Rune King

"Is something wrong?"

"Not now," she said softly.

"Later?"

Deirdre saw him twitch, saw the way that his muscles had all coiled up like a mountain lion about to strike. Then she looked at the men on the ground—if they weren't unconscious, then they were very convincing fakers.

Then she turned back. Lying, denying the obvious, seemed impossible now.

"Absolutely later."

It was only after Deirdre had moved away, until he had cooled off, that she started looking at him again. Not the way that Gunnar wanted to be looked at. Not the way that she had been looking at him, like a woman looking at a man.

"What?"

She didn't answer him, but when she stepped across the wagon again, she didn't look like she was going to do something he would like.

She pulled away a bandage, unwrapping. His stomach didn't hurt. He hadn't realized it, caught up in the moment. In the delicious sensations that had overtaken him when she had kissed him. But he couldn't feel a thing.

He twisted experimentally, earning him a disapproving look from Deirdre as the spot she was examining moved out of view. His side felt better than it had in days. Better than he remembered it ever feeling before.

There was no way of knowing what had caused it, but somehow the healing that he had grown so used to had gotten unstuck. As if it had never been gone in the first place, he thought. It was strange to think of it that way, because he had hated it for so long that wanting it back felt wrong somehow.

All the same, he couldn't deny that was exactly how he was feeling. Thankful.

"What did you do? To bring it back? Is this some magic of yours?"

The look she gave him was all the answer Gunnar needed. She was as surprised as he was, and he wasn't sure whether or not he had expected her to answer. She had barely caused a blip in it, and that was after four days of breathing in her herbs and thinking about it. Three straight days she had sat there and told him to his face that she didn't have an answer. That maybe there was no answer.

Even the fourth day, with the answer she had given him it had been tentative. She was unsteady, and he could see it. But she'd managed to cause a blip, and that was more than he had ever done.

He let out a long breath and sat back, let her poke and prod him. It felt absolutely normal—not sensitive or painful, no matter where she touched or how hard. Except when she used the point of her nail, which he squirmed away from, laughing softly.

"What are you looking for?"

"How is this even possible? You were nearly dead. I saw you. It kept getting worse, even."

He shrugged. "It's a talent."

It wasn't the answer that she wanted, but it was the only answer Gunnar had. He had thought the same as she had, and it was as surprising to him as anyone that he'd somehow kick-started his healing again.

The thing that surprised him was that he didn't care whether it was back or not. If not, then he would be able to spend more time with Deirdre, more time excusing himself from doing what he needed to do.

If he were healing again, then it was time to get back to work.

Gunnar stood up and tested the strength of the ropes around his arms. They had tied him well, but with the fighting and nearly pulling his shoulders clean out of his body… they strained loudly as he pulled. With a little effort, he'd be able to get free.

"What are you doing? You're not thinking of trying to go back now, taking over the band?"

The smile Gunnar gave her was not in any way reassuring. She sputtered for a moment, stammering. Then she seemed to think of exactly what she wanted to say.

"You shouldn't," she began, which earned a raised eyebrow from Gunnar. "It's too soon. They'll be raiding soon. You want to have a night on the road, when someone getting hurt won't damage the next days' raid. And—and such quick changes could certainly cause a rift in the group, between those who supported you, and who support him."

Gunnar sucked in a deep breath and sat back down. She was right. He hadn't thought of any of that, and yet here was an outsider and a woman who was telling him the basics of his business. The giddiness of realizing that he wasn't worthless, not any more, it had driven him a bit mad with excitement.

No, waiting was the right way to go.

"But what about my wounds? Wouldn't they realize that I'm uninjured?" He leaned forward, so that they could speak without being heard outside. "If it were my decision, I certainly wouldn't leave myself with the prisoners. Like a wolf among sheep, no way."