to me, though
mostly a nightmarish one.

I had little—no, strike that—I had
no
experience with
battle wounds and copious amounts of blood. The iron stench from Gideon’s
wounds soured my stomach, and the harsh bruises and rusty stains on his face inspired
my sympathy pains—tiny spasms shivered up and down my spine.

Moira settled beside me, carrying a tray bearing a needle
threaded with catgut, strips of torn linen, and a basin of warm soapy water.
John arrived with a tea tray and handed me a mug. Moira passed me a washcloth.
I stared at the innkeepers stupidly.

“Well, dearest, your room fee only covers so much. Cleaning
the wounds of unconscious men will cost you extra, especially if you don’t
help.” She winked. Her reassurance eased my worry, and her steady and
commanding presence comforted me.

“Of course, we intend to pay.” I dug coins from my pocket
and passed them to her. How much should the room, food, and doctoring cost? Had
I given her enough to cover our expenses?

She seemed satisfied and pocketed the coins. Then she picked
up the needle and thread.

“You wash the blood from his hair, miss, and I’ll stitch that
wound in his side.”

She clicked her tongue in a pitying
tsk
and set upon
her task. As her needle pierced Gideon’s skin, I turned aside and fought the
urge to gag. After a few deep breaths, my nausea subsided, and I focused on
Gideon again. Uncertainty paralyzed me. I had never washed another person’s
hair before and certainly not the hair of an injured man.

She looked at me with one raised eyebrow. “Is something the
matter?”

“I guess I’m not quite sure how to start.”

“Just do your best. He’s not likely to know otherwise, is
he?”

I nodded and gathered the soap and bowl of water and set to
work. Later, I helped Moira apply a homemade poultice to his worst wounds and
assisted her in bandaging his ribs. The chore required the full removal of his shirt,
and John aided by lifting Gideon’s heavy shoulders.

Because of the urgency of the work at hand, I had only focused
on the details of Gideon’s injuries and not on his body as a whole. Once he lay
stretched out and shirtless before me, I noted the long sinew of his arm
muscles and the flat planes of his stomach. Tendons from his wrists and
forearms twined over bone and through the muscles, implying power and strength,
even in stillness. His broad shoulders and thick chest proved that he worked hard
for his living.

“Your, ah,
brother
, is a right fine specimen, isn’t
he?” Moira caught me staring, and I blushed. She chuckled and nodded in a
knowing way. “Not so fine as my John there, but every woman can’t be so lucky
as me.”

John rolled his eyes but grinned at his wife’s teasing. He
stood and patted his pronounced paunch. “It takes the care of a good woman such
as yourself to maintain this physique.” He leaned over and kissed her on the
cheek. “Let’s get this young man to his bed, so I can get to mine. It’s late
and there’s no one but me to get the ovens going in the morning.”

Moira stood, stretched, and leaned over to kiss him back. “Yes,
yes, and there’s no one but me to push you out of the bed so that you will.”

They continued jibing each other as we manhandled Gideon
upstairs and into the bed—the bed I gave up without hesitation. The couch was a
vast improvement over the previous night’s accommodations, and I fit on it
better than my large companion anyway. He woke up once during his transfer and
mumbled my name. Moira hushed him, told him to sleep, and I heard no more from
him that night.

Sunlight stole through the curtains and shined on my face,
bringing me awake. Gideon’s heavy, steady breathing indicated he still slept,
and I hoped a night of solid rest had done him well. I needed him whole and
healthy. In only a few short days, Gideon had become an integral part of my
survival—a fact that didn’t necessarily sit well with me. He was still mostly a
stranger, and yet I had never been so familiar with anyone before. Except for
Gerda and Father, of course.

