Bond of Blood by Roberta Gellis Page B

cliffs. I mean kindly to you, however, I assure you. I do but return to your sleeping chamber. I would look again, if you permit, at your wounds, and I hope to induce you to change your attire. Perhaps when your limbs do not hang out of your garments, I may think of you as a swan instead of an ugly duckling."
    That remark was puzzling, but Radnor connected it vaguely with their previous talk about clothes and did not pursue it, surrendering with a voluptuous sense of luxury to Leah's ministrations as she unfastened his belt and drew off his gown.
    "I tell you," he replied, "it is no light thing to be so much larger than other men. It is always my head that sticks out on the field of battle." His voice was dreamy and a little muffled as Leah pulled off his shirt. "It is no doubt by God's special grace that I have kept as much of it as I have. One day the good Lord will grow tired of overseeing His long mistake, and I will—"
    "Oh, no!"
    "Why, Leah what is it?"
    "I did not think when I laughed because you are so big that it was not matter for jest at all and that it might be a danger to you."
    "No, no. It is indeed a matter for jest." Seeing the tears in her eyes, he tried earnestly to reassure her. "Leah, I did but jape with you. Do not weep. I am in no way endangered. Truly, on a horse all men are the same size."
    But Leah was badly shaken. She had suddenly realized that true fighting did not take place in the romantic way in which it was described in the minstrel's tales where the hero always won and was never hurt. The marks on Cain's body showed clearly that he was not invulnerable. Adjusted as Leah was to absolute obedience to her father, she would have tried to love any man he chose for her, no matter how old, ugly, or brutal. With Lord Radnor she had not even had to try; he was not old nor, in spite of his scars, ugly, and he certainly was not brutal to her. She was desperately anxious that nothing should happen to interfere with their marriage, for she knew that her satisfaction was a matter of total indifference to her father and that it was unlikely that she would be equally lucky in Pembroke's second choice. Her hands clung to Radnor's mighty upper arms and she bowed her head on his breast.
    "Leah, I am long tried in war. For God's sake, if not for mine, do not weep—I cannot bear it." Whatever women had offered him in the past, not one had ever cried with fear because he might be hurt. "Good God," he cried, at last, more moved by her tears than she was herself, "you will unman me."
    At that Leah raised her head. "My lord, I do not weep." Tears trembled on her lashes. With an effort she steadied her voice. "Men must fight and women must wait. It is the will of God. But may I be dead, as I most certainly will be damned, if I should make you less than yourself." The words were bravely said, unconsciously copied from the romances, but her hands clutched so tightly at Cain's arms that her nails bit into his flesh.
    "You will have more wounds to dress if you do not let me go," he said gently, and then with an attempt at lightness, "and I shall take cold and die of that if you keep me standing in this cold room much longer with nothing but my hose on."
    Leah smiled uncertainly, bade Cain sit again, and went to fetch her ointments. She smoothed the salve into the raw spots, exclaiming that the infected cut was now healing well. "I wish you did not go so soon."
    "I will make haste—the best haste I may—to return. Will you be as tender of me then? Will you salve my new cuts and bruises?"
    "You said" —her hands tensed and Cain winced as she pressed too hard on an open sore— "that there might be no fighting."
    There was always fighting, one way or another, he thought. "A man may always tumble off his horse, or fall down a flight of steps when drunk," he replied lightly.
    "I am sure that you are in the habit of falling off your horses." Leah laughed, and then bit her lip to force back a new rush of tears. "And now, my