“Maybe you have a hellion on your hands,” Sven said with a teasing grin.
Bhric looked to the door, the image of his wife coming to mind. He had been a fool for not getting to know her. Something he intended to rectify.
The door opened and he expected to see Hume emerge as he had done twice thus far to let him know all was going well. It was not Hume who emerged from the cottage. It was Greta and with dusk having fallen the flickering light from the campfire cast just enough light to see tears glistening in her aged eyes.
“He is dead?” Sven asked, seeing the sorrow on the healer’s face.
Bhric saw her sorrow as well, something Greta rarely showed. She had dealt with much illness and death through the years, and she had remained strong for everyone. He could not fathom why this man’s death, a stranger, would move her to tears.
Greta stopped by Bhric. “There is more to your wife than you know. Waste no time in finding out about her. The warrior lives and rests peacefully. I have never seen such skilled hands.” With her hand leaning heavily on her staff, she groaned. “I go rest.”
Bhric had no chance to ask her what she meant, she walked away, disappearing into the night that was overpowering the fading dusk.
“What does she mean?” Sven asked. “Does she warn you about your wife? Or has her opinion of her changed?”
“It seems Greta wants Bhric to find out for himself?” Ingrid said.
“Why? Make it easier on him and just tell him,” Sven argued.
“Why should anything be easy?” Bhric said, shaking his head.
The door to the cottage opened again and Hume stepped out and approached Bhric. “Lady Tavia is almost finished.”
“Has she been standing this whole time?” Bhric asked.
“Nay, but she has been in the same position too long. Her leg will give her some trouble, not that she will admit it,” Hume said.
“And the fellow, Lath?” Bhric asked, when his thought was more on his wife and what she would suffer for helping the man.
“Time will tell, my lord, though Lady Tavia did an amazing job stitching the leg. She found flesh where I thought none was left. If the wound does not turn putrid or fever sets in, he has a good chance of surviving,” Hume said.
“Go see that my wife finishes, so she may finally eat and rest,” Bhric ordered and turned toward the campfire.
“At least she has a talented stitching hand,” Ingrid said.
“Leave me,” he ordered them both.
Ingrid went to say something, and Sven shook his head at her and with his arm around her, he did as Bhric ordered and left him alone.
His wife stepped out of the cottage a short time later. Her gait was slow, though steady, and exhaustion marred her lovely face. He went to her.
Tavia hurried to thank him again, pleased that all had gone well, and Lath slept with no unrest. “Thank yo—” She gasped when he scooped her up and planted her tight against him.
“You will eat and rest,” he commanded as he walked through the village as if he carried nothing more than a lightweight sack.
“I have no argument with that,” Tavia said, a yawn slipping out.
“Rest your head,” he ordered.
“Do you always command?” she asked and stifling another yawn laid her head on his shoulder, finding it most welcoming.
“Mostly,” he said, following the torch lit path through the village. Her body softened against his and he was pleased she found no unease in his arms.
“It still snows,” she said, feeling the flakes drop on her cheeks.
Bhric saw that her hood had fallen away from her face and stopped a moment. His cheek brushed hers as he brought his head down to capture the edge of her hood with his teeth and draw it up over the side of her face. His lips faintly caught hers after he finished, and the slight touch sent a shock coursing through him to grab at his manhood.
She seemed not to notice, but he was wrong. A strong tingle scampered over her and settled between her legs.