In Debt To The Enemy Lord. Nicole Locke

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 emotion that served no purpose.

      He stood and walked away. He must be tired. It was not in his nature to be open. He’d been alone most of his life, as he would continue to be. His people trusted him to protect them.

      A woman could be as deadly as any man, or even more so. It was the reason he’d not lain with a woman since the threats began. In these times, hope had no place. Their very lives depended upon it.

      * * *

      Drifting on something soft, warm and comfortable, Anwen was half-asleep when the door creaked.

      She opened her eyes. In the now-opened doorway was a small boy shaking mightily from the weight of a water bucket.

      ‘Oh!’ He dropped the bucket. ‘You’re awake!’

      Her head throbbing relentlessly, she could not reply.

      The boy straightened the bucket. ‘I have your washing water, my lady. But you’re awake! The house must be told.’ He fled, but she could not move her head as she stared at the empty doorway.

      Her vision cleared as a man filled the door frame. He was the most beautiful man Anwen had ever seen.

      He was golden. From his head to his feet, he had the look of pure gold in sunlight. His eyes, the colour of warm amber, were brilliant against a square jaw and aquiline nose.

      Then he smiled. She knew that smile would make many a maiden faint, but not her. Not under these circumstances.

      ‘Where...where am I?’ She forced the words out.

      ‘You don’t know?’ Grabbing a stool, he stepped closer. ‘Do you remember anything?’

      Pain, her head full of knives. ‘No.’ Blackness hovered, threatening to take her again, but she couldn’t let it. ‘No.’

      The man placed a cloth to her face. Welcoming the cool moisture, she closed her eyes. Images flashed through her mind: someone taking care of her, a deep voice, a gentle, callused touch. Was it this man?

      ‘Who are you?’ she asked.

      ‘My name is Rhain. Be easy.’ He grabbed a cup of something and cradled her head so she could drink.

      Struggling to swallow the diluted wine, she tried to concentrate on his words. ‘My head feels...tight.’

      ‘You’ve hurt it. The tightness is the dressing there.’ Rhain sat down, put out a hand and stilled hers. ‘No, do not touch it. Your wound is still too fresh.’

      ‘But how did I—?’ She stopped. There had been someone. Under a tree. Someone...

      The door swung open and in walked a god or a demon—no, it was a man, but he was no ordinary man. Where Rhain was golden, this man was dark. His hair, his eyes, his sun-darkened skin all reminded her of the night. But it was more than his colouring, it was the man himself. He was dark. Wariness overcame her, but she would not take her eyes off him.

      He was familiar, like someone she’d seen in the darkness, but it could not be him. She remembered the person who had soothed her when the blackness overcame her, when the pain worsened. This man did not soothe, he cut.

      ‘She wakes?’ he asked, his eyes never leaving hers.

      Rhain’s eyes narrowed as he took in the dark man’s mood. ‘Is this necessary?’

      ‘More than ever.’

      Anwen’s eyes burned as she strained to keep them open. The closer he got to her, the more she wanted to protect herself against the great waves of tightly controlled anger emanating from him. Power and authority were etched in every curve of his face. It was clear he wanted something from her and if she didn’t give it, he would take it. Pain slashed across her head as her body tensed.

      ‘She is not well. Leave her in peace.’ Rhain stood and pushed the stool aside to let the other man stand closer to her.

      ‘She is awake; she can speak.’

      She could not speak. Her heart beat too fast and sweat covered her. Her stomach churned as she took in great gulps of air.

      ‘Brother,’ Rhain warned.

      The rolling in her stomach would not subside, her head was spinning. Great waves of nausea drowned out whatever else was around her.

      ‘I am—’ she tried to say. The dark one leaned closer to her. ‘I am—’

      Anwen pushed herself up and retched over the breeches of Lord Teague of Gwalchdu.

      ‘By Gwyn!’ he exclaimed, before she blacked out again. It was a moment before the two men reacted to the considerable mess Anwen had made.

      ‘Well, that was a first, I must admit.’ Rhain’s droll tone was not lost on Teague, who shot him a look. ‘Oh, Teague, she did it not on purpose.’ He took the cloth from the bucket of cooled water and wiped Anwen’s mouth and face.

      ‘I did not think her so weak.’ Teague grabbed another towel and dipped it into the bucket to wipe his front.

      ‘Ah, yes, weakness. I forgot what an unforgivable trait that can be. But she is a woman and even God allowed them a softer side, regardless of whether you acknowledge such a terrible flaw.’

      ‘I am no beast. I know she is a woman. It’s only—’ Teague remembered her determination in climbing the tree and her quick thinking when she flung herself away and towards him. She was not like most females of his acquaintance.

      ‘She surprised me,’ he finished.

      Rhain’s mouth pursed in amusement, his gaze pointed at Teague’s wet front. ‘Yes, well, I can see that, but I differ with you regarding her weakness. She is not weak. Only strength of will could have pulled her out of such an injury.’

      ‘She’s weak now and useless to me asleep.’

      ‘Why the need for interrogation? Have you heard from Robert at Brynmor?’ Rhain asked.

      ‘Yes, he sent me a missive. It appears they are missing a woman. An Anwen.’

      ‘Now the question is if this is Anwen.’

      ‘And if she is the threat,’ Teague said. The woman’s face had softened now she was sleeping. But her hands were still curled into fists, lending her an air of determination at a moment in which she should have been most vulnerable.

      Teague remembered she had not cried out in fear when she fell. To see her this fragile went against everything he knew of her. Frustration rushed through him. He didn’t know her at all; he needed answers.

      ‘I must get clean.’ Teague dropped the soiled rag into the bucket. ‘Make sure she receives care,’ he ordered before he left the room.

      * * *

      It was pitch-black when Anwen woke again. This time she didn’t move her head. Her throat was sore and her stomach was filled with acid. Sleep was blessed, but something