The Dragon Healer (4 page)

He chuckled lightly and she felt the soft whisper of his breath against her ear, increasing her shivering.

“I guess so,” she answered, not really understanding what she was responding to. She’d lost the thread of his conversation somewhere along the line. His touch was too distracting. Too arousing. Too amazing.

He moved away slightly, both hands dropping to her shoulders. With gentle urging, he turned her to face him, her back against the side of the cart.

His head dipped lower. Slowly. So slow, she could easily have objected, but she found herself powerless in the face of his advancing ardor. She wanted his kiss. Now, more than ever, as he’d worked her into a small frenzy of need with that simple, stirring touch.

His mouth met hers and she slipped happily under the waves of his desire, awash in sensation she had never felt before. Not once in her life had she felt so aroused by a kiss.

Her opinion of sex was undergoing a startling revision as Brodie taught her about passion. Flaming, brutal, enslaving passion. All with a simple kiss. His hands remained on her shoulders, only his mouth claiming hers, taking possession.

His taste was divine. Hot. Carnal. Manly. He was temptation itself, daring her to go farther, to follow him into the flames of perdition. Silla was lost. Brodie was her anchor in a whirlwind of chaotic pleasure. Her guide and her teacher. Her salvation.

When the kiss ended, it wasn’t because she drew away. No, Brodie had stepped back, and belatedly Silla heard the loud bang of a metal bucket inside the stable, not far from them. The stable boy, no doubt, was seeing to his charges and the noise had probably reminded Brodie they were not necessarily alone.

Silla was grateful he’d stopped before anyone saw more than what had been, after all, just a kiss. She had a reputation to uphold in this town. She had to be circumspect in all her dealings with men, lest they get the wrong idea about her. Respect was important to a healer’s success. If the people you treated had no respect for you, they would seldom listen to your advice. It had taken a long time to prove her worth as a healer to the people along her circuit and she didn’t want to ruin that hard work with idle gossip about her willingness to succumb to a handsome young man.

“Sir Phelan should be good for tonight. He said he wouldn’t move out of position, which will help the wound heal more cleanly.”

“Wait. You could hear him?” Brodie stopped in his tracks, but she wasn’t going to be waylaid. She wanted to get inside, away from temptation.

“Well, of course. It was a first for me, to be sure, but he talks to you every day, doesn’t he?” She didn’t wait for an answer, not looking at him as she gathered her things.

Moving briskly, she turned away from Brodie and bustled around the wheelbarrow. She put the bundle of dirty laundry into her cart along with the now much-smaller plants. The oilskin cover she used to keep the back of her cart dry in rainy weather went over the top, securing everything for the night. The delicate plants would keep well under the cover if the temperature dipped too low for them.

She couldn’t look at Brodie as she finished her preparations for the morrow, but she felt his silent presence there. Watching her. Probably waiting for some sign or trying to figure her out. She wished him luck with that. She couldn’t even understand her own motivations or responses at this point. Sir Broderick and his devastating kiss had her in a dizzying storm of confusion.

But what lovely confusion it was.

Dare she turn to him and let the passion he inspired consume her? Silla had trod a safe and narrow path for so long, she wasn’t sure if she still had it in her to be daring.

“I take my leave of you, Sir Broderick,” she said formally, dropping a small curtsey, unable to meet his gaze.

“I will see you to the inn,” he said softly, taking her arm and moving them forward, toward the wide front door of the well-lit common room. “And don’t you think you should call me Brodie? If anyone in this village is entitled to such liberties, it is you, my dear.” His teasing tone made her look up at him as they walked quietly across the large inn yard.

“Brodie, then,” she amended, finding that little spark within that wanted her to jump headfirst into this man’s arms and not look back.

His grin teased her and made her steps falter, but they continued their slow progress across the well-trod yard. She realized then her scandalous behavior. She had kissed the man as if there was no tomorrow and they had only just met. The thought made her pause. It made her wonder if she was just one in a long string of conquests for the handsome knight.

Brodie must have read something of her mood in her response because he stopped their progress and turned her to face him.

“Just to be clear, milady, I do not go around kissing every pretty lass that crosses my path. Tonight has been unique in many different ways and I am not too proud to admit that Phelan’s condition has put me off balance.” His deep brown eyes begged for understanding and showed just a tiny bit of the vulnerability he was feeling with his dragon partner laid low with such a grievous injury.

Silla’s soft heart thawed. “I did not wish to be one of many, my lord,” she answered honestly.

“My dear, you are one in a million. Exceptionally unique. Never to be duplicated.” His smile lit her world for a brief moment.

She turned back to the inn, her heart filled with joy. Lantern light spilled out the windows and music could be heard wafting on the night breeze. They spoke no more as he opened the large door for her and they discovered the locals were having an impromptu party. It didn’t show any signs of stopping and nobody noticed them standing in the darkened doorway. The innkeeper and his staff were being run off their feet by demands for food and drink.

Silla felt every bit of her weariness. It had been a long day on the road and then treating the dragon and meeting his knight who disturbed her peace on so many levels. She was bone-weary and didn’t want to have to battle through the crowd to get the innkeeper’s attention, much less have to haggle with the man for room and board.

“It is busier than I thought in here,” Brodie spoke in a low voice, next to her ear. “Is your room already settled?”

She shook her head no, feeling tears threatening. Tears? She didn’t know why she was so emotional. She had been walking this path now for five years. Her patients must be seen to before her own needs, but tonight she wished—as she had a few times before, in weak moments—for someone to help her. A partner. A friend. Someone to help ease her path in life as she tried to ease the way for others. Sometimes it felt like the weight of the world had settled on her shoulders and she had to hold it up for everyone else.

