The Bodyguard
Morning crept over the village. The sun shone high above, its heat penetrating through the roofs and warming my skin. I raised my head from the pillow and spotted Dayyan by the wooden table, pulling on his outer robes and buckling them across his chest.
I stood, stretching my arms above my head, and watched him grit his teeth as he attempted to tighten the laces of leather around his wounded arm.
He shoved back strands of dark hair and grumbled under his breath.
I walked toward him and grasped his arm.
He sucked in a breath, scanning me with wide eyes.
I wordlessly pulled at the laces and strung them together before moving to his chest and tightening the remaining straps.
“Did you apply the ointment?”
He nodded. He seemed at a loss for words.
“We should take it with us. Your wound must be cleaned at least twice per day or you risk infection.” I touched the leather armbands.
“You shouldn’t even wear these. They are too tight.
They may cause the wound to fester.” I looked up at him and froze at the small smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “What is it?”
He shrugged, but that almost smile remained there.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
A strand of hair slipped free from my braid and brushed my cheek. His eyes tracked the movement before locking back with mine.
“You are awfully concerned about my health. One would never guess you tried to murder me in an arena once.”
My retort died in my throat when he reached out and gently tucked the strand of hair behind my ear.
“Nothing to say, hamsaram?”
My heart pattered with surprise. Dayyan appeared regretful; the nickname seemed to have slipped past his lips with little thought.
It reminded me of the budding relationship we’d had.
I couldn’t allow myself to feel for him when he was prepared to sever our relationship without giving it a chance to bloom.
But he made it so difficult when he teased and we fell back into that familiar rhythm.
A knock broke us apart.
“Enter,” Dayyan called.
The door swung open. It was her. The village elder’s daughter.
She glanced between us, fear lancing her features as her gaze settled on me. She carried a tray laden with milk and dates. “I brought breakfast on behalf of the village elders.”
Dayyan’s eyes caressed my face as he said, “I don’t think I properly introduced you to my wife, who assisted in saving you yesterday.” He pressed his hand to my back and leaned in, whispering in my ear, “I am telling her you are my wife.”
I smiled. “We spoke thoroughly yesterday.”
Dayyan froze. “You speak their dialect?”
The woman blanched, backing away. “If you’ll excuse me.”
As soon as the door closed, Dayyan turned on me. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“What is there to say? You were translating well enough for all of us.”
A slight flush darkened his warm skin. I knew he was recalling his conversation with the village elders the day before, when he’d admitted to finding me beautiful.
“Oh, and thank you,” I said, pulling my chadar over my hair and around my mouth. “For your compliments yesterday.”