I sat up and looked around the room, hunting my travel-worn
clothes. Despite sleeping in nothing but my chemise and petticoat, I felt
modest enough beneath several layers of blankets in a room occupied by an
oblivious man who was too damaged, too principled, and probably too
disinterested to endanger my honor. No, Gideon wouldn’t impose on my modesty,
but prancing around downstairs in a bundle of old blankets would certainly defy
everyone’s sense of propriety, especially my own. Unfortunately, my clothes
were missing.
Perhaps Moira took them
. I rolled over and tried going
back to sleep, but a full bladder and anxious thoughts kept me awake.

Moira held me hostage for only a short while. She knocked on
the door and let herself in, carrying a bundle of fabric with a tray balanced
on top. “Ah, good morning, miss.” She smiled when she saw me sitting up. “I’ve
brought you some tea and him a bit of broth.”

“What about my clothes?”

“Those dirty rags you had on yesterday? I couldn’t bear to
let you go around in them for another day without a proper cleaning.” She jabbed
a thumb in Gideon’s direction. “Him, too. I doubt he’ll be going anywhere much
for a day or two, so I didn’t bother to bring him anything. But I did find this
dress that belonged to my daughter before she gave birth to her brood. Now her
waist is near thick as mine. It still might be a bit loose on you, but you can
wear it until your things dry.”

Moira must have read the gratitude on my face because she
flapped a hand at me and blushed. “Oh, shush now. I can’t have you leaving here
and speaking poorly of the service.” She made her gestures sound casual, but I
vowed to always remember her kindness. “You get dressed and see if you can get
him to take some of this broth and tea. Then you come down and get yourself some
breakfast.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “Thank you.”

She nodded and deposited the tray on a stand beside the bed.
Then she twirled on a heel and exited the room, whistling as she tromped down
the stairs. The gown was plain, brown, homespun wool with a long row of
buttons, several layers of cotton petticoats, and a pair of cotton stockings. A
country dress, it required no corset or other fashionable torture devices commonly
infecting women’s fashion. Father had never cared much for social conventions,
so I rarely wore gowns at home except for special occasions. At least this dress
was dry, well mended, and clean.

I ducked behind a screen in the corner of the room and
considered how to begin. Gerda usually helped me dress, and, without her, I
fumbled with the underskirt’s ties and struggled with the tiny buttons.
Writhing, cursing, and grunting, I vowed never to take Gerda for granted again.

Later, when I stepped out from the screen, Gideon chuckled
in a raspy voice, and I startled to find him awake.

“Evie? In a dress? I must be dreaming.” He reclined in bed,
braced against a stack of pillows. A sickly black circle ringed his eye, and
the gash on his head had crusted over and bruised as well. But he was alive,
and I was more than a little relieved. Not that I’d let him know it.

He waggled a finger at me and smirked. “You’re off a few
buttons.”

I scowled and readjusted my bodice. “And you must have
gotten a good thumping on your head to be grinning at me like an idiot.”

His smile broadened, revealing a hint of dimple, but then he
shifted his weight and his face crumpled.

I darted to the edge of the bed and knelt across from him. “What
is it?”

“I think that bullet bruised a rib.”

“Probably broke it. You’re going to have to take it easy
today.”

“No. We can’t stay here.”

“But you’re in no shape to ride.”

Gideon’s color rose. “I’m also in no shape to argue.”

Although I hated being the cause of his ire, I was happy to
see some of his personality return. “How about something to eat?” Maybe I could
distract him through his stomach. “Moira’s brought some tea and broth.”

“Moira?”

“Moira Hale, the innkeeper’s wife.”

He turned up his nose. “Broth? Is that all?”

I brought the tray closer for him to study. “There’s toast,
too.”

“At least it’s not deer jerky. Maybe you could see about
getting me an egg?” He looked up at me through his thick, dark lashes. Once the
bruising around his eye went down, I thought he could induce me to do all kinds
of things, looking at me that way.

“Um,” I swallowed to dampen my suddenly dry throat. “I’ll,
ah, see what I can do. You don’t need any help?”

