Page 15 of The Thief’s Lord (Catkin Trilogy #3)

Gareth

D orset. Gods. Dorset. Those words repeated over and over in my mind as I hastily lifted Dorset’s limp body in my arm. Dorset did not respond to my touch or my voice. I shifted his light weight higher in my arms and cursed.

“I need help in here!” I bellowed, losing the last scraps of my composure.

Two guards appeared at the door accompanied by Corrin and the familiar sharp features of our court mage.

Taking one look at Dorset, Alan instantly went into action.

Another guard with a spare set of keys managed to unlock the shackles.

With Dorset’s arms freed, I was able to pull him forward so that he could rest against my shoulder.

Reluctantly, I shifted Dorset to the bed.

“I don’t want him here,” I told Corrin. “He’s not safe.”

“Clearly,” Corrin grunted.

“My rooms or yours?” asked Alan. “Or my laboratory?”

“My rooms,” I suggested. “He’ll feel less frightened upon waking to find me there, I think. Gods. Dorset.”

My fingers ghosted over the cuts and scrapes covering his face.

His swollen, bruised cheek and the now worsening black eye.

I winced. Dorset would wake to a world of pain.

Glancing over at Alan who hunkered down by me, I wondered if the mage would be alright with nursing a wounded tom who had been party to the attack on him.

Alan’s face was decidedly neutral as he gazed down at the redhead who lay on the narrow prison cot.

“Would you… give him one of your potions?” I asked.

Alan slowly nodded.

“He’s a valuable witness and promised to help us,” I added, feeling like I had to justify my actions for some reason.

“That’s why he was attacked. If we hadn’t arrived sooner…

Gods know what might have happened. We need to find out who ordered this.

Find who might be responsible for this.” My instincts whispered that the culprits had bribed their way to Dorset and were now long gone.

Or the reports are true , I seethed. The King’s regular guard has been severely compromised. It may be worse than I feared.

“Why wouldn’t I want to help him?” Alan rose to his feet.

“Let’s get him out of this damned place.

It’s so cold.” The sensitive mage shivered a little, rubbing his hands.

“I’ll go grab some potions. There are a few elixirs I could name that will put him to rights, but I figure you’d rather not waste the time. ”

Probably because most of them have ridiculously long names , I snorted.

“They’ve got balls to think they’d get away with it,” I said grimly as I once again picked up Dorset. “Corrin. Round up the guards. Take names. Anyone in uniform.”

Corrin nodded and disappeared down the hall, gesturing for the other Munni guards to follow him.

Most Munni would be heading to bed, but given the emergency, Corrin would try to stay awake a bit longer.

My thoughts drifted away from Corrin and focused on the young tom in my arms. Dorset lay unmoving, unconscious.

My speed picked up as I moved quickly down the halls to my private suite.

Several doors down, where the King’s rooms lay, Landis poked his golden head out of his private parlor. His eyes widened at the sight of me cradling a young tom in my arms. I shook my head at him, encouraging him to return to his work.

Once I was in my room, I instantly placed Dorset on the large four poster bed that dominated my bedroom.

Servants rushed to tie the deep red curtains back.

In the hallway, guards gathered with Landis and a few other nobles who had arrived for early morning meetings.

Two curious lords ventured as far as my outer parlor, but my valet, Denny, who serves me during my stays at the palace, planted his broad frame in the door.

Thus afforded my much needed privacy, I was able to focus on Dorset.

In the corner of my bedroom by the hearth of the large fireplace, two servants under the guidance of Denny, poured a steaming hot bath.

A bathrobe and towels were slung over the latticed wood screen.

Then, with Denny’s help, I stripped Dorset of his torn cotton shirt and breeches.

Dorset’s vest, socks, and shoes had already been removed by whoever had beaten him.

Just thinking about who might be responsible had my fingers curling into fists.

My fingers spread over Dorset’s chest. Although the younger tom was well-muscled, he was smaller than me. As lithe as a willow wand, but I knew he was strong. Still, there was only so much a tom could take.

His pale skin was now mottled in a patchwork of blue, yellow, and purple, where firsts had clearly laid their mark.

The hitch in his breath suggested cracked ribs.

His chest, both back and front, were worse off than his lower bits.

Still, there were clear marks on his legs where he had probably been kicked.

