The Wife Test by Betina Krahn

legs. Big body. Once again Chloe felt the plank-hard frame of the unyielding Sir Hugh beneath her. She had found herself lying facedown across his lap, and when she pushed up on her arms and looked around, her gaze had sunk straight into his.
    Rich, russet-and-sable eyes shaded by thick lashes filled her vision. They did seem to burn like glowing coals. Her attention gravitated inexplicably down his face to his straight, slightly arched nose and then to his broad, boldly curved lips … sleek, like fine velvet. Looking at them made her own lips feel strangely naked and sensitive. His square jaw and corded neck were sun-bronzed, and she noticed that his damp hair curled slightly as it escaped the bottom edge of his helmet … soft hair, like fine-spun silk that sent a tickle of curiosity through her fingers.
    That meeting of eyes had lasted only a moment, but it was long enough to awaken every one of her senses. And its effects lingered strangely; even now her heart was beating faster.
    “Chloe?” Margarete said, rousing her from those unsettling thoughts.
    “Yes? What?”
    “Are you well? You look flushed.”
    “Fine … I-I feel fine.” She straightened and touched her hot cheek and blushed even hotter. “But it is warm in here. I think I’ll get some air.”
    As she ducked out, she heard Alaina say something but didn’t catch it.
    “Tell Sir Hugh we must have some straw to make pallets. I simply cannot sleep on bare ground.”
    Inserting her hands in her sleeves, Chloe paused for a moment to take in the cool air and survey the camp. Across the central fire, she spotted Sir Hugh and Sir Graham leaning over the injured bandit. Thinking she might be of some help in tending the man’s wounds, she hurried over. But as she approached, she realized they weren’t treating him, they were threatening him.
    “How did you know?” Sir Hugh was demanding. “Who told you about them?” He grabbed the front of the man’s shirt and gave him a shake that elicited only a moan. “Tell me and we’ll bind your wounds and carry you to the nearest town. Keep silent and we’ll leave you to bleed and die where you lay.”
    The possibility of them abandoning the injured man horrified Chloe.
    “What are you doing?” she called, hurrying toward them.
    “This is none of your concern.” Sir Hugh intercepted her, blocking the way to the prisoner. “Go back to your tent.”
    “I have some training in the healing arts. I can treat the man’s wounds and see them properly bound.”
    “You’ll do no such thing,” he gritted out. But her narrowed eyes and raised chin must have convinced him that she would not be easily dissuaded. He seized her by the elbow and dragged her out of the man’s hearing. “He knew.”
    “What?”
    “He said they were supposed to steal
the maids.
They knew you weren’t nuns. I need to know how they learned that and where they were supposed to take you … who is behind this attempt at abduction.”
    “How could he possibly—”
    “Now, go back to your tent and keep your nose out of things that don’t concern you.”
    “How can you say this doesn’t concern me?” She wrested her arm free. “In fact, I should be the one to question him.” She started back to the prisoner, but he caught her and hauled her back to him.
    “She may be right.” Sir Graham’s reasoned words intruded, and they both looked up to find him staring at them, his gaze focused on Sir Hugh’s grip on her shoulders. “Sometimes a gentler touch is more effective.”
    Sir Hugh jerked his hands from her, and with an air of vindication she hurried over to the prisoner. Peeling back the brigand’s tattered shirt, she probed gingerly through the damaged mail overlaying the wound.
    “I’ll need some clean water and cloths.” She looked up at Sir Graham. “And I will need my small chest from the cart.”
    The injured prisoner watched her through slitted eyes that closed altogether when a wave of pain crested over him. She