Imrahil's Daughters

Chapter 11

When they approached the castle, Lothíriel sat up straight again. "Remember, you have to set me down at the entrance to the path to my tower!"

"Nonsense," Éomer replied. "You're going straight to a healer."

Alarm shot through her. She could almost see the scene of arriving at the castle and having everybody fussing over her – there would be no chance of keeping her identity secret. And what would he say then!

She twisted round to look up at Éomer. "No! I'm perfectly fine, my aunt will look after me."

He frowned. "Cover up for you, you mean."

"Well, yes, that too," she admitted.

"I don't like it–"

"Please!" She caught at his sleeve.

He slowed Firefoot down. "Will I get you into trouble if we ride in openly?"

Lothíriel got a vision of having to explain her duplicity to Éomer in the stable yard. "Oh, yes!" Trouble didn't even begin to describe it!

Éomer hesitated, but as they approached the entrance to the small path, he came to a decision. "Very well. However, I'm coming with you."

His riders got orders to wait for him and then he urged his stallion up the track. Luckily the horses of the Rohirrim were surefooted, and though halfway up he had to dismount and lead the stallion, he insisted on Lothíriel staying put. Little Handir watched them with alert eyes as they walked by.

"Gliwen has been hurt. Go fetch Prince Amrothos and Lady Ivriniel and tell them to come at once," Éomer shouted at him, sending the boy running.

At the crumbling wall encircling the orchard, she got plucked off the horse unceremoniously, then lifted onto the wall. "It's my hand that got hurt, not my feet," she pointed out, not sure if she felt offended or amused at having him treat her like a parcel being delivered.

Éomer paused to tie Firefoot's reins to a branch. "The less you do, the better." He regarded her keenly. "You've regained some colour. How are you feeling?"

She moved her hand experimentally. It still hurt, but there seemed to be no swelling – it felt no worse than a bee sting, and she'd had plenty of those. "I'll be fine."

He rubbed a temple, looking tired. "So the snake really was harmless."

Lothíriel lifted her eyebrows. "I told you so. Did you doubt me?"

"Well, even one of your Gondorian sages can get it wrong sometimes." He picked up her injured hand and turned it over to inspect the fingertips peeking forth from the bandage. "It's not too tight, is it?" He stroked her fingers lightly. "Can you feel that?"

"Yes." The touch brought back memories of their interrupted kiss and Lothíriel felt the heat rise to her cheeks. Hopefully the shade of the trees would hide it! But he had his head bent over her hand anyway, turning it this way and that. Sitting on the wall, she could actually look down on him, a strange perspective. His hair grew a tawnier shade at the roots, only to fade to sun-bleached blond. What would it feel like to lace her hands through it?

Still he wouldn't look up. Instead he dropped her hand into her lap and started to pull at some moss that grew in the crevices of the wall next to her. "How I hate being helpless," he declared suddenly.

What had brought that on? "I think everybody does," she answered, trying to feel her way.

"There was nothing I could do! If something had happened to you..."