16 Maerryl #2
“I don’t need a healer. It’s not deep. What we need is to get you off the road,” I said, taking the reins from her and trying to look confident while wobbling slightly. She raised one eyebrow. “Seriously, it’s fine. And we’re almost back to the manor. The priory’s too far.”
Dove opened her mouth to argue, but I cut her off.
“Look, let’s just get there. It’s no more than a ten-minute ride if we take my horse together.
I promise I can stitch myself up as well as the priory’s healers could.
And if it turns out to be worse than I think, we can always have Petra or one of the other servants ride for help. Okay?”
“Not okay, you stubborn ass,” she said, holding one stirrup to help me up into the saddle. She looked around at the trees surrounding us, worry etching deeper in her face. “But I suppose… I suppose I don’t want to wait around for that terrifying orc either.”
Relieved, I said, “Exactly. Who knows if that maniac will come back? We should get off the road.”
I managed to mount up, grunting as my collarbone screamed in pain.
Dove hurried onto the saddle behind me and took the reins, tsking as I grumbled.
With one last look into the shadows of the forest—I sent a silent prayer to the goddess that Stiv hadn’t seen us kiss—we rode swiftly back to the Wistrallo estate.
Lightning, thankfully, had had the good sense to run home to his stables.
Dove gave him a quick pat, promising to check on him after dinner, and tied both horses to a post for the stablemaster to tend to later.
After sneaking through the quiet halls of the manor up to our rooms, thankfully not running into anyone, I slipped through my door before Dove had the chance to say anything.
It clicked closed, and I turned the lock. Leaning against the blessedly solid wood, I took a beat, gathering my thoughts. I could almost feel her out there still, pausing by my door, before finally her footsteps moved away and into her own rooms.
Clean cloths. Water. I moved slowly, feeling ancient, and gathered what I needed to dress the wound. Needle and thread from my pack, just in case.
I collapsed into an old armchair. Carefully unbuttoning the front of my jerkin, I hissed as the movement tugged at the cut.
There was no way I’d get the buckles undone and the whole jacket off.
Half-dried blood, unpleasantly sticky, coated my fingers and the top of my chest. The leather and metal kept slipping, so I gave up on that for now.
Teeth gritted, I braced myself to remove the handkerchiefs from where they’d begun to dry on the wound.
A knock sounded at my door—the interior one, connected to Dove’s bedroom. I ignored it. She rapped again, more insistent this time.
I groaned. “If you come in here, I swear—”
The door swung open, and Dove’s worried face appeared. “Just checking that you haven’t passed out. Mother would rain curses on me if I killed my bodyguard after only a few days.”
“Har, har. I’ll try to smear some blood on the furniture before I go, make it really embarrassing,” I said, leaning back in my chair with a sigh. Just resting. I’ll definitely continue in a moment.
Dove moved closer, and I eyed her warily. “That looks a right mess,” she murmured, studying me as she chewed on her lip. “I should help you.”
“No, you shouldn’t.”
“Well, I think I have to.”
“You definitely don’t. I’m perfectly fine.”
Dove rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re pale as a sheet. Shut up and let me help you, Maerryl, or I’ll have to pin you down.”
The memory of her body pinning me down deliciously in the road rose to mind, and I could tell she was thinking of it too by the flush that touched her lovely cheeks. “No, you shut up,” I grumbled, earning me another eye roll, but I didn’t protest again. Frankly, I didn’t have the energy.
She knelt on the carpet beside my chair, and her gentle fingers slowly peeled the bloodied cloth away from my skin.
I squeezed my eyes shut, jaw clenched. Dove was silent, focused on her task.
Finally, I felt the cool sting of damp fabric along my collarbone, across my neck, as she cleaned me off.
I hissed in pain at one point, and her touch lightened.
Though she also said, “You’d think with all your experience, you could avoid getting cut to bits by one measly bandit.”
“Maybe I should have left you to fend for yourself on that road,” I said dryly.
“Hush, you nuisance. I need to focus.”
