Besotted (The Fairest Maidens #3) - Jody Hedlund Page 0,22

broadside, making contact but unable to knock it down. At each jarring step, I feared it would be my last before I fell unconscious.

“Jump to the left!” Jorg’s shout drew nearer, and from the corner of my eye, I could see him sprinting through the river toward me, his axe raised and ready to throw.

I tried to obey him but only managed an awkward tilt. It was enough for Jorg. An instant later, his axe whistled in the air past me. The blade embedded into the boar’s head, dropping and silencing the creature instantly.

Was it the same boar that had chased me last week? I couldn’t be sure, but part of me wondered if it lived near the secret passageway as a sort of guard, to keep intruders away.

Seconds later, Jorg was at my side. He sliced the boar’s neck with his knife, ensuring it didn’t try to attack again. Then he spun and caught me just as my knees buckled.

He draped my arm across his shoulder while he assessed my wound.

I closed my eyes and fought down the bile that had begun to rise. My pain was beyond endurance.

“If I pull out the tusk, it’s possible you’ll bleed to death.” Jorg braced me higher, taking the weight off my injured leg.

“If you leave it in, it’ll do more damage.”

Jorg examined it more closely. “It’s at an odd angle. If I remove it, I’ll tear your flesh irreparably.”

I tried to hang on to him but felt myself slipping.

“I need to find a skilled physician.” Jorg’s worry penetrated my haze. “Where is the closest one?”

“Delsworth?” I had no idea, but Birchwood and some of the other villages that bordered the forest wouldn’t have a physician amongst them. Perhaps one of the outlying estates of a nobleman might have a skilled healer on hand. But that kind of trek would take us at least a day—probably more. Delsworth was even farther, and the journey there would be impossible in my condition.

As if coming to the same conclusion, Jorg released a cry that contained all his frustration. “Surely there is someone in this godforsaken forest who can help us.”

“You’ll have to do it, Jorg.” Though I was grasping him as tightly as I could, my strength was fading.

Jorg was silent a moment. Then he sheathed his knife and axe before he straightened and bore more of my weight. “There is one place we might find aid. Let us pray there we will find friends and not foes.”

Chapter

7

Aurora

“I shall go berry picking again on the morrow.” With my spoon, I drew swirls in the gravy remaining on my trencher, pretty swirls in tune to the music playing in my head. Kresten was twirling me and smiling, the sunshine lightening his hair and turning it a warm wheat. His summer-sky eyes caressed my face, alight with pleasure and something else I couldn’t name but that made my pulse quicken.

The clinking and clanking around the table faded to silence, and I glanced up to find everyone staring at me.

“We can use more fruit, can we not?” I asked.

“Well now.” Sitting at one end of the table, Aunt Elspeth scanned the assortment of baked goods and other delicacies she’d been busy making. “I’m not sure . . .” She returned her attention to my face and then smiled and nodded. “Of course. Of course, we can use more—”

“Nonsense.” At the opposite end, Aunt Idony wiped her mouth with a napkin and pushed her empty trencher away. “We have too much already. In fact, if we eat any more, we’re likely to turn into fruit cakes.”

Chester guffawed and then resumed shoveling plum pudding into his mouth. With his broad shoulders and hefty girth, he filled the length of table across from me, especially with the way he slouched and spread his elbows wide as he supped. Black etched the grooves of his fingers from the charcoal burning. His dusty-blond hair fell over his freckled face, more contemplative than usual since his return the previous day.

Or perhaps I was the one who was more contemplative. “Very well. Then I shall collect more berries to preserve for winter.”

With the lengthening shadows of autumn, the simple candelabra at the center of the table cast a cozy glow. The spicy scents of the drying herbs overhead and the soft crackle of the flames on the hearth—everything about the cottage should have contented me, but restlessness needled me instead.

I dragged my spoon through the sauce and completed the final twirl. This time when