When they arrived at the cottage, the dark-haired boy asked, "Where do you want him?"
Out. Gone. Not here. There were two beds in the cottage. He was too large to be comfortable on the couch, and the debt still gnawed at her. She glanced at the closed door to the master bedroom. But there was really only one option. "Through here," she said, pointing toward the other door at the back of the house. They shuffled along until she was close enough to draw out the key from around her neck and fit it to the lock under the knob.
"You keep the room locked?"
"Most of the cottage is left open for patients. The private parts of the residence are... private." She pushed open the door.
He did not answer, and she glanced back to see him cataloguing the room's contents. She knew every inch of this space. The books on shelves and tables and in tidy piles on the floor. The murals left over from her childhood that her mother had painted, of forest flora and fauna. The drying herbs hanging upside-down from the roof-beams like sleeping bats. The jars of murky liquid on the desk.
But none of that was what they needed in this moment. "This way," she called, and he blinked, following her to the bed.
"What is this place?"
My space. Which is why neither of you should be in it. "My workshop," she said instead.
He raised an eyebrow, looking between the paper-strewn desk and the unmade bed.
"It's also... the guest room." She dared him to contradict her, and he shook his head but began to lift the patient onto her bed. The bed. She helped where she could, swinging his legs up to lay on the mattress. The boy in the bed stirred and mumbled something, but did not wake. That worried her. Perhaps he had hit his head when he fell. But wouldn't she have found other injuries when she'd healed him? Perhaps not, given how focused she had been on the immediate threat of his leg. For now, he was alive. Anything else would be fixable.
The other boy tucked the sheets around the blond, and they stood a moment watching the patient as he slept. A strange man was in her bed. It was unsettling to think about, to see him here among her things.
"He'll be alright." The dark-haired stranger did not look away from the blond, and his tone held enough of a question that she answered.
"Yes, I believe so. His leg will recover. I'll see to it."
"Good." He cleared his throat. "Good."
Silence stretched as she waited for him to do something. To leave, so she could get back to her life. He didn't, only watched the boy in the bed, his teeth worrying his lower lip.
"Thank you for your help getting back here... Sorry, I don't think I know your name. Are you new to town as well?"
His eyes darkened from grey to the purplish black of storm clouds. "No. I've lived here all my life. Cole Madden."
"I'm Estelle. It's strange that I haven't seen you before now, though. You must not get ill or injured very often, then."
He blinked and his expression cleared at her words. "No, I don't suppose I do."
"Good for you. That's one less patient for me to have to deal with. Feels like I see some of the others much too often if you get my meaning."
He made a noncommittal noise.
His hands twisted, and that was when she noticed his knuckles. They were scraped raw, the skin angry, red, swollen.
"Your hands! What happened?"
He jolted at the words, the hands in question fleeing behind his back. "N-nothing. It's fine."
"Nonsense. I'm a healer. Let me look at them."
He hesitated, but her steely expression must have convinced him. He sighed, and held out his hands.
They were the unusual pale gold of the rest of his skin, reminding her of the glowing tan her mother wore year-round, though his was several shades lighter. His hands were long- and slim-fingered, an artist's hands, making the torn skin look out of place. His knuckles belonged on a pugilist's paws, not on these delicate elegant instruments.
She blinked at the thought. It didn't matter if the injury matched his hands. It was her job to fix it, not to understand him.
"Come with me." She led him to the table where she had treated Skip and he lowered himself into the same chair. She got bandages, warm water, and salve, then set a chair facing him to work.
He winced as she cleaned the scabbing wounds. "It's a wonder you were able to carry the patient. Or drive! How could you hold the reins with your hands this swollen?"
"It was... difficult," he admitted.
"That must have hurt quite a bit."
His lips twisted into an odd little smile. "Some."
"And you did not think to visit a healer?"
"It's not necessary."
She gave him a look to show exactly what she thought of that idea.
"My family does not frequent healers," he said, in the tone of someone repeating what he has been told several times.
"Oh? And what do you do when you need medical attention?"
"We manage." His lips pressed together.
Stubborn males. "You shouldn't fight."
"What?" He started as if the words were shocking.
"Your hands. Using your fists is more trouble than it's worth. If people could discuss their differences like adults I wouldn't have to deal with situations like this."
His brows furrowed. "I did not ask you to help me."
"Nevertheless, it is my duty to ensure it's taken care of."
