Her ragged breathing and the way her weight, little there was of it, rested against him told him she was exhausted. How far had she walked to return here? How long had she been bleeding?
“The wound cannot wait. It needs immediate attention. I am going to cut your garment off,” he said, leaving her no choice. Surprisingly, she nodded.
He kept his knives sharpened, prepared for anything… anything but this. His blade sliced through the wet cloth more easily than he expected.
She shivered when all that was left on her were her boots and she moved closer against him. He needed to get her dry before he laid her on the bed, and keeping a firm hand around her, he eased her along with him as he reached for one of the cloths that he used to dry himself after a dunk in the stream.
He rubbed her shoulders with it and ran it down along her back as he turned her to the fire. He swiped the cloth over her backside quickly and couldn’t help but think that though she was slim, her bottom rounded nicely. It was not a thought he needed to be having at the moment. He turned his attention to her chest, his eyes glancing at her small breasts as he gently ran the cloth over them. He stopped when his eyes fell on the wound.
It continued to bleed, though slowly, and not knowing how long it had been bleeding didn’t help.
“The wound,” she mumbled.
He lifted her in his arms and placed her on the bed, running the cloth over her flat stomach and slim legs, after taking off her boots and before pulling the blanket up to her waist.
“Still bleeding,” he said, placing a cloth along her side to catch the blood.
“Splinters,” she reminded.
“I will look,” he said, “but with the wound still bleeding…”
“Sear it,” she groaned.
He was glad she said what he was about to.
Rannick set to work, lighting a candle and holding it near the wound while he examined it.
“What do you see?” she asked.
“It looks clean enough,” he said, hoping he was right, and no sliver of wood remained.
“Run water over the wound before you sear it.”
He had seen wounds flushed out with various liquids in foreign countries. It didn’t always make a difference, but who was he to say what made the difference. Besides, with the way her strength was waning, he feared it was already too late and was surprised at how much the thought troubled him.
“I will fetch the water,” he said.
She raised her hand with effort, and he almost jumped back when it fell gently against his scarred cheek. She shocked him even more with what she said.
“I trust you.”
He removed her hand from his cheek and leaned down close to her face. “Never make that mistake. Never trust me.”
She shocked him again when she said, “I have no choice.”
It was ironic that she turned to him for help since it was probably his fault that she had suffered the wound, but she was not his wife, and he need not worry the curse would affect her.
Prove it. Save her. The challenge reverberated in his head like a tolling bell.
He needed no challenge. He did not want to see her die. He’d had enough women die around him. He set the blade of one of his larger knives in the fire to heat, then snatched a bucket up and stepped outside.
Thoughts ran randomly through his head. She would need to stay with him and heal. It could take weeks. Winter could set in by then. How could he send her away on her own to face the cold or possibly heavy snow? An easy solution. He would return her to his village. His mum would see her well-cared for.
My bed would be much warmer in winter with her in it.
And why did he even think such a foolish thought?
She is not your wife. She is safe. She is in need.
“Nay!” he whispered harshly.
He would send her to the village to heal as soon as possible.
He set the bucket on the table when he returned and went to the bed. Her eyes were closed and her face pale. She was thin, though there was a gentle curve to her waist and her breasts were small, though adequate enough to enjoy.
He shook his head and mumbled, “Too long without a woman.”
Her eyes opened slowly, and she licked her lips before asking, “Your name?”
He thought not to give it to her, his name widely known due to the curse, and she was already suffering, she did not need to be frightened as well. But that might work well for him, for then she would want to get away from him as quickly as possible.
His chin went up slightly as he said, “Rannick.”
“Rannick,” she repeated on a whisper. “Thank you for helping me.”