Page 44 of Saxon Blade Norman Blood
“Please, I need… Your cheek… I’m going to be sick.”
At that he let her go, and she doubled over the bowl of fragrant rosewater just in time. For a long moment she just coughed and retched. When she finally sat, her breathing was labored, her heart was hammering in her chest, and her head was spinning with the shock of it all.
*
Never could William have imagined a more unlikely scene than that of a woman trying to kill him one moment and all but fainting at the sight of his cut cheek the next. He watchedher in bemused silence. Her first reaction after hitting him had been to apologize.
Incredulity made him shake his head as he took his cup from the table and took a swig of ale. What would he do with the Saxon now? He had been right not to underestimate her. Though she was clearly shaken by her action, she had seized upon the opportunity to strike like the most determined killer.
The cut on his cheek stung but he had been lucky. Had he not moved at the last moment she might very well have sliced his throat.
He remembered her odd despondency earlier, the way she had looked at her hands with a haunted expression he had never seen before. He’d thought she was reliving her nightmare and had not asked any questions, guessing he was the last person she would want to discuss it with. Now he knew different.
She was sitting on the stool, trembling, her eyes strangely vacant. He frowned. Her dress was soaked with blood. How was that possible? He hadn’t gone anywhere near her. Then he saw that her right hand was bleeding. The shard she’d used to strike him must have cut into her palm, but she had not even noticed.
With a curse he took a napkin from the table and tossed it to her.
“Here. Press this on your wound. You need to stem the blood.”
She stared at him, eyes wide with incomprehension. She clearly had no idea what he was talking about. He gave an irritated shake of his head and held the napkin against her palm himself, pressing hard on the fabric. As he stood over her with his head bent, drops of his own blood fell on her wrist.
“Par le sang du Christ, quel massacre,” he muttered to himself.
The girl didn’t say a word or move. She was frozen and pale as a corpse. Little wonder, given the loss of blood and the shock she had sustained.
“You need to lie down,” he instructed when her eyes fluttered. It would not help to have her faint now.
To his surprise she did not argue. But as soon as she stood, her legs folded under her. Without a word, William lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed, marveling that he should be the one to take care of her after what she’d done.
He laid her on the fur covers and waited until she stopped shivering before inspecting her hand. The cut was rather deep. She would be in pain for a few days. Good, he thought ruthlessly, that might make her think twice about attacking him again.
As he wrapped a piece of cloth around the wound, William realized he should be outraged at her gesture. He should be calling his men to have her taken away, not tending to her injuries, but the anger never came. Her face was a mask of incredulous bewilderment, and her haunted expression earlier made sense.
She had been steeling herself for a task she found repulsive.
He placed a cup of wine into the hand that wasn’t injured, but she discarded it with a shiver, as if she feared being sick again if she drank anything.
“What will they do to you?” he asked, replacing it on the table.
“What? W-who?”
“The people who asked you to kill me. What will they do to you if you do not succeed?”
“No one sent me, I told you.” Her voice was a deathly whisper.
“I don’t believe you,” he said flatly. “You do not want to kill me, not really. You must be afraid of whatever retribution you will get if you do not do it, otherwise you would never have tried to kill me just now.” It had been a desperate attempt, a way to appease her guilt rather than a determined action. She would never have the courage to do anything like that again. “Tell me who sent you and why. I could help you. I could protect you, you need not be afraid of what they would do to you.”
William spoke the truth. If he knew who had sent the girl, he would have identified his real enemy, which was the important thing. All along he had known she was only instrumental in this. He would protect her.
He would keep her with him.
“You would protect me after what I did?” She sounded stunned, as well she might.
“Yes.” The word darted out of his mouth—and he shook his head in disbelief.
Was he really offering his protection to the girl who had tried to kill him twice? Was he truly taking care of her injury when she’d only cut herself because she’d tried to slice his throat open? Yes. Apparently so. He’d neglected his own wound to tend to hers. He was reassuring her when he should be handing her over to his men. He was calm and reasonable when he should be outraged.
“I thank you, but I do not need your protection for I am not under any threat,” the girl said in a sob. “I am all alone.”