"Then I thank you for your kind sacrifice."
She narrowed her eyes, doubting the sincerity of his tone. Was he mocking her?
"You are welcome. Only don't make a habit of this."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
"Good." She finished treating his hands in silence. He turned them in the air, inspecting from all angles and testing his range of motion.
"Better?" she asked, trying not to take the inspection as an insult to her qualifications.
"Much. Thank you." Again there was something flat about his tone, and she wondered if that was simply the way he spoke. She decided to ignore it.
He stood with his hands clasped behind his back. The silence stretched. "Well, once again I thank you for your aid, Mr. Madden."
"Cole will do. I am not my father."
"Cole, then. If there is something that I can do for you, please let me know." Her eyes landed on the fruit Skip had left behind. "Would you like to take an apple for the trip?" "Oh, no, thank you. That's... kind of you, but I don't have too far to go. And I live on an orchard. These are probably my apples, in fact. Or, my father's, anyway."
"Oh, I did not realize. Skip said..."
"That's alright. You can keep them. I know Skip."
"Of course, he mentioned a cousin who lived at an orchard nearby?"
"Yes, that would be me. Though I'm not sure anywhere could quite be classified as nearby to here."
"Ah. Well, it's not so bad, if you don't mind the quiet."
"Or the isolation."
"Isolation is about more than just physical distance."
"Indeed." Something about the look in his eyes suggested he understood. "Can I be of any more assistance?"
She blinked, the truth escaping in a rush. "Oh, no. You've done enough. I believe I can manage from here on."
"If you're certain." He watched her intently. What did he want? What did he expect to find?
She looked back down at her patient, dismissing him. "Yes. Thank you."
"Alright, then. I won't keep you. I'm sure you are a busy woman." But he lingered, making no immediate move to leave, instead glancing around the room.
At last it was she who nodded in acknowledgement of his words and made for the door. He was polite enough to follow her hint. "Good luck with your patients," he said over his shoulder as he passed her.
"Luck? I don't need luck. I have science." But he was already long gone. She looked down again at the strange boy still stretched across the pallet, his face pale and peaceful as if in sleep. And then she got to work.
***
Cole flexed his fingers as he slunk back to his father's house. Numb. He sighed. He hated the feeling, or rather, the lack thereof. It was lucky he'd run into someone at the market who'd agreed to bring the horses back, or he'd have to go and get them before his father realized they were gone. And the healer girl was right, the state of his hands hadn't made controlling the horses any easier. It had certainly been exhilarating. The freedom of bolting down the path... until he'd realized he was about to run someone over. Until he had, it seemed, run someone over.
And not just anyone. He had thought he had known everyone in the village, and yet had met two strangers that day. The blond traveler, and the girl he'd saved. He had known there was a healer in the village, but he had not expected ... her. Magic users in stories always seemed to be either haggard crones or deadly beautiful temptresses. This girl was... ordinary. She might have been any other village girl, with her too-pale skin and her no-nonsense hair. Though he knew that such tales rarely held the whole truth, he couldn't help feeling disappointed. And confused. Why had father kept him away?
He eased the door open and crept toward the stairs. A shadow spoke, freezing him.
"Where have you been?"
Drat. "Father, I—"
"I thought I told you not to go out. It's too dangerous."
Cole straightened his shoulders. "I can take care of myself."
A harsh laugh answered him. "I didn't mean for you."
Of course he hadn't. "Well, I can't disagree with that."
The man was there in an instant, gripping his shoulders. "Why, what happened? What did you do?"
Tension buzzed under his skin at the touch, and he fought to contain it. He shrugged the grip off, and his father made no move to touch him again. "They'll be fine. Nothing happened."
"They? You hurt people?"
"No! I mean, not permanently."
His father spun away, lifting a hand to his face."I knew this would happen. Goddess, these abilities... they only hurt. I'd hoped they'd skip you."
"I'm sorry, alright? I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment." Cole's hands flung out at the words, and he only realized his mistake when his father sucked in a breath.
"What happened to your hands?"
Cole dropped them to rest behind his back. "Nothing."
"Where are your gloves?"
You mean the ones you make me wear on the rare occasions when I leave the house? "I... lost them."
"Again."
"Yes." He crossed his arms, tucking his hands away against his ribs.
"Who tended you?"
"What?"
"Who wrapped your hands? You never bandaged them before."
