She moved fast for a big woman several months pregnant. Breen moved faster and passed her as Brian soared overhead. Others thundered behind them as horns sounded an alarm.
Breen saw as she rounded a turn on the path the dark-faced Troll with wild red hair leap at Loga and plunge a knife into his side.
Still running, she hurled power and sent the attacker flying back. As Brian swooped down, flew him up out of reach, the knife fell out of his hand.
Blood spilled out of Loga’s side when Breen reached him to lay a hand on the wound. While overhead, Thar shouted and cursed, Loga, barely conscious, stared at Breen with eyes glazed with pain and shock.
“I didn’t give ya permission,” he choked out.
“Please, Father of the Trolls, grant it.”
“It’s a—it’s a scratch.”
“Grant it so I can heal the scratch to soothe my own nerves.”
“Grant it.” Sul dropped down beside him, gripped Loga’s hand, and pressed it to her belly. “Ya stubborn old fool. Feel this life kicking in me and grant it.”
“So I do. To soothe female nerves,” he added, and passed out.
“Release me, Sidhe bastard. He’s in league with the elf assassin who attacked Loga!” Thar shouted. “He let him escape!”
Behind them more than one Troll nocked an arrow.
“He’s lying.” Breen shot one quick glance at Sul. “I saw him use the knife. I swear it.”
“I didn’t see. Heal my man.”
She shifted, turned to those behind ready to fight, attack, defend. “Hold, every one of ya! The Daughter of the O’Ceallaigh accuses Thar of this treachery.”
“She lies! She lies! Would ya take the word of this outsider, this spawn of man over one of yer own? I tell ya the elf Argo killed Loga. There’s his knife, still bloody.”
“He’s not dead.” Breen lifted her voice over the shouting, the rumblings. “He won’t die.”
Then she shut them out, the voices. She shut out the fury, the anger, the fear.
Not just a scratch, no, though not as deep as she’d feared. But deep enough. And so much blood already lost.
It hurt, oh it hurt, that struggle to heal flesh and muscle, to slow the flow of blood. Loga stirred under her hands, fighting back against the pain and the fiery heat she pushed into him.
“Ya give him pain,” Sul snapped.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Unsure, Breen eased back. “If you’d send for Aisling, or my grandmother—”
“Give him pain if pain it takes to save his life. Do what needs doing.” Fiercely, she gripped Breen’s arm. “And stop playing at it.”
“Quit yer whacking at her, woman.” Eyes still closed, breath shallow, Loga managed a whisper. “A scratch is all.”
“Hold that tongue of yers.” A tear slid down Sul’s wide face. “I’ll whack any who need whacking.”
“It’s closing. I have to— It’s slow. I’m not as good as… Jesus, so much muscle.”
“Would I choose a weakling for my mate? To father my children?”
“Who chose who?” Loga’s eyes fluttered open, looked into Sul’s. “That’s enough of the fussing.”
“Just another minute. If I don’t, it’ll open again. You’re so strong, what would be a killing wound is only a scratch. But still, it was a fierce one. You lost a lot of blood, and need a potion, and Sul, a balm for the wound. I don’t have anything with me.”
“We have medicinals. Tell us what.”