Girding herself, she kept her eyes on the half circle of men and whispered, “My name is Caelan, and I’ll trade you anything you want for your protection.”

***

Garron inhaled the woman, closing his eyes as he enjoyed the scents of freedom. She smelled of herbs and fresh air, just washed clothes, and petal-soft skin. His whole body tightened so sharply, he could barely focus on the swarm of Rolf’s band of thieves and cut-throats.

“What could you possibly have to trade me that I would want, Caelan?” Her name rolled off his tongue, his fingers itching to see if she felt as wonderful as she smelled.

Part of him kept an eye on the men before them. Rolf ran the dungeons, but he hadn’t challenged Garron since their skirmish a week ago. Garron still had an open knife slash that wouldn’t heal, a memento from Rolf’s blade. The wound had become infected, red streaks running up and down his thigh, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it here in this hellish pit.

“I am a Speaker,” she whispered. “I could heal for you.”

Did Speakers sense an injured man’s wounds? He didn’t think so, but otherwise why would she offer to heal him? Then he realized her voice had been more hopeful than sure.

She still hadn’t turned to face him, and he wondered what face went with the low alto voice that had shivers racing along his body.

So she didn’t just smell good but was smart as well, somehow figuring out that he was the lesser of the two evils without even seeing him in the light. Garron’s very name meant protector, not that he’d been anyone’s guardian since Sneed had thrown him into The Abyss.

Unable to resist, he feathered his finger along her neck, the gentle contact drawing a shiver from her in response. She was as soft as she smelled, and he wanted her.

What was he thinking? He’d almost tunneled out of the caverns. The last thing he needed was a woman slowing him down or distracting him. He had three nights before Mabon. Three precious nights before he died.

“I don’t need healing.” That wasn’t a lie. The moment he touched her skin, his brain had stuttered to a stop. He needed her, not healing.