I knelt beside him. “Take off your shirt,” I said.

He winced as he did so; the garment was sticky with blood. “Just a flesh wound,” he said. “Messy, though.”

From what I could see, he was right; he’d been lucky. “Looks as if you’ll survive,” I said, feeling sick at the thought of what might have been. “For now I’ll just clean this up and put on a bandage. I can have a better look by daylight.” He looked as sick as I felt. But I had to ask. “What happened then? When I woke up I thought he’d killed you.”

“Stupid. Got on my feet, charged toward the bastard, tripped on something and over I went like a felled tree. Hit my head, hard. Knocked myself out cold.”

“Dagda’s bollocks! I woke up just as he was about to finish you off. Yelled at the top of my voice. Used the ax. Only not the blade, the haft. A big mistake.”

“Saved my life,” Grim said.

“You saved mine.”

“Good team, then.”

I nodded, momentarily lost for words.

“You must’ve done all right for yourself,” he said, “or he’d have killed you before I came to.”

“I managed to drop the ax. But I did keep him talking. The bastard tried to make out we were still friends. Seemed to think I’d understand why he did what he did, because of . . . Enough of this for now; let’s get this wound cleaned up.”

“Going to have to make him disappear,” Grim said, glancing at Flannan.

“Forget that until daylight.” Suddenly I didn’t want to think about any of it. I wanted to be back at Winterfalls with the sun shining and the kettle boiling on the hearth fire.

“Got a lump on my head the size of a goose egg,” muttered Grim. “Frigging mead. Should’ve known better.”

“Ah—mead. Good idea.”

He must have come down hard; there was indeed a huge lump on his head. With luck that blow had not done any serious damage. His eyes looked all right, and he was talking sense. I fetched my healer’s supplies. Used the pot of cooling water from our brew to wash the shoulder wound. Dried it with a kerchief.

“I’m going to splash on some mead before I bandage this. It helps keep out ill humors. It’ll sting.”

Grim attempted a laugh and winced with pain. “Father Tomas’s special brew,” he said. “Love to see the look on his face.”

“I’ll write and tell him all about it.” I began to bandage the wound.

“Him. Flannan. Need . . . dig a grave.”

“Forget him. You won’t be digging anything. And you’d be better not riding tomorrow.”

“I can ride, Lady. Be fine in the morning. Listen. Should say I’m sorry. Killed your friend. But I’d be lying, and that’s the truth.”

“Hush, now.” He sounded like a shadow of his real self; I suspected a monster headache, not to speak of shock. I was not exactly at my best either.