Gideon arched his eyebrow and thinned his lips. I took his
hint and made to leave the room. “And see if you can find me a shirt, too!” he
called.

In the dining room, I found John sweeping floors while Moira
slopped a wet mop over the places he had recently finished. The labors of a
public servant apparently never ceased. “I guess the great sleeping giant is
awake,” Moira said, setting aside her mop. “Have you come for your breakfast? I’ve
got a bit tucked away for you. Be back with it in a second.”

When she returned from the kitchen, I relayed Gideon’s
request for a shirt, and she promised to bring him one later. She carried a
large plate bearing more slices of bread and bit of potato and beef hash. She
had also included a boiled egg. I secreted it into my dress pocket to give to
Gideon later.

After I devoured the meal, John took the empty plate away
with a wink, and I scurried back upstairs to offer my prize to Gideon.

He had made little headway with the broth Moira had brought
him earlier. “Thin, weak stuff,” he grumbled when he caught me eyeing it, but
he was happy to see the egg. So much so that he smiled again and spoke to me
without his usual harshness.

After peeling the shell with deft fingers, he bit into the
egg and sighed. “Did you manage to find me a shirt, too?”

“Moira says she’ll bring one up.”

“We’re going to have to leave soon.”

“But—”

“No buts, Evie. We can’t stop until you’re off the island.
There’s not a place on Inselgrau that’s safe for you anymore.”

“Will you tell me what happened with Terrill and the men?”

Gideon exhaled and narrowed his eyes. “They’re gone, not to
bother us again, I think.”

“Gone? What does that mean?”

“It means dead. Well, at least two of them. Terrill, as you
know, is a soldier—a well-trained one. I managed to down the other two with
Sephonie, but Terrill caught on to our plan and took off after you. He was too
far out of range, so I had to chase him down.”

“And you did?”

He grimaced. “I did.”

“But he’s not dead?”

“He left going back toward Brighton, but not without taking
a bit out of me first.”

“I’ll say.” I tried to imagine the fight between the two
skilled men, and my heart shuddered at the images my mind produced.

The corner of Gideon’s mouth turned up. “But if I’ve got one
broken rib, then he’s got two and a ruined nose as well.”

I smiled with him, glad he was on my side rather than a
weapon for my enemies, for a weapon he surely was. His expression soured. He
looked taken aback. “Oh, so a bit of a bloody battle makes you happy?”

“No, I’m smiling because you survived.”

“And now you’ve got someone to protect you again.” His
expression hardened, showing his mood had gone dark.

“Yes, there’s that.” My relief was undeniable, but I was
glad he had survived for other reasons--ones I couldn’t quite put a name to. I
turned away and picked at a piece of lint on my skirt. An uncomfortable silence
settled over the room, but I couldn’t leave him alone, yet. I had one last
question. “Gideon?”

“What?” He sounded tired and aggravated, but I refused to
let his bad mood discourage me the way it usually would. Not today.

“Where are we going?”

“I’ve already told you.”

“No, I mean after Braddock—after we get on the ship.” Yielding
his intimidating nature, I hadn’t pressed him for more answers before. But there,
with him in that vulnerable state, I meant to get a response from him, more
information, anything that might help me see my way forward after so much looking
behind.

After a long silence, he exhaled. “Dreutch.”

“Dreutch?” My heart sank. I had studied Dreutchish—the one
language Father insisted I learn. It was an old country with a dark and obscure
history full of ominous legends.

Gideon narrowed his eyes as if he expected me to argue. “Yes.”

“Why there?”

“I know people there who can help us.”

Considering what little I knew about Gideon, his plan to
retreat to Dreutch made some sense. Usually he masked it well, but in moments
of pique or exhaustion, his Inselgrish accent gave way to something else—harder
consonants and guttural vowels common to that foreign dialect. And he had named
his horse Gespenst for the gods’ sakes—a thoroughly Dreutchish name. Was it
possible Gideon was originally from there? Is that where he had learned his
formidable fighting skills?

