"And, mistress—you will tell me if—"
"Surely. Now go."
Brian tried to open his eyes, but could not. He tried to move, but could not; and realized at length that he was lying on a bed, and that a bandage was on his head and others on his limbs.
Suddenly a hand fell on his cheek, and a thrill shot through him; his beard had been shaved away, for he could feel the softness of the hand against his chin. He felt the hand passed over his mouth—and he kissed it.
There was a startled gasp, then the soft hand returned to his cheek.
"Brian! Are you awake at last?"
"I seem to be," he said, though his voice sounded more like a whisper. "Is that you, Nuala? Where are we?"
"Yes, it is I," came her voice softly, and something warm splashed on his cheek. "Oh, Brian! I so feared that—that you were dead!"
The hand moved away, and he moved uneasily, to feel pain through his body.
"Nay, put back your hand!" he said. He tried to smile. "There, that's better. Where are we, Nuala? On your ship?"