Tarass turned once again to keep her from moving and his eyes shot wide. He barely had enough time to shove her out of the way of the arrow sailing directly at her.

“Attack!” Dolan shouted and the warriors rushed to draw their weapons ready to fight.

Tarass stood with his weapon drawn as well, his back to his wife, ready to keep her safe.

The warriors stood perplexed when no other arrows rained down on them or warriors charged them.

A frantic bark from Thaw had Tarass turning to see that his wife had landed face first in the pool of blood and was struggling to get out of it. He rushed to her side and slipped his hands under her arms to lift her out and plant her feet on a clean patch of snow.

Snow spit and wiped at her face with her glove-covered hands. “What did I fall in?”

“Blood,” Dolan said, his eyes so wide they looked as if they’d burst from his head.

“Blood?” Snow asked, though she had heard him clearly. “Whose blood?” She went to wipe at her mouth again, the thought of being soaked in blood turning her stomach.

Tarass grabbed her wrist. “Don’t. You’ll only spread it around your face. I’ll see to it.” He turned to Dolan. “Bring me a cloth and a blanket.”

“Thaw? He isn’t covered with blood, is he?” she asked worried for the pup.

“His paws. They’ll clean off fast enough in the snow when he follows us,” Tarass said and kept hold of her wrist as he guided her to a cropping of stones and helped her to sit on one.

He was annoyed with himself for not thinking of the pool of blood when he had shoved her out of the way of the arrow. But there had been such little time and his worry had been that more arrows would follow.

“What happened?” she asked.

Tarass scooped up a handful of snow. “I’m going to clean your face with snow.”

“Aye, that would work good, though I fear my garments are ruined. Blood is never easily removed from clothing,” she said, fighting to keep the quiver out of her voice.

She wanted to remain calm but the image of herself, in her mind, covered in blood wasn’t helping. And whose blood was it? A slaughtered animal? A murdered human? Not knowing made things worse.

“You’ll not wear these garments again,” he ordered and began to scrub her face with the snow.

His touch was gentle, but she had known it would be since he had been gentle with her when he had tended her wounds in the cottage. She was glad he took extra care cleaning around her mouth and her eyes, though she wondered if the bitter taste would linger in her mouth. He was thorough, cleaning her face with handful after handful of snow.