“Thomas.” Someone shook him urgently. “Wake up.”
Thomas gasped as consciousness and memory flooded back, and he opened his eyes. Cadán Longshanks bent over him. “What…” He tried to work out what to ask. “Aidan,” he managed, trying to sit up, but everything whirled around him, white sparks running through his vision.
“Nay, not yet,” Cadán said, keeping him from rising. “Lie still. The bishop is here, but he’s hit his head on the table.”
Thomas turned his head and saw Aidan lying still, a trickle of blood seeping from his temple. “He’s all right?”
Cadán’s face was grim. “Oh aye, he’ll be fine. But ye are hurt.”
Thomas remembered the knife spinning end on end towards him, the impact of it hitting him as he tackled Aidan. “My leg…” He couldn’t feel any pain. Maybe he had just imagined it
