She laughed softly. “You wish my trust, yet you refer to me as your opponent. This matter needs more consideration on your part.”
He tore a piece of bread in half and handed one to her. “I will win your trust.”
This time in accepting the offered morsel was she actually accepting his trust?
She stood abruptly. “It is time for me to tend the ill.”
He pointed to her bowl. “You have not finished eating.”
“I have eaten enough.”
“You have barely touched your food.”
“I am no longer hungry,” she said impatiently.
He stood slowly, the firelight dancing off him and causing his vast shadow to envelop her and devour her in a heartbeat. Aliss almost lost the last ounce of courage she had left. Her first instinct was to cringe and hide in the dark corner, but her sister’s sharp tongue entered her mind and quickly changed that.
“Show him no fear.”
Her shoulders went back and her chin went up and she walked around the table to meet him.
Folding his arms across his chest, he said, “You are a stubborn one.”
She nearly smiled for she felt as if Fiona was there helping to protect her.
“My healing basket?”
His green eyes wandered over her face, lingering for a moment, and she had the sudden feeling that he could read her deepest thoughts. She tore her glance away and looked around as if in search of her basket.
He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. “You can trust that I will keep you safe.” He released her, walked over to the chest beneath the window and opened it. “Your basket is by the doorway.”
Aliss spotted it and quickly snatched it up. She jumped when he unexpectedly draped a dark red wool cape over her shoulders.
His hands grasped her shoulders. “My touch alarms you?”
“Since we first met, which is not even a full day ago, you have hoisted me over your shoulder, scooped me up into your arms, held me to your chest, wrapped me in cloaks, and jumped off a ship with me in your arms. You take liberties and do not expect me to react uncomfortably?” She shook her head. “I think not.” And hurried out the door.
Chapter 4
Rogan woke with a start from a dream that haunted him less frequently of late. He sat up and swung his legs out of bed, stretching his arms over his head. He missed his wife Kendra, gone two years now, and a son who had never taken a breath.
He ran his fingers through his tousled hair before shaking the sad memories from his head.
Aliss.
She was why he had dreamed of his family. Her presence had brought back memories. He and Kendra had spent many an hour talking at the table, she always challenging his opinion, making him see reason when anger blinded him. He had loved her very much, but she would have been the one to argue that life goes on. Kendra would have reminded him that no matter the hurt, the disappointment, the grief, life continued and so did love.
So he went on, knowing that was what Kendra would expect of him.
He dressed in black leggings and a tan shirt, and hooked a wide black leather belt around his waist. He was ready to speak with Aliss and see if she had determined anything pertinent concerning the persistent illness that plagued the village.
A bed had been set up for her in the other room, but as he entered, he was surprised to discover it empty. When had she left and why hadn’t she woken him?
Perhaps Aliss had taken shelter in someone’s home last night, too tired to return to his cottage. Otherwise, it meant that she had worked throughout the night.
He left in haste. The village was just waking for the day, the sun having dawned barely an hour ago. He spotted John and Anna strolling hand in hand and walked over to them.
“Have you seen Aliss?” he said instead of offering a greeting.
“She is with Ivan,” John said. “He does not fare well.”
Rogan nodded and headed to Ivan’s home. His annoyance subsided as his walk turned brisk. Ivan was a man who had seen many battles and survived each one. He lived with his daughter and son-in-law and their four children. He had been ill on and off. Recently, he had been more ill than ever.
Aliss was spooning a liquid into Ivan’s mouth when Rogan entered the cottage. She spoke softly to the old man, and when she finished, she rubbed his forehead and then patted his hand before holding it and continued to speak gently, though firmly, to him.
“You are not dying. I will not let you.”
“It is my time,” Ivan said.
“It is not and I will not hear you say that again.”
Ivan took firm hold of her hand. “Are you an angel come to redeem me?”
“I am a healer who has come to make you well.”
Ivan nodded, his eyes closing. “I trust you.”