“Then tend your chieftain yourself,” Raynor argued.
“I need no help,” Tarr insisted.
“You think so?” Fiona questioned.
“I will do as I see fit,” Tarr said.
“You will do as you are told,” Aliss ordered. “Or you will chance losing all strength in your arm. Now drink this.” She shoved a goblet in his face.
“Listen to her,” Kirk said, looking from one twin to the other. “She knows of what she speaks. She has cured many of the clans’ ills.”
Tarr hesitated then reluctantly swallowed the drink. The arrow would be removed and the skin sealed with a fiery iron. Then there would be worry of fever. He himself had helped close wounds such as his.
“Do what you must,” he said, and grabbed the arm of the chair, bracing himself for the pain. Kirk and Raynor lent their strength to him and held him firm.
Fiona stood ready to reach for the red-hot iron and Aliss wrapped a cloth around the arrow. With a skill that surprised everyone, she worked the arrow out of Tarr’s arm inch by inch.
Tarr did his best to remain still, gripping the arms of the chair, gritting his teeth and fighting the pain that attempted to consume him. Sweat broke out on his brow and spread slowly over his entire body.
He refused to surrender to the intense pain, chasing away the blackness that rose up to swallow him. He would remain alert and rejoice in the pain for it meant he survived the battle.
His gaze locked with the twin holding the poker iron. He concentrated on her green eyes filled to the brim with fear and gut-wrenching pain. That she suffered along with him was obvious. She had to be Fiona, and he told himself to remember later to look in her eyes—for he might be able to tell the difference if he remembers this look.
He did not take his eyes off her not even when the arrow was finally removed.
The poker iron came next, searing his arm in two spots. Tarr groaned from the stinging flesh and, for a moment, almost gagged from the smell. His ordeal had finally ended and he rested his head back against the chair, his eyes still on the twin.
“Get him into bed. He needs to rest.”
The twin he stared at spoke, though she grew blurry and his mind groggy. He was helped up and deposited in bed. His eyes closed of their own accord, even though he fought to keep them open as gentle hands touched his arm.
He did not want to sleep and appear weak. There were things he needed to see to, orders to give, the keep’s safety to maintain, his clan to look after and . . .
“The brew Aliss gave him will have him sleeping until morning; we have work to do,” Fiona said to Kirk. “Return Raynor to his room, then meet me in the great hall.”
“I can help,” Raynor offered.
Fiona shook her head. “You are a prisoner and Tarr will decide your fate.”
Kirk smiled and did as she bid, closing the door behind him.
“Tell me he will be all right,” Fiona asked of her sister.
“The arrow left no damage. We need only worry about fever.”
“You will watch over him?” Fiona asked, gently brushing Tarr’s hair off his forehead with her fingers. His brow was damp with sweat. She had watched him struggle to maintain his dignity and strength, refusing to scream or display any sign of weakness, and never taking his eyes off her.
“Your feelings for him grow.”
Fiona bent down by the side of the bed and ran a finger over his warm lips. “I do not know why I feel the way I do. He shows me no such feelings in return, though when we kiss it is different. I can sense how very much he wants me. But then he is a man with needs. And I am a woman who needs love.”
“Perhaps there is a common ground somewhere for you both.”
“Love versus need?” Fiona said with a laugh, and stood.
“Need turning to love?” Aliss asked with a lift of her brow.
“I think it is in fate’s hands.”
“Then is it fate who brought us here?” Aliss questioned.
“We will have to wait and see,” Fiona said, walking to the door. “I know not how or why I feel as I do about Tarr. I only know that when I watched the arrow pierce his flesh, it tore at my heart. For a brief moment I did not want to know