Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
L othar woke as soon as the first rays of dawn filtered through the trees. A warm weight pressed against his chest, and his heart skipped at the sight of Jana curled into him, her dark hair spilling across his arm. Her face held a peaceful expression he hadn’t seen before, free from the wariness that had been so prevalent the previous night.
She had refused to take his bedroll and they had finally agreed to share it, even though she’d held herself so rigidly it made his heart ache. He’d forced his breathing into the slow, steady rhythm of sleep and she eventually relaxed enough to drift off. He hadn’t expected to follow her into slumber, and he certainly hadn’t expected her to turn to him.
He wanted nothing more than to pull her closer, to breathe in her scent and savor this moment. His fingers itched to stroke her hair and trace the delicate line of her collarbone and slip beneath the wide neckline of her shirt… His cock stirred at the thought, but the memory of her panic the previous night when she’d jerked awake against his shoulder prevented him from moving. Whatever had happened to make her so fearful of touch, he refused to add to that burden.
She mumbled something incoherent and shifted, nuzzling closer against his chest. The mate bond sang with joy, and he couldn’t help smiling. His breath caught when her hand settled low against his stomach, the innocent touch sending heat rushing through him.
It was too easy to imagine waking up like this every day, seeing her peaceful, sleepy face every morning. But the fantasy faded, replaced by uncertainty. Until he knew why she was here, until he knew whether or not another male waited for her…
A low grumble vibrated through his chest at the thought and the Curse shivered across his skin.
Her eyes blinked open, and the peaceful contentment disappeared.
“I’m sorry. I must have rolled over while I was asleep.”
She pushed away from him, her expression carefully blank, and he made no attempt to pull her back into his arms.
“It’s fine.”
He carefully extracted himself from the bedroll, making sure to leave his cloak tucked around her shoulders before moving to the fire pit. As he coaxed the embers back to life, his mind churned with possibilities. The mate bond hummed between them, but he couldn’t ignore her fear. Port Cael was two days’ walk, and she could barely hobble on that ankle.
He pulled dried grain and berries from his pack, along with the herbs he used for morning tea. Unlike his brother Egon, he wasn’t much of a cook, but he could manage a simple breakfast. Once the water boiled, he set the tea aside to steep and stirred grain and berries into the remaining water, then started another pot of water for washing.
He was stirring the mixtures when a rustle from the bedroll drew his attention. She had pushed herself up on her elbows, grimacing as she tried to get her feet under her.
“Don’t.” He dropped the big wooden spoon and crossed to her side. “Your ankle needs rest.”
Color flooded her cheeks.
“I need to…” She gestured vaguely toward the trees. “You know.”
“Ah.” He bit back a grin at her shyness. “Then I will help you.”
“You absolutely will not.”
Her chin jutted out, dark eyes flashing. Such a determined little female. But determination wouldn’t heal her ankle, and he shook his head.
“You can’t walk. Putting weight on your ankle will only make it take longer to heal.”
“I’ll crawl if I have to.”
What had happened to make her so reluctant to be touched? He took a breath, forcing his voice to stay light.
“How about this - I’ll support you over to those bushes. You should be able to brace yourself against the tree trunk. I’ll turn around and wait until you’re finished.”
She looked from him to the bushes, and then her shoulders slumped.
“Fine.”
He bent over and offered her his arm. She gripped it, trying to pull herself up but she couldn’t without putting weight on her ankle.
“Put your arm around my shoulders,” he suggested. “I’ll carry you.”
She stiffened, then sighed.
“Fine,” she grumbled again.
Her arm slid around his shoulders, the contact sending a ripple of awareness through him. When her fingers curled around his bicep, his entire body came alive. The mate bond vibrated, and he couldn’t hold back a low rumble of pleasure.
“Sorry,” he muttered as he gently lifted her off of the ground.
Her fingers tightened on his arm, then loosened. She felt so right, tucked against him, even though she wasn’t as relaxed and trusting as she’d been in her sleep. The need to hold her, to protect her, rose again and he ruthlessly pushed it back. Instead he focused on getting her safely over to the bushes, then lowered her carefully to the ground as she grabbed the tree trunk.
He kept his arm around her until she nodded, then forced himself to let go and step away. He turned his back, trying not to listen to the rustle of leaves and branches.
“What do you call this?” she asked finally, and he turned.
She had managed to get her shirt pulled into place, but now she was holding a leaf with a red tip.
“That is a redwood leaf. The sap can be used as an antiseptic.”
She nodded thoughtfully, crumbling the leaf between her fingers.
“We have a similar plant. So much is the same. But some things are so different.”
She studied his face and then her eyes traveled speculatively down across his body. He knew it was only curiosity, but his cock stirred nonetheless. He fought back his reaction and gestured at the cooking pot.
“Breakfast should be ready.”
She started to take a step towards him and he hurried back to her side.
“Please, allow me.”
She bit her lip, but she didn’t object when he scooped her up. He carried her back to the bedroll, then set the pot of heated water at her side and handed her a strip of clean linen.
“If you would care to wash?”
When she gave an abrupt nod, he quickly turned away, focusing on their breakfast and trying to ignore the soft whisper of cloth against skin. He scooped a portion of the porridge into their single bowl, realizing ruefully that he wasn’t equipped for company. But then he’d undertaken this journey in order to be alone.
