Chapter Fifteen

It was nearly two weeks later before Brenna was allowed to return to some semblance of a normal life. She walked holding Cameron’s arm as he set a snail’s pace down the stairs that evening, prepared to have dinner in the Great Hall with everyone for the first time since her injuries and rescue.

She barely stifled the urge to roll her eyes at how careful he was with her. She tried to be understanding though, knowing he was still recovering from how close he’d come to losing her. It was easier for her, because one of Agnes’s potions had taken most of her memories of the event itself.

She had small flashes, but they were mainly positive—all involving or revolving around Cameron, like his dramatic entrance into the tent, or later, when he had kissed her so sweetly on the temple and told her he loved her. She had a vague memory of telling him she loved him, but it wasn’t sharp enough for her, so she’d made sure since then to tell him a few times a day to remind him and herself.

Finally, they reached the bottom of the stairs, and she tightened her lips slightly when he asked, “Shall I carry you the rest of the way, lass?”

She huffed a small sigh in his direction. “I am sufficiently recovered to walk, Cameron,” she said with a bit of snappishness before regretting it. She softened her voice and said, “I know you’re concerned, but I feel well. Truly.”

She did. The pain had lessened and then completely disappeared over the last few days under Agnes’s careful healing with a mix of magic, potions, and herbs, and she could move freely again. She would always bear the scars, but she’d decided that didn’t bother her. They were marks of her survival, and they certainly didn’t seem to have decreased Cameron’s ardor for her, though he had not yet allowed himself to make love to her again. She hoped she might persuade him to this evening after dinner, but she hadn’t shared that plan with him yet.

He sat down in front of their shared trencher, and someone passed the jug of wine her direction. She filled her goblet and then his before setting it down, and silence reigned for a moment as everyone stared at her. Abruptly, she realized they were waiting for her to say something. Gingerly, she stood up again. It wasn’t because of pain, but because of reluctance. What was she supposed to say?

She stared at the gazes around her, all avidly fastened on her, and she cleared her throat. “I’d like to propose a toast to dead Englishmen.” She lifted the goblet to a rousing round of cheers, and they all drank quickly before slamming the glasses onto the table. It wobbled under the force of it, and she steadied herself before sitting down again. That seemed to have satisfied them, and conversation soon resumed, along with sounds of eating.

“How are you feeling?” asked Cameron, sounding anxious. “We can return to the bedchamber if you need to.”

“I shall return when I am done eating, but only on the promise you will let me do more than sleep,” she said sweetly and softly.

His eyes widened as he clearly intuited her intent. “But…”

“Agnes assures me I can resume normal activity of any kind as soon as I feel up to it.” She leaned a little closer, lowering her voice an octave as her hand stroked his thigh through his plaid. “I have felt quite up to it for the last several days, my laird.”

He swallowed thickly, but then he started eating quickly. It was obvious he intended to capitulate to her demands, and she couldn’t be happier.

She looked around again as she continued eating, abruptly realizing there was an empty space on the bench beside Dolag. “Where’s Glynis?” she asked softly.

She’d not yet leveled accusations against the woman, for part of the same reasons as before—she wasn’t certain it was Glynis, and also because partially, it had slipped her mind. The whole incident was all somewhat of a blur next to the trauma of the incident, along with Agnes’s herbs and potions, though she clearly remembered the blue dragon scooping her up and then dropping her later to crash hard on the ground.

“She has been banished,” said Cameron with a scowl.

“When I identified the sapphire dragon as the one who’d kidnapped you, they immediately knew it was Glynis,” said Lianne from beside her in a whispered tone. “Apparently, she is one of the few females in the clan who can shift, and none of the others are blue. She didn’t count on having a witness remain, I guess, or perhaps she was so arrogant it never occurred to her. When Cameron learned of her part in the treachery, he seemed hell-bent on ripping her apart as well, but sanity prevailed, and he banished her instead. He dropped her into English territory,” said Lianne as she sipped from her goblet.

“I see.” Brenna had mixed emotions about that. She was glad Cameron hadn’t ripped apart the woman with his bare claws, but she would have rested easier knowing Glynis was eliminated. She certainly rested easier at night knowing Frederick Walstone could never touch her again, and there would’ve been some measure of reassurance knowing the same about Glynis.

Yet she was glad Cameron hadn’t lost control of his temper to the extent he had murdered her in his rage. She deserved banishment, but perhaps not death, and she was happy her mate hadn’t been the one to deliver it.

She reached over and took his hand, suddenly moved by the need to have him again and reassure herself of life, their continued passion, and the love between them. “I find my appetite has fled abruptly, Cameron. Perhaps you could see me upstairs?”

He grunted as he got to his feet, whisking her into his arms and rushing to the stairs. She didn’t have a chance to say a parting to anyone, but the waves of laughter following indicated no one was naïve enough not to realize their intentions.

She was slightly embarrassed by that, but mostly, she was just liberated by the freedom to be with Cameron openly and without fear. They were still at war with the English, and more conflicts would come in future, but Walstone was dead, she had found her fated mate, and life seemed brimming with possibilities of happiness and hope as he conveyed her upstairs for the beginnings of a long night of loving that lasted well into the next morning.

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