“Menace.”
“Ingrate.”
Dove’s hands paused for a moment, and our eyes met.
Hers danced with mirth, and something tugged in my chest. Despite the physical agony I was in, a smile rose to my lips.
How had I never noticed how funny she was, how quick and clever with her words?
I’d rarely encountered anyone with a tongue as sharp as my own—she wielded it well.
I watched her as she worked, the smooth skin of her forearm, the two wrinkles at her brow.
She’d abandoned her riding jacket in her rooms—probably because it’d gotten bloodstained too—and the arms of her fine, ivory blouse were rolled up to the elbows.
I felt a strange sense of peace, even through the pain.
For some reason, gods only knew, I trusted her with this.
I trusted her not to hurt me more. Every brush of the cloth against my skin soothed something inside.
This wasn’t like when I’d gotten injured in the past, magically healed and fussed over by the priory’s clerics, or by my parents as a small child. This felt different somehow. Intimate. Strange but lovely all the same.
“I think we should take off your jacket,” Dove murmured. “So I can get to the full cut. See?” She traced next to where the blade had sliced me, trailing into the collar of my leathers. I shivered.
“You’re cold. Hold on, I’ll build the fire up,” she said, moving to stand, but I clutched her wrist.
“No, I’m fine for now. Let’s continue,” I said. My voice sounded strange to my ear, low and hoarse. Her gaze fell to where I held her. I let go quickly, fingers flexing.
Dove nodded, then set to undoing the buckles that held my leathers tightly in place. With some awkward fumbling and muttered cursing from me, we managed to get them off, leaving just my ruined undershirt.
“This will never come out, I’m afraid,” she said, rubbing the bloodied fabric between her fingers.
I shrugged, regretting the movement immediately, and swore again. Her hand hovered over my shoulder as if she wanted to stroke it, comfort me. I suddenly, desperately, wanted her to.
Instead, she refocused on her task. The bowl of water became deeper and deeper red until finally Dove declared that part done. Producing a metal tin from her skirt pocket, she uncapped it and held it up to my nose. Juniper, beeswax, and honey wafted up.
“Choia’s healing salve. She’s been making this for me since I was little. Works wonderfully on all types of scrapes and cuts,” Dove said as she removed a little wooden spoon and began to carefully smear the salve along my skin.
Her caring movements stirred the most intense sensation. It was as if my skin was alight, my whole body, and the room around us devoid of air. I could barely breathe. But I found I didn’t need to. Didn’t want to. I only wanted her.
“And why would a proper lady like you have need of that?” I said, teasing and trying to slow my heartbeat, keep my voice normal.
Her quick smile flashed up at me, there and gone in a moment. My head spun dizzily. She quipped, “Let’s just say, that wasn’t the first time I’ve been bucked off a horse.”
I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. It was taking everything in me not to close the small distance between us, to find her lips again.
The smooth press of the salve on my skin was a cooling numbness that brushed away the pain bit by bit.
I wanted to feel her fingers on me instead of the spoon, to touch the short slope of her pert nose.
“You were right,” she murmured, locked intently on her work. “It’s not deep, thankfully. Fairly shallow, with an atrocious amount of blood, but you should heal within a few days.”
“Thank you, Dove,” I said. Her eyes flickered up to mine, once, twice, then held.
She looked as if she was trying to figure something out, a surging curiosity I’d never seen in those brown depths before.
We stayed frozen for a long moment. I moved very slightly forward, unable to resist the tug I felt toward her—and she shifted back, refocusing on her task.
I held myself very still then, as she worked. Finally recapping the tin of salve, she found a thin, fresh cloth and pressed it lightly to the wound to cover it. I hissed again, jerking back instinctively in my chair.
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Dove said, coming closer and gently patting the cloth until it was secure. She was inches away now. I forgot the ache at my collar, where we were, who she was. Fuck, my own name. The air smelled of honey and juniper, and something else that was her.
“How does that feel?” she asked quietly.