Despite the uncertainties, this was a far better alternative, he decided and he was smiling again when he turned back to her. To his relief she ate the simple fare eagerly. Her color looked better this morning, though dark circles still ringed her eyes.
“What… what do we do now?” she asked uncertainly when he took the bowl away to wash.
“Nothing. Not until that ankle heals enough for walking.”
“But we can’t just stay here.”
He flashed her his most roguish grin.
“Unless you’d like me to carry you the whole way we can.”
A flash of something he couldn’t read crossed her face before she shrugged and gave him a small smile.
“Then I guess we’re staying put. I suppose there are worse places to heal. It’s peaceful here,” she added softly, watching the morning sunlight filter through the leaves. “Safe.”
The last word came out barely above a whisper as she looked back at him, but it sent warmth spreading through his chest. Did that mean she felt safe with him?
“And once I can walk?”
His pleasure vanished.
“Port Cael.”
“To find someone who can send me back?”
The face that she seemed so certain about returning to her home world made his gut twist.
“Perhaps.”
He had to force the word out. He had no claim on her - he couldn’t ask her to stay.
“You don’t think it’s possible?”
“I… I don’t know. The ways of the gods are strange to us.” Before she could ask any more questions, he returned to her side, kneeling next to her. “I need to check those scratches.”
She only hesitated for a second before she nodded and pushed the sleeve of his borrowed shirt down over her shoulder. The sight sent a jolt through him that he tried desperately to ignore. He had to focus on her injuries, not on the soft gold of her skin or how the morning sunlight caught sparks of red in her dark hair.
His jaw clenched as he unwrapped the bandages and saw the angry red streaks radiating from the wounds. Fuck. The herbal paste hadn’t been enough to prevent the scratches from becoming infected.
“That doesn’t look good,” she said, examining her arm with a critical eye. “I might know something that could help. There is a plant with silver-backed leaves that grows in partial shade. The juice from the stems reduces inflammation. Does that sound familiar?”
“It sounds like silver moonleaf. I think I’ve seen Merow using it.”
“Merow?”
“Our village healer. She knows everything there is to know about plants. I think I passed some yesterday, back towards town. I can fetch it, but-”
He needed to get those herbs, but leaving her alone, even briefly, made his chest tight with anxiety. She wrapped her arms around herself, but she gave him a small determined smile.
“I’ll be fine.”
“I won’t be gone long. The place where I saw it is just beyond that ridge.” He gestured to the rocky outcrop visible through the trees and fought the urge to pull her close. Instead he unstrapped his sword belt and held it out to her. The weapon was nearly as tall as she was. “There is nothing to fear, but perhaps this will make you feel safer.”
Her fingers brushed his as she took it, sending a spark through his arm. She laid the sword across her lap, her small hands gripping the scabbard and gave him another small smile.
“Thank you. You… you don’t need it?”
“There is nothing in these mountains which I fear.”
Except perhaps the small female looking up at him with those wide dark eyes. He forced himself to turn away, quickly retracing his steps. He found the silver-backed leaves growing exactly where he remembered, in a shadowy hollow beneath towering pines. Harvesting them was a delicate business and it took longer than he’d hoped.
Almost an hour had passed before he returned to camp. As he approached, he frowned. Something was wrong. The feeling of unease intensified when he didn’t see her sitting next to the fire. His heart pounding, he raced the remaining distance. She was slumped against a log, her face flushed and beaded with sweat. His sword lay forgotten beside her.
“Jana!”
He bent down over her, pressing his palm to her forehead. Her skin burned against his touch as her eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused.
“Lothar?” Her voice came out as a weak rasp. “I don’t feel well.”
Fear clawed at his throat as her eyes closed again, her body going limp. Fuck!
He carefully settled her back on the bedroll and covered her with his cloak before returning to the moonleaf, trying to remember how Merow had prepared it. After crushing it between two stones, he mixed it with water from the stream to form a thick silvery paste. Her skin burned beneath his touch as he spread the mixture over her wounds, but she didn’t stir.
“Please work,” he prayed, binding the poultice in place.
He added dried meat to a pot of water to make a broth, positioning it carefully over the fire, then refilled his water skin. He lifted her head, supporting her neck as he pressed it to her lips but most of the liquid spilled down her chin.
“Come on, little one. You need to drink.”
Her lips parted at his words and she managed to take a few sips. A little while later he tried the broth, relief flooding him when she swallowed a little more. But as the sun climbed higher, her breathing grew more labored. The flush spread across her chest and neck, her skin radiating heat like the coals of their dying fire.
He carefully dragged the bedroll into the shade, then started bathing her face and neck with cool cloth. They warmed almost instantly against her skin but he kept trying. Her dark hair clung to her temples, and occasional whimpers escaped her lips.
“Don’t leave me,” he murmured, gathering her small hand in his. “I know I didn’t pray for you, but the gods brought you to me anyway. There must be a reason.”
For the first time since he was a child, he felt utterly helpless. All his strength, his fighting skills, meant nothing against this invisible enemy.
The forest darkened around them as afternoon faded to evening, and her breathing grew more ragged, each inhale a battle. All he could do was to remain at her side, to continue bathing her and trying to get her to drink, and to pray.