Sometimes—in the darkest hours of the night—she prayed for someone to help hold up that heavy weight on her shoulders. Someone to help her as she helped him.

But she knew from bitter experience that having a man in her life was no guarantee of such things. She had hoped for a good friend. Perhaps a lover. Even a pet could help ease some of her load. In fact, she had renamed her horse Hero because he was, in his own way, her hero. He had come into her life at a time when she had grown too tired and weak to walk from place to place. The healer had become sick of walking and her Hero had arrived to carry her where she needed to go, giving her time and energy to heal herself so she could continue to heal others.

“There is a special room always kept ready for patrolling knights,” Brodie told her. “The entrance is on the outside, very near the sand pit so we can be near our partners. There are two beds in the room. You could share it with me,” he offered.

Chapter Four

Silla turned to look up into his eyes. She saw no trickery in his bottomless brown gaze, though the firelight brought out lively flecks of gold in his otherwise pure brown irises.

“I am weary to my bones,” she told him honestly. “If you expect more than to simply share the room, I will seek shelter elsewhere.”

“I am a knight and a gentleman,” he protested, but with a gentle smile that said he understood her caution. “You have my word I will not molest you in the night. On the contrary, I will protect you. Especially since you are the purveyor of burnjelly to heal my dearest friend in the world.” He winked at her, and she caught his humor. He really did seem to be a nice man.

“Then I will take you up on your offer, relying on your discretion. My reputation is all I have and I would not lose it lightly.” She looked around at the gathered villagers. Many were well on the way to intoxication and nobody seemed to notice her standing by the door.

“I understand, milady. Your honor will come to no harm from me,” he promised.

She followed as Brodie led the way out the door and into the flickering light of the lantern-lit yard. They retraced their steps back toward the dragon wallow and up to a small door built into the side of the inn. Sure enough, when he opened it, there was a bedroom. Large by inn standards, it was comfortably appointed. Not too fancy, nor too plain. It was large enough for two big knights and their gear to bunk down comfortably.

One thing she did notice, though, was that one of the beds was built on the enormous side of large. The other was clearly a single bed. She put her cloak and the small pack she’d taken from her cart on that one, but Brodie seemed to notice her confusion as he sat on the much larger bed and smiled at her.

“This bed is built for married knights and their lady. The other is for when single knights patrol together. The senior of the pair gets the larger bed and the junior has to make do on that.” He pointed to the small bed behind her.

“It will do well enough for me,” she countered, feeling weary again. She turned away, releasing her outer robe. She caught it before it fell to the floor and draped it neatly over the chair that stood beside the smaller bed.

She felt the unnerving caress of Brodie’s gaze as she took off as much of her outer garments as she dared. She would sleep in her dress. She had done so before and was used to it.

A sudden thought struck her as she sorted through her small pack. “I’m sorry. I forgot all about your leg injury. Shall we tend to it now?” She picked up the other satchel that held her emergency supplies. She never went anywhere without that well-worn bag.

“I told you, it’s nothing.”

“Please allow me to be the judge of that. Take off your pants and lie down.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear.” Brodie’s eyes twinkled up at her, and she had to laugh.

She took out an oilskin and towels to put under his leg so they wouldn’t soil the bed linens with his blood. She’d have to clean the wound first and for that she brought over the basin and water pitcher she found waiting on a small table by the door. The water was fresh, she noted from its smell, and the basin would suit her purposes. She poured a small amount of water into the basin and added cleansing herbs that would ensure his wound was disinfected and the pain dulled somewhat.

When she returned to the bed, he’d complied with her request. He was dressed in a simple shirt that hung past his hips. He had to have had the tunic on under his leathers, but she hadn’t noticed it before. He’d shed his leather riding gear, including his jacket, boots and pants, and his long legs were bare to her inspection.

She used a small square of clean cloth, dipping it into the water that had turned a pale yellow as the dried herbs released their healing properties. In her line of work, she went through a lot of linen and had to keep her satchel full of clean cloths, bandages, towels and rags at all times. She had restocked her supply from the back of her cart without thinking, but was glad of it now. The wound was deep and had bled quite a bit.

Silla tried not to think about the muscled legs with only a dusting of hair. She had worked on many male patients before, but none had elicited this kind of feminine response from her. She felt a little shaky as she approached him, the cloth in the basin she carried. She sat on the side of the huge bed, putting the basin at his side.

“Can you hold this steady?” she asked perfunctorily, not even waiting for him to take hold of the rim of the basin before reaching for the wet cloth. She rung it out a bit, then went immediately to work on the wound.

She tried to be as gentle as possible, but she saw the way his leg muscles clenched when she probed.

“I’m sorry, but the wound must be as clean as possible before infection can set in. I’m surprised you were walking on this for so long.” She worked carefully but steadily, using a towel to catch the bloody water. “The herbs will disinfect and numb the area. It should not hurt so much in a minute, once the effect takes hold.”

“It feels better already, Silla. Don’t worry. I’ve had worse and lived to tell the tale.”

She knew the truth of that just by looking at the collection of scars on his legs. Some were old, some new. Many were bigger than the one he would gain from this injury. They told a story of life hard lived. A body that was used to fighting and hard work…and war.

Silla didn’t comment as she continued her work. She used all the treated water before she was satisfied the wound was indeed clean enough. He’d stopped flinching early on, thanks to the anesthetic in the water, and she’d been able to get to the bottom of the cut to see that it wasn’t as deep as she’d feared at first glance.

“You don’t need stitches, but I will bandage this for tonight, to keep the skin in place while it seals. By tomorrow, you should be able to do without the bandages as long as you take it easy.” She applied a special salve she had made for such injuries while she spoke, then wound a clean length of bandage around his leg with his assistance.