Master Of Surrender by Karin Tabke Read Free Book Online Page A

herbs had softened, she pulled a small skin from her pocket and squeezed a bitter-smelling liquid into the pot. Its pungent odor smarted the eyes. She blinked back tears but stirred it well, combining all of the ingredients. Then she soaked clean linens in the brew. From her basket, Isabel pulled a covered trencher of healing balm. She dipped a ladle into the brew and poured a small amount of it into the container, then mixed it together. Without looking up to him, she handed it to du Luc. “Hold this, and give it to me when I say.”
    He took it, and Isabel bent to her chore. Carefully, she cleaned the area around the wound with the steaming rag she’d dunked in the small cauldron of herbs. When she deemed the area clean, she deftly dislodged the ax head, then pulled it out. The knights moved in closer for a better look. Isabel caught her hand to her throat at the sickening sight. The wound gaped wide, the white of Manhku’s bone exposed. It was a wonder he lived.
    A heavy hand rested on her shoulder. “Damsel?” Rohan gruffly asked.
    She shook his hand from her person and peered more closely at the wound. Her needle would serve no purpose here. Her only option was as she suspected. A searing. Swallowing hard, she grasped the dagger embedded in the embers of the hearth, dunked it into the steaming cauldron to cleanse the ash from it, then plunged it into the gaping wound.
    The unconscious giant screamed out, his muscles clenched hard, but he did not pull away. Indeed, his faint deepened.
    Isabel swept the flat side of the blade in and around the torn flesh. Although she had seen this procedure done several times, never had she been so close to the stench of seared flesh. It made her stomach rise and fall. She clenched her teeth hard to keep from emptying her gut. Once the task was done, she replaced the dagger in the embers and sat back on her heels.
    While the wound cooled, Isabel made a poultice of dark bread and herbs. Setting it to the side, she cut away the bottom part of Manhku’s leather bindings and chaussures. She folded the garments into a snug square. When she started to lift Manhku’s heavy leg, du Luc leaned forward to help her. She slid the garments beneath his knee and elevated the thigh.
    Praying the cauterization would hold, Isabel slowly untied the tourniquet. With each releasing turn, she held her breath tighter. When finally the cloth was limp in her hand, she let out a long sigh of relief. It held.
    “The trencher, please,” she said. Du Luc handed it to her. She dipped two fingers into the salve, then spread it over and around the wound. Once the wound was dressed, she molded the bread poultice to fit the gouge and gently packed it. She ripped several linens into long bandages and dressed the leg. Before setting back on her heels to survey her work, Isabel pushed back an errant lock of hair from her forehead and noticed the dampness of her skin despite the coolness in the air. She turned and warily eyed the knight who stood several feet from her.
    For a long moment, he stared back, his expression hidden behind the shadow of his helmet.
    “I can assure you, sir knight, at least for the moment, you are safe from a Saxon attack. Would you remove your helmet so that I may see the face of Satan?”
    “Do you fear that cast angel?”
    “Nay, I fear only God.”
    First, he removed his mail gauntlets. His hands were bigger than they looked encased. Strong hands with long, thick fingers. Hands that killed. Her gaze rose to his face. Slowly, he removed his helmet, then pushed back his cowl to reveal thick shoulder-length hair the color of a moonless night. As he came to squat beside her, his lips quirked. The full impact of his harsh features caught Isabel off guard. Even with the ragged, angry line of a fresh scar along the left side of his face and the one that dug into his chin, she could not say him other than handsome. The aristocratic line of his sire’s line was prominent in the wide set of his