If I asked him for additional personal information, though,
it would only tease an already testy lion. Thankfully, Moira chose that moment
to return to our room carrying a soft white bundle of linen. Her presence broke
the growing tension between us.

“You shouldn’t be worried about getting dressed, young man.”
She jabbed her finger at him. “You needn’t concern yourself with my modesty, or
that of your
sister
. It’ll cause you a good deal of discomfort struggling
into it, too.”

She tossed the folded shirt at Gideon, and he snatched it
from the air. Then he grimaced and put a hand to his ribs.

“You’re broader through the shoulders than my John, but you
should be able to manage it. I’ve also taken out your riding coat and beaten it
soundly.”

“How much longer, do you think, until my things are dry?” I
asked.

“Is the dress bothering you so much?” Her lips twisted into
a curious smile. “I can tell you’re the leather and broadcloth type, rather
than silk and lace. If I had a son instead, I would have given you a pair of
his breeks.” Moira, I noticed, liked to give her answers in a rambling,
roundabout way. “Your things have been hanging by the kitchen fire and are
close to dry by now. Shall I go and check them for you?”

“Yes, please. I don’t think I can manage to ride in this
dress, even though it is very nice.”

“Ride?” Her eyes bugged wide. “You can’t be thinking of
leaving yet. Your brother is in no shape.”

“Thank you, Missus Hale,” Gideon said, “but we’ve got to catch
a ship out of Braddock and it won’t wait for us. We will have to leave today.”
He threaded his arms into the shirt and stopped, contemplating getting it over
his head without straining his ribs.

“My goodness, but you could put a rib through your lung if
you try riding now,” she said.

“Then maybe you’ll bind it up especially well for me.” He slipped
out of bed, still holding the shirt, and raised to his full height, shifting
injured places and straining untested muscles. If any of those movements pained
him, he kept it from showing on his face. “Your hospitality has gone a long way
toward my recovery already, and I intend to pay you graciously for it.”

Moira’s face went red and she stomped her foot. “It’s not
your money I’m worried about. It’s you and the young miss. You’re in no shape
to be keeping her safe, and Braddock is still another full day’s ride from
here. What’s to keep you from being waylaid again before you get there?”

Gideon pondered her outrage and turned his head like a
curious dog. “Your earnest concern for our care is peculiar. Do you put
yourself out for all your clientele this way?”

“I certainly do, any time my clientele includes Lord
Trevelyan’s daughter!”

Ah, so she recognized me
.
But, how?
I had
never traveled this far south, and she and I had never met before, I was
certain.

“Well, you’re no fool then,” he said, “and in being so wise
you should know the longer we stay on this island, the more danger Evie will be
in, day by day.”

“Humph.” She folded her arms across her ample bosom. “I’ve
heard talk, and I suspected it had come to pass when I saw the young miss show
up here in such a worthless state, dragging your mangled carcass behind her.”
Moira raised a hand, stopping Gideon’s interruption. “No one knows you’re here,
and I shan’t be sharing my knowledge. I’ve got my own reasons for not wanting
to see any harm come to her. You’ll stay and you’ll rest. John and I will keep
you safe. You can see about leaving tomorrow.”

“How do I know we can trust you?” he asked.

I had listened to the exchange in silence. Gideon was
certainly in no mood for my interruptions, but his obstinacy and persistent
objections inspired my own stubborn streak.

“You can trust her.” I stepped closer to Moira so our
shoulders touched.

He glared at the formidable female wall before him and
turned several different shades of mad before he relented and sank onto the
bed. The sudden, unguarded movement must have wrenched something. He groaned
and fell back on the pillow. “You certainly did choose an inconvenient time to
develop a spine, Evie.”

Moira and I smiled at each other, and I suppressed a giggle.

“And do you think I could get a shirt that doesn’t require
me raising my arms to get it over my head?” he asked.