บท 2: Chapter 2
"The wound is remarkably clean." She began to gently wash the blood away. "Did you apply the field bandage?"
"I did," he admitted, not taking his gaze from her deftly moving hands. Her skin was creamy and pale, but not the fragile silk of a lady's. These were hands that had seen hard labor, though were still soft and feminine.
"You did well," she murmured. "Your son is a fortunate young man." She tossed the soiled linen to the floor then soaked another piece in the water before resuming her task. "He has lost a good deal of blood, but with care and rest, he should recover. Provided we can keep infection at bay."
That was the second time she'd referred to Huw as his son.
"He isn't my son. He used to be my squire." Why did he feel the need to correct her impression? The truth was, he did love Huw as a son, perhaps all the more for never having had a child of his own.
"Then he's doubly fortunate to have a lord who cares as much as you." She still didn't raise her eyes, but switched cloths again. He noticed the soiled ones were never dipped back in the bowl so the water remained pure and clean. He'd seen physicians in the Holy Lands operate like this, and their rate of success had been extraordinary. But he'd never seen such meticulous care here in Britain, not even from the king's own surgeon.
When the wound was clean, she examined the brutal slash before swabbing it with a vile-smelling unguent from one of the jars. She washed her hands again before pouring the water out the open window and tossing yet another cloth into the pile at her feet.
"If you could wash your hands, my lord." She cut a length of sturdy linen thread and dropped that into the basin before pouring fresh hot water over it. A needle went in as well. "I'll need you to hold the edges of the wound together while I set the stitches."
Rhodri obeyed, too awed by her skill to even consider doing otherwise.
She placed swift, sure stitches, snipping the string after each stitch, rather than running a seam up the length of the wound.
"Reduces puckering," she told him when he asked. "It will allow greater ease of movement when he heals."
"I saw the like Outre Mer," Rhodri noted. "But I never had the chance to ask why." Leaning over her he could smell a clean, floral fragrance in her shining black hair.
"You were a Crusader then?" Her brow was furrowed with concentration, and when she wasn't speaking she bit down on her lower lip with straight white teeth.
"Aye." He couldn't keep the bitterness from his tone. He'd gained much from his sojourn in the east, in terms of wealth and royal favor, but he'd lost so very much, including his immortal soul. He was grateful when she set down her needle and motioned him aside without posing more queries.
Another unguent was applied to the neatly sewn gash and then she laid a pad made of folded linen over the wound.
"That roll of cloth, please."
He followed her gesture and handed over the bandaging fabric.
"Now lift his leg as gently as you can so I can wrap it."
He did, saying not a word as she bound the gauze tightly, then knotted it into place. He noted that somewhere along the way, she'd stopped my-lording him with every sentence. Somewhere in the back of him mind, he was surprised to notice that it felt good.
"Now we let him rest for a bit. When he wakes, he'll need liquids to replenish his lost blood." She swayed briefly as she stood and Rhodri reached out instinctively to steady her.
"Thank you, my lord. I fear we have long since missed the noon repast." She washed one last time, then carefully restacked her medicines in the basket, and gathered the soiled cloths from the floor. "If you'd be so kind as to empty the basin then close the window?"
"Of course."
She set the linen to soak in a bucket, then turned back to her guest.
"You're welcome to stay and eat, though you'd likely be far more comfortable without all that metal. I'm no squire, but I've assisted with armor before, and I promise no one will raise a sword to you while you sit at my table."
He smiled, then, for the first time, and the beauty of it nearly brought Selene to her knees. Beneath the grime and blood, this lord was perhaps the most handsome specimen she'd ever seen. Not ethereally beautiful like her father, this was a rough man, accustomed to war, but his clear green eyes and deeply hewn features radiated strength and courage. His hair dusted his shoulders and would probably be a golden brown when clean. The depth of concern for his former squire spoke volumes about his character. And yet, now that she had time to actually look at him, she noticed a dark grey haze dimming the vibrant hues of his aura. He was a good man, she was sure of that, but something about him was very, very wrong.
"Thank you. I should tend to the horses first."
"True, assuming they haven't wandered off. There's a stable in the rear, you're welcome to put them there."
When he returned, he stood still in the center of the room and lifted one arm to reveal the leather ties that anchored his breastplate. Selene grimaced, but stepped close. He didn't smell too bad, she'd noticed that in the bedroom, but like any warrior, he'd sweated in his armor, and was in dire need of a bath.
By the time she'd gotten him disarmed, she was nearly faint from hunger. She'd poured a good bit of her personal power into the young man to ensure his recovery, which always left her weakened for a while. And there was something else, a sharp, tingling sensation she'd never felt the like of before. It was much like standing amid a lightning storm, with her skin taut and her senses awhirl. What was happening to her? Hastily, she moved away from him to serve the soup and a loaf of fresh-baked bread.
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