Reckless (Age of Conquest #5) - Tamara Leigh Page 0,41

slight smile showed pretty teeth, then she began tending him. Her touch was firm when required, but otherwise gentle. And disturbing. Thus, he was almost glad for the distraction when it came time to close up the wound. Almost.

For how many times his flesh had been stitched since trading his wooden sword for one of steel, he should be accustomed to it, but he turned his face up to the sun as if to indulge in the warmth. The heat felt good, but still his stomach turned over the push and pull of needle and thread that always made him feel a boy trying to be brave.

Thankfully, he was adept at disguising his aversion such that few knew he was even uncomfortable. More thankfully, Nicola was quick.

Feeling a tug firmer than the others, indicating the thread was being knotted, inwardly he sighed.

“The worst is over,” she said softly, but it was no passing comment, her tone that of one empathizing with a fearful child.

He opened his eyes and narrowed them against a sky further brightened by the ascending sun.

Her gaze awaited his, and this time she gifted him no smile.

He wanted to erase the understanding in those intense green eyes nearly as much as he wanted to demand how she knew what no others knew—not even Hawisa alongside whom he was raised—but had Nicola doubted she guessed right, no longer.

“If you are done, we have wasted enough time,” he said.

“Nearly.” She bandaged the injury and began easing his chausses down.

Having had his fill of her touch, he pushed her hand aside, and as she sat back, stuffed the leg of his chausses in his boot. “Once we have eaten, we leave,” he said.

“We go toward Peterborough, do we not?”

“We do. As these waters shall become more dangerous the nearer we draw to the vengeful abbot, it is good the horses are stabled several leagues distant and this side of town.”

They ate quickly the sooner to resume their journey, but also to return oars to calloused hands that wanted to touch Nicola as she had touched him—firmly, gently, soothingly, as if he had no more cause to be angry with her than she had to be angry with him.

Much cause I have, he reminded himself as he rowed upriver, struggling not to be moved by the gentleness with which she cradled Zedekiah’s head in her lap, dribbled drink between his lips, and stroked his throat to encourage him to swallow.

Lest any discover the one who concealed hair and beard beneath a hood was not alone as he navigated the river, Vitalis had commanded Nicola to draw the blanket over her head and his friend’s each time they neared any on the water or shore who could prove foe over friend.

Now, just as Zedekiah’s awakening had saved them from being overtaken by unseen Danes, his bellow of pain forcing Vitalis to turn off the main waterway onto one of its fingers, it could hand them to the enemy who seemed to sense their prey was near.

Minutes after they were out of sight and once more Zedekiah lost consciousness, Vitalis had caught the sound of voices that were neither Saxon nor Norman. Taking the boat farther inland, staying near the right bank to more easily escape notice should the Danes venture here, the moment another finger appeared, he had turned onto it. For an hour Nicola had watched Vitalis from one side of Zedekiah as Vitalis watched her from the other side, both ready to spring on the injured warrior should he stir again and cry out his pain.

Now, ash pole planted firmly in the mud to anchor them, it appeared Vitalis would not have to take them more distant from the course that would sooner deliver them to the horses.

He had just determined to delay a quarter hour longer before resuming their journey when voices sounded again, revealing Danes navigated the same finger down which Vitalis had first turned. He and Nicola drew nearer Zedekiah, and minutes later the injured warrior groaned.

The necessity of clamping a hand over his friend’s mouth and holding him down as he writhed made Vitalis want to swing a sword. However, it was not further loss of consciousness that quieted Zedekiah. It was Nicola setting her mouth near his ear and whispering entreaties. The warrior turned his head so sharply he nearly freed his mouth from beneath Vitalis’s hand, and his brow clipped her nose.

Blood sprang from her nostrils, but she did not cry out as she