Chapter 7 Alaric
CHAPTER SEVEN
ALARIC
Iwas in and out of consciousness, and each time I woke, the woman would notice and tend to me. The pain in my side hurt more than being gored by a harpoon: deep, hot, and lingering.
But I wasn’t about to soften now. Not with her near. Not when the weight of what had happened clung to me like wet, sea-drenched clothes.
When I finally woke to full consciousness, the memories came rushing in like a rising tide:
The ambush.
The flash of steel.
The assassin showing up here, in this woman’s home–her sacred space.
How could he? It was as if he violated a place and a woman I was just beginning to learn about…
The young woman. I saved her life, even when she never asked it of me.
The way she touched my hand, like I was something worth saving, and whispered that I wasn’t the kind of man to kill another.
She believed that.
Even when I didn’t.
I’ve killed men before. Maybe not intentionally, but I’d run my men ragged. I branded them, scarred them, yelled at them, threatened them…
My throat was dry, and every breath felt like fire. I turned my head toward the rocking chair where she usually sat, but it was empty.
Though, I knew she’d been watching over me. Tending me.
Still here.
If only she knew who I really was. I blinked and looked around. It had to be midday, with an island breeze sweeping through the windows. Outside, birds chirped and coconut fronds brushed against each other. Ocean waves rolled in the distance.
I was getting used to this peaceful atmosphere.
I probably shouldn’t.
A woman’s voice hummed and the witch came inside, carrying a basket of herbs.
I watched as she worked, laying out dried herbs on the counter, her head always turned–it seemed–to look at anything but what she actually did with her hands.
Her long black hair fell behind her, almost reaching her bottom.
She was petite, but not lacking feminine qualities.
Ginger. The way she tended to me was gentle, and each time I woke up to see her face, I knew I was safe. I could rest.
Why won’t she tell me her name? And why did it nag at me that after all this time she still kept it to herself?
She pulled apart some dried lavender when her face turned slightly. “Are you awake?” she asked, but she wasn’t exactly looking at me.
I tried to sit up, but she was immediately at my side. “Gently. I need to rebandage this.”
“I need to walk,” I said, and she nodded.
“You will. Just let me take care of this first.” And then she was there, removing the bandage and moving close to me. Much too close.
“It’s fine,” I said, though when I dared to look at it, my fingers twitched. The wound looked bad. The entire area was purple and green around the thick red line. It was mottled-looking, with the skin looking stretched and worn.
And though it hurt, I suddenly became way too aware of the woman’s touch.
“It’s not fine,” she said. “Relax.”
But I couldn’t relax, not when she pressed her hand on my chest, forcing me to lie back down. I tensed as she leaned in, her fingers brushing my skin as she worked, her hair touching my bare shoulder.
I grit my teeth… not because of the pain, but because I could feel the warmth of her breath on my collarbone. She smelled like vanilla and plumerias, a scent both refreshing and warm.
A scent I should not be thinking about.
“You’re too tense,” she said again, her fingers touching the wound as she cleaned up dry blood and placed her salve on it.
“Maybe because I have a woman fussing over me,” I said, and I meant it. I was not used to being cared for like this, to being touched at all.
Much to my surprise, her expression softened and the corner of her lip turned up. “Maybe if the huntsman wasn’t so reckless, he wouldn’t need fussing over.”
At this, I smirked. “Careful, Ginger. You’re starting to sound like you care.”
With those words, crimson colored her cheeks. “I don’t–” she started to say, then shook her head, placed a fresh bandage on my wound, then left to clean her hands. But there was an undeniable tension in the air, one that filled me with something I’d never felt before.
I took a little breath, hoping it would dispel whatever was there, but it wouldn’t go away, much to my chagrin.