His brows rose at the observation. "I wouldn't have thought you'd notice."
"It is my business to notice you."
Could have fooled me. He let his silence speak for him.
"Who was it, Cole?"
"No one. I felt like a change. And anyway, it was hard to drive a cart with split knuckles. They were getting in my way."
"You are joking."
"Of course, old man." I never say anything worth listening to.
He shook his head. "I don't want you leaving this house again. We need to get you under control."
"And what I want?"
"You've lost that right. We can't afford it." Cole headed back toward the door. "Where are you going?"
"Outside."
"Cole—"
"I won't leave the property, don't worry. I just... can't stay here." With you, he left unsaid.
He sighed. "Fine. One more thing before you go. Your aunt wants to know if you've seen her son today."
"Skip? No, why?"
"He hasn't come home since the morning."
"Is that really so strange? It is Skip after all. He's probably still up to some mischief or fell asleep somewhere."
His father waved a hand. "You know how mothers are."
"Not really."
He coughed. "Well, in any case, she'd like him home, so let him know that if you see him."
"Fine."
"Good." He paused. "Be careful."
"I'll try not to maim any innocent bystanders or otherwise drag the family name down any further, at least for this evening."
The door made a satisfying slam as it closed behind him.
***
Banging on the door startled Estelle as she finished up the bandage on her blond hero's leg.
Who was it now? This was the last call she'd answer today. After that, she wanted to shut herself into her workshop. But there was a man in her bed. At least while he slept, though, he would not bother her. She'd just have to spend the night on the couch until he was well enough to move.
The banging continued and she shook her head, getting up. She yanked open the door, catching the visitor with his hand raised to knock. The setting sun brought out the fiery tones in his hair, and cast his face into shadow. When he did not speak, she broke the silence, "Can I help you?"
"I wasn't expecting..." he coughed. "I need to see Dahlia."
Of course he did. "She is indisposed."
"Indisposed?"
"Unavailable, not taking visitors, otherwise engaged..."
"I know what the word means. Just—why? I need to speak with her."
"She is not speaking to anyone right now."
"I'm sure if you tell her who is asking she'll understand that this is important."
"I'm sorry, she's not taking any visitors tonight."
"And if it's a matter of life and death?"
She raised a brow. "If you need a healer, it is likely there is something I can do as her apprentice... otherwise, it'll have to wait."
"I don't need a healer, I need her!" He looked as surprised as she felt at this outburst. He continued quickly," I need to talk to Dahlia. In private. Where is she?" He pushed past her and strode into the cottage, calling for her mother as he went. Eating up the space in her house as if he had every right to. As if he owned the very ground. He stopped in front of the master bedroom door. It was almost as if he knew the way. But she didn't recognize him. He tried the door handle, rattling it when it didn't open. "Dahlia! We need to talk about the boy."
"She's not there," she said from behind when he pressed his forehead to the door.
He swung to face her. "Then where is she?"
"Away. I don't know where."
His fists tightened. "Well, you tell her as soon as you see her that Mal Madden is looking for her. Understood?"
"Madden?" Surprise had the word out of her mouth before she could recall it.
He stiffened. "Yes. Why?"
"Like Cole..."
He was in front of her in an instant. "How do you know him?"
She took a step back. "I only met him today. He helped me with a patient."
"He what?" She jumped at the roar.
"He helped me carry another boy home. That's all." After causing the injury in the first place. Not that he needed to know that.
He pressed a palm to his face. "Who was it?"
"I don't know. A traveler."
He sighed, then stilled. "You were the one who bandaged his hands."
"Yes." Of course she was. She was the only healer available.
He swore and a hand rose to his hair, the grip ruining its perfect order. "If you see him again before Dahlia returns, send a note to the orchard."
"I—"
"You can't understand how important this is, I know that. But know this. If I find out you are keeping her away from me you will regret it."
"You, sir, will refrain from threatening me in my own home or you will find yourself barred for life. No healer will see you."
"Don't forget. Tell her Mal Madden has urgent business regarding the boy. And send word if you see Cole."
"Fine. Now get out."
"Did your mother not teach you manners? To respect your elders?"
"Only when they deserve it. Good evening, Mr. Madden."
He strode away, a mixture of leashed anger and imperious dignity elongating his steps. When the door slammed behind him, she let herself slide down her mother's door to sit on the floor. What had that been about?