In Debt To The Enemy Lord. Nicole Locke

in his arms. Limp, she moulded against him and he could feel each shallow breath filling her body. His white tunic wrapped around her head was soaked bright red with blood, her hair was tangled with leaves and bark and her face was almost translucent. He had the horse but even so, the journey to his home would be slow.

      He only hoped he wouldn’t be too late.

       Chapter Two

      ‘Who is she?’ Rhain spoke in an undertone, more for privacy than for courtesy.

      Teague didn’t look away from the woman lying on his bed. ‘I don’t know,’ he answered. ‘But I have my suspicions.’ The servants had worked quickly and now a warm fire blazed in the grate, hot water steamed in buckets, and Ffion was mixing healing herbs.

      ‘And you brought her here to Gwalchdu, to your room?’

      ‘Yes.’ Teague crossed his arms. He watched Greta, one of his most trusted servants, bathe the head wound. The woman’s eyes fluttered, but they did not open. She could die despite the care given.

      ‘Yes?’ Rhain repeated. ‘“Yes” is a very interesting word, dear brother. Very interesting indeed.’ He turned to leave the room. ‘I’ll be in the Hall, eating.’

      Teague watched Rhain close the door behind him. He knew he should go. He would need to explain what had occurred in the forest.

      There was no reason for him to stay. No need for him to watch Greta gently pat around the wound to dry it. He needed to bathe before eating, as he was still covered in sweat and blood. Her blood.

      She looked so different now to how he’d seen her in the forest. There she had moved, without grace, but with an unexpected strength. Now, but for the steady rising of her chest, he’d think her dead.

      Her head wound needed stitching. He watched as Greta plaited the woman’s hair to keep it out of the way. It was a menial task, one he had never seen before, but simple enough. Yet he stood transfixed as Greta’s thick fingers wound to the very end and secured the plait.

      He remembered how the long golden strands shimmered when the sunlight touched it. Bound, her hair lay as limp as she did.

      He quickly dismissed the feeling of loss and left his room.

      * * *

      After his bath, Teague entered the Great Hall. The evening meal was over and his footsteps rang in the vast emptiness of the space. Rhain sat on a large high-backed chair before a low fire crackling in the smallest hearth.

      ‘What happened in the forest?’ Rhain asked.

      Teague poured the wine left on the table and drunk deeply before grimacing.

      Rhain chuckled. ‘The wine has been watered. You may not be so observant, but you know how Ffion is when it comes to the wine.’

      ‘Remind me to have a word with my steward about keeping a closer eye on my personal supplies.’ Sitting on the other great chair, Teague explained what he had seen and heard from the woman in the forest.

      ‘It doesn’t make sense. Why would she be in the forest by herself? Especially so deep and so close to Gwalchdu,’ Rhain said, after Teague recounted all the facts.

      ‘She is the enemy.’

      ‘Are you so sure?’

      ‘She spoke against me and the King.’

      ‘We are on the border of Wales. What villager hasn’t spoken against you or the King? I worry your insurmountable patience is thinning and you are jumping to conclusions.’ Rhain stopped and tented his fingers against his lips. ‘Why don’t you blame me?’ he asked.

      Teague’s eyebrows raised. ‘For what? You were not on watch last night when the message was left.’

      ‘The threats didn’t start until I returned to Gwalchdu.’

      Teague flashed him a look of irritation. ‘You’re not the enemy.’

      ‘You trust too easily; that could be your undoing.’

      ‘I trust no one.’ Teague swirled his goblet in both hands. ‘And I don’t know why I am encouraging this conversation.’

      ‘Because you are no fool,’ Rhain argued. ‘The facts easily point to me. I came home last summer after being separated from you since childhood. The messages began a month after I arrived. Those messages are specific threats against your life and brought to you in your own keep, yet you cannot find who is behind the messages.’

      ‘It isn’t you,’ Teague said.

      ‘Who is to gain from your death? I am. Who can move freely to leave those messages? I can. Who can get close enough to kill you? I can.’

      ‘Enough,’ he growled.

      ‘Why are you so sure?’ Rhain pressed.

      ‘You are my brother.’

      ‘You are mad.’ Rhain chuckled. ‘Or perhaps you feel my more reasonable influence and you realise it would be foolish for me to threaten my own home.’

      ‘Or maybe I realise you talk too much to hold any secrets.’

      Rhain reached for the wine. ‘Then why have you so quickly concluded this woman is the enemy? Because she is silent?’

      Teague peered into the depths of his cup. The colour of the wine looked black in the low light and he could not see the bottom.

      ‘Why was she so near my keep?’ He took a draught of wine. ‘Her coming here, albeit by my hand, is too convenient. If she is not the enemy, then maybe she’s a trap.’

      Rhain rubbed his hands against his knees. ‘She is no trap. She almost died falling from that tree. She needs our trust.’

      Teague had expected his brother’s open nature to surface. ‘And you call me mad?’

      ‘Well, it’s your nature to mistrust. It’s my nature to trust. You are still stubborn, while I am as flexible as water. Why should now be any different?’

      ‘Perhaps because our home is being attacked by an unknown enemy?’ Teague said.

      ‘And you think that injured woman in your bed is the enemy?’

      ‘Yes, I do. It’s better to approach this situation with caution, rather than to be knifed in the back.’

      Rhain arched one golden eyebrow. ‘That situation lying in your bed was brought into this home by you. And she can hardly keep awake, let alone wield a knife.’ He stood and stretched. ‘No, I am curious about her. I believe once she is well, I will simply ask her for answers.’

      * * *

      It was late at night, the keep was quiet and Teague found himself returning to his chambers. The woman was not alone. Greta slept in a chair in the corner, her great chin resting on her chest.

      Compelled, he crouched by the woman’s bedside so his face was closer to hers. He could not get her out of his mind: her climbing the tree, her hair swinging with the movements of her legs and arms.

      Then, in that moment when the branch broke...his powerlessness; her demanding that he catch her. He knew she was his enemy, he knew he could not help her, but still he had held out his arms. Though hatred was etched across her every feature, she fell towards him.

      Before he could stop himself, Teague placed his hand upon her head and brushed his fingers across her hair. Her eyelids fluttered, but she did not wake. He was...grateful. Somehow, this caress quieted him. Made him less restless...less alone. The feeling was as foreign to him as the other feelings she had inadvertently inspired in him.

      Hope. She’d given him hope. With his arms outstretched, she had leapt towards him as if she could make it.

      Hope. A ridiculous