bad are your injuries?”
“I’ve been through worse.”
Simon’s gaze lingered on the red that covered his tunic.“I know you have.” Simon gripped William’s arm and placed it over his own shoulders, disregarding the look William sent his way. “I’m amazed you can even stand.”
William didn’t comment. He allowed Simon to support him as they approached the gates. Simon pulled the rope attached to the bell.
Before the peal of the bell had fully formed, the gates flew aside and two robed men rushed forward, grasping William by the arms, bearing his weight.
“Tempting death again, are you, Guardian?” the Reaper asked as he hauled William inside the gates of the monastery, addressing him by his Brotherhood name.
Resolved to help William in whatever way she could, Siobhan left the tiny monk’s cell and stepped into the corridor, only to come face-to-face with three men. Two faded from her view as she concentrated on the man between them.
William.
“You survived,” she breathed.
“I can walk on my own.” William stiffened and pulled away from the others. He staggered a half step forward before the men beside him once again draped his arms over their shoulders. William reluctantly relaxed against them.
“This way,” said one of the men holding William upright. Siobhan flattened against the stone wall as they walked past her and to a small room down a long hallway from her own.
Siobhan followed, pausing at the door to see Brother Kenneth pull back the covers of a serviceable cot against the wall. The others laid William’s large body down upon the ticking.
“He’s badly hurt,” one of the new men stated. “Is there anyone here who can attend him?”
“The apothecary is a day’s ride away, and Brother John is visiting his dying father in Aberdeen. There’s no one,” Brother Kenneth said with a frown. “Looks like it’s up to us.”
Siobhan stepped into the chamber. She took a deep breath before she spoke with a calm that belied the maelstrom of fear and doubt that raced through her. “I can help.”
Four pairs of eyes turned to her.
“Spare yourself, Siobhan. These men have seen the wounds of battle before.” Pain reflected in the depths of William’s sherry-colored eyes.
“Brother William, don’t argue with the woman. If she can heal you, let her,” said Brother Bernard from next to William’s side. He removed William’s sword and sheath and his tunic, then unlaced the pieces of mail covering his torso and set them on the floor.
William scowled.
Siobhan ignored him and strode to the cot. “Yes, you are fearsome,” she said with a wry smile. “But you can’t intimidate me.” She knelt beside William. From the amount of blood she could see through the links of his mail, she marveled he survived.
Simon removed William’s hauberk. Gathering her nerve to continue, Siobhan turned to Brother Kenneth. Thank goodness her father had allowed her to read anything in his library and had possessed a multitude of books on the healing arts. “I’ll need some ale to help dull the pain, as well as hot water, salve, a needle and thread, and strips of clean linen, if you have them.”
“We do.” He turned and left the room.
Siobhan turned back to William just as Simon removed the quilted aketon from William’s chest. She gasped. A multitude of scars and wounds crisscrossed his skin, some fresh, with ragged red edges, some whitened with age.
“A warrior’s life is harsh,” he said, watching her closely. For what? Revulsion? Fear?
She straightened her shoulders. He would see no weakness in her. “You need not apologize. We all have scars, William. Some of us wear them on the outside, others on the inside.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And your scars? Are they inside or out?”
“We aren’t discussing my scars. Yours are the only ones of interest at this moment.”
William’s eyes pinned her in place. She had a sudden terrifying feeling that he could see inside her, see
“I’ve been through worse.”
Simon’s gaze lingered on the red that covered his tunic.“I know you have.” Simon gripped William’s arm and placed it over his own shoulders, disregarding the look William sent his way. “I’m amazed you can even stand.”
William didn’t comment. He allowed Simon to support him as they approached the gates. Simon pulled the rope attached to the bell.
Before the peal of the bell had fully formed, the gates flew aside and two robed men rushed forward, grasping William by the arms, bearing his weight.
“Tempting death again, are you, Guardian?” the Reaper asked as he hauled William inside the gates of the monastery, addressing him by his Brotherhood name.
Resolved to help William in whatever way she could, Siobhan left the tiny monk’s cell and stepped into the corridor, only to come face-to-face with three men. Two faded from her view as she concentrated on the man between them.
William.
“You survived,” she breathed.
“I can walk on my own.” William stiffened and pulled away from the others. He staggered a half step forward before the men beside him once again draped his arms over their shoulders. William reluctantly relaxed against them.
“This way,” said one of the men holding William upright. Siobhan flattened against the stone wall as they walked past her and to a small room down a long hallway from her own.
Siobhan followed, pausing at the door to see Brother Kenneth pull back the covers of a serviceable cot against the wall. The others laid William’s large body down upon the ticking.
“He’s badly hurt,” one of the new men stated. “Is there anyone here who can attend him?”
“The apothecary is a day’s ride away, and Brother John is visiting his dying father in Aberdeen. There’s no one,” Brother Kenneth said with a frown. “Looks like it’s up to us.”
Siobhan stepped into the chamber. She took a deep breath before she spoke with a calm that belied the maelstrom of fear and doubt that raced through her. “I can help.”
Four pairs of eyes turned to her.
“Spare yourself, Siobhan. These men have seen the wounds of battle before.” Pain reflected in the depths of William’s sherry-colored eyes.
“Brother William, don’t argue with the woman. If she can heal you, let her,” said Brother Bernard from next to William’s side. He removed William’s sword and sheath and his tunic, then unlaced the pieces of mail covering his torso and set them on the floor.
William scowled.
Siobhan ignored him and strode to the cot. “Yes, you are fearsome,” she said with a wry smile. “But you can’t intimidate me.” She knelt beside William. From the amount of blood she could see through the links of his mail, she marveled he survived.
Simon removed William’s hauberk. Gathering her nerve to continue, Siobhan turned to Brother Kenneth. Thank goodness her father had allowed her to read anything in his library and had possessed a multitude of books on the healing arts. “I’ll need some ale to help dull the pain, as well as hot water, salve, a needle and thread, and strips of clean linen, if you have them.”
“We do.” He turned and left the room.
Siobhan turned back to William just as Simon removed the quilted aketon from William’s chest. She gasped. A multitude of scars and wounds crisscrossed his skin, some fresh, with ragged red edges, some whitened with age.
“A warrior’s life is harsh,” he said, watching her closely. For what? Revulsion? Fear?
She straightened her shoulders. He would see no weakness in her. “You need not apologize. We all have scars, William. Some of us wear them on the outside, others on the inside.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And your scars? Are they inside or out?”
“We aren’t discussing my scars. Yours are the only ones of interest at this moment.”
William’s eyes pinned her in place. She had a sudden terrifying feeling that he could see inside her, see
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