Curse Of Blood: Gods & Monsters

Chapter XXIX - Brenna

Renic watched her with a trenchant gleam in his eyes, the blue so penetrating it stole her breath as easily as she had taken that kiss from him. Neither of them spoke, for she was too disconcerted and thoroughly undone by his stare to form a single word; and he, in turn, appeared too reticent to offer one.

What had awakened him? Her flesh heated instantly with the mortifying prospect of his having been roused by her kiss. Yet, secretly, she wanted him to know.

And what he thought of her, practically spread across his chest as she was, Brenna knew not, but he made no move to shove her away, thank the gods. She could not have borne the ill-treatment or the humiliation if he had. However, that was not his way. Renic was never unkind. Though she was no better than a bondswoman, and he a mighty chieftain's son, he never treated her any less than he did the other thanes.

"I..." She swallowed her nerves and tried again. "Forgive me!" With that she hastily pushed herself off him and moved an appropriate distance away. Still, he regarded her with a closemouthed acuity that increased her inner turmoil and added to the awkward silence. "Are you feeling better now?" Surely he could not disregard a direct query?

His furrow deepened. "Should I not be?"

"You do not remember," she murmured. The idea of his mind being struck by oblivion had not occurred to her till this very moment.

"How long have we been here?" He pushed himself up onto his elbows and searched the surrounding trees for some clue as to the passage of time.

"Nightfall lasted only a scant few hours," said she, "but I found you...crippled with pain and..." It seemed as though she had been by his side an age, but in sooth it had been no more than the length of the brief moonrise. The sun had only disappeared for two hours at most. "You were not yourself," she finished feebly.

His eyes widened with horror as they flew to the blood-flecked linen at her shoulder, the strap of her apron dress partially torn. "I hurt you!"

Before she could declaim what was so obviously writ athwart her shift in her own lifeblood, he converged on her and firmly pulled the layers aside to examine the wound, self-disgust prevalent in his gaze.

"It does not hurt, Renic." She pushed his hands away gently and replaced the fabric with diffident care, unused to his touch despite that there was nothing sordid in his manner. He had never intimated that his interest was more than chaste.

"I can see the untruth of that claim for myself, Brenna. There is no need to preserve my feelings." His face was shadowed with contrition and shame. "How you must hate me."

"Never!"

Brenna wished that they were as easy with one another as he was with Heida, but she did not feel as though she had the right to comfort him with aught but words. Touching was not something he seemed to welcome; at least not with anyone except perhaps his mother, Roth, and Heida. With them he was free with his affection and warmth, albeit even that was infrequently bestowed.

"But I was frightened for you. I thought you were dying..." Her voiced cracked, repudiating even the thought of such a cataclysm — and it would have been that to her: a life waned into ruin by result.

"Impossible. I am already bereft of life." His face became wooden as he withdrew; not in body, but in spirit.

"I know," she replied, drawing his eyes back to hers from the faraway point he had fixed them to. The Renic of yore had long since succumbed to cynicism and self-loathing.

"You do not know. You cannot possibly."

"But I have seen enough this night to know..."

"Yes?" He leaned in closer, his pose mirroring hers exactly: legs crossed and an elbow resting on each knee.