“I—I’m still alive,” he whispered dazedly. “I thought I’d died, I really did.” He glanced at the sliver of metal in his hand. “It—it’s almost like a miracle.”

“Nonsense. You fainted; that’s all. Do you think you can sit up? Your ride is here.”

As the man eased Mal’s head back and stoppered the flask, Mal became aware of others standing nearby: the boy Royston holding the tattered lead of a scruffy donkey; a thin, fragile-looking woman with a rough-woven shawl over her head who could only be the boy’s mother. Abruptly he was aware of the sliver of metal still clutched in his fist, and he glanced up at the blond man again, avoiding the gray eyes.

“I—I dinnae know how to thank ye,” he stammered. “Ye saved—”

“There’s no need,” the man replied with a smile. He held out a hand and assisted Mal to his feet. “Leave the bandages in place for at least a week before you try to change them, and then be careful to keep the wound clean until it’s healed. You’re lucky that it wasn’t as bad as it looked.”

“Aye,” Mal whispered, moving dazedly toward the donkey and limping heavily.

As Mal reached the side of the donkey, Royston threw his arms around his friend in a brief hug, then held the animal’s head while their two benefactors assisted Mal to mount. The woman stood back fearfully, not understanding what had happened, yet eyeing the falcon cloaks on the pair with awe and respect. Mal steadied himself against their shoulders until he could ease his leg to a comfortable position, then sat more erect and held precariously to the animal’s wispy mane. As the two men stepped back, Mal glanced in their direction and nodded, then raised his hand in farewell. The sliver of metal still glittered in his clenched fist.

“I thank ye again, good sirs.”

“Think you can make it now?” the darker man asked.

“Aye, if the beast does nae go mad an’ dump me in a ditch. Godspeed ye, friends. An’ tell th’ Lord Warin we stand ready to do his biddin’, next time ye see him.”

“I will that,” the blond man replied.

“That I certainly will,” he repeated under his breath as man and donkey, boy and woman, headed back down the road and into the night.

When they were out of sight and hearing, the blond man crossed back into the brush where they had been working and retrieved the torch. He held it aloft until his companion could recover the two dusty warhorses, then snuffed it out against the damp clay of the roadway and tossed it aside. The gray eyes were again grim.

“Well, would you say I ‘o’erstepped the bounds even a duke may go,’ by healing that man, Duncan?” he asked, pulling on his gloves in an impatient gesture.

Duncan shrugged as he handed over a pair of reins. “Who can say? We took a chance—but that’s nothing new. He shouldn’t be able to remember anything he oughtn’t. But then, you can never tell with these country folk. Or need I bother telling you that? After all, they’re your people, Alaric.”