Bile rose in the back of my throat. Anger clouded my vision, but I drew a deep breath in and focused on the task at hand.

Very carefully and slowly, I helped Denny cleanse Dorset of sweat, grime, and blood.

As I held Dorset’s head above the water—getting half-doused in bathwater in the process—Denny rinsed out his blood and sweat streaked hair.

Halfway through, Dorset stirred. His red eyelashes flickered, and a soft moan escaped from his split lips.

Dorset flinched reflexively as my hand caught his own rising fingers.

“I’m here,” I said softly. “Dorset.”

I raised the cloth to gently dab at a spot on his swollen cheek that still looked raw. Dorset shifted.

“G-Gare…” He half-finished the word with a light slur.

“Don’t talk,” I told him. “We’ve got you safe and sound. Denny and I will be watching over you.”

As we should have been from the start , I thought grimly.

I was a fool to think we could buy ourselves some time, given the potential state of the palace guards.

Whoever got into his cell must have paid someone off.

Unfortunately, despite my initial protestations, my suggestion to put Dorset in a highly secured room with guards had been dismissed by Lord Berrymay and Lord Elthorne.

Although I had described my encounter at the inn in detail, none of the King’s councilors appeared too concerned.

The state of the king’s cells would surely provide enough security , they opined.

When I glanced at Lord Berran and Lord Morne, both had looked equally unconcerned.

Damn them. Lord Morne has truly begun to consolidate his position in court.

I would rather that he had been absented from the conversation, but if I had requested him to step out specifically…

I sighed. It was a conundrum that I had failed to consider before I left my home.

I had allowed myself to get caught up in the moment.

I had allowed myself to get distracted, and Dorset had paid the price.

“Mhmmm…” Dorset groaned again.

“Let’s get you to bed,” I suggested, keeping my voice calm and level.

Denny peeled back the sheet covers while I carried Dorset back to bed.

He gasped a little in pain despite my attempt to be as gentle and slow as possible.

For a second, he collapsed against my chest, clearly battling unconsciousness.

Before we placed him under the sheets, Danny helped me wrap Dorset in my thickest, comfiest bathrobe.

Dorset sank back into the pillows gratefully.

I edged onto the bed beside him. There was more than enough room.

Now I was able to study Dorset even more closely. My gaze lingered on the small furrow between his cut brow. More wincing. More soft moans. Dorset was definitely coming to. Where is Alan? I wondered.

As if summoned by my thoughts, Alan and Aileen appeared at my bedroom door, followed by a concerned looking Hugh.

As one of my long-time friends, Hugh no doubt could recognize my turmoil instantly.

I kept my face neutral as I eased back, allowing Alan and Aileen to hover over Dorset.

Straight away, Aileen dosed Dorset with a glimmering green potion.

Alan, calling forth his white sigils, chanted a short prayer in an ancient tongue.

Almost instantly, color returned to Dorset’s cheeks, and the lines of pain eased from his face.

“Thank you.” Dorset’s voice was faint, but clear.

I could see that Dorset was trying to hide unease. His fingers fiddled with the blanket now pulled up to his chest. Aileen gave him a sharp look, causing him to look down.

“A bonny lad like yourself up to no good, and where has that got you?” she asked brusquely.

“Aileen,” I said mildly, forcing myself not to bristle with outrage on Dorset’s behalf.

“Hm.” At the bottom of the bed, Hugh stood, eyes narrowed and arms folded across his chest. He skewered Dorset with a glare that softened a little as Dorset’s red ears sagged. Alan shot his lover a look, placed a reassuring hand on Dorset’s, and smiled at his patient.

“You will be safe here,” he said quietly. “Gareth and I will protect you—“

“Alan!” The fur on Hugh’s tail fluffed. “He’s—“

“I know what he is,” Alan replied. “I also remember what he didn’t do. He could have attacked me that day at the Standing Stones… But he didn’t.” Alan turned to Dorset. “Why was that?”

“No blood ought to be spilled in… at the hearth of the Lady,” whispered Dorset. “There was power there, and a presence. I didn’t dare go closer. It was Her wish. I could only obey.”

“You hear her voice?” Alan blinked in shock.

“Hear who?” interjected Hugh impatiently.

I raised a hand, silencing him.

“Who do you hear, Dorset?” I asked curiously.