Midnight Warrior by Iris Johansen Read Free Book Online Page B

water and the preparation of her salves.
    “It’s dawn,” he said harshly. “I promised you that you would have him to yourself only until the first light.” He strode over to the pallet. “How is he?”
    “Alive.” She wearily ran her fingers through her hair. “Better, I think.”
    “Better? He looks the same to me.” He studied Malik’s face. “Did he wake?”
    “No.”
    “Speak?”
    “No.”
    “Then why do you say he’s better?”
    “I just … feel it.”
    He smiled sardonically. “Astonishing.”
    She shook her head. “I cannot explain.” She shrugged at his skepticism. “I don’t care if you believe me or not. It is true. He’s growing stronger. He’ll wake before sunset and I’ll give him a strengthening broth.” She yawned. “And now I intend to go to sleep.” She settled down beside Malik. “I suggest you do the same. You look more haggard than he does. I have no time to tend two patients.”
    He frowned. “You can’t sleep. He may need you.”
    “I have not slept in two nights. If he needs me, I’ll be here beside him.” She put her hand on Malik’s chest above the wound as she nestled closer and closed her eyes. “He is healing. He has no need of either of us right now. Go away.”
    “Have you forgotten this is my tent?”
    “Then lie down somewhere and be silent …”
    The blasted woman was already asleep, he realized with frustration. He reached down to shake her awake and then stopped. Was there the faintest color in Malik’s cheeks? He couldn’t be sure, but his breathing seemed the slightest bit easier.
    Christ. Tears stung his eyes as, for the first time since he had seen Malik struck down, he allowed himself to hope.
    He stared eagerly at Malik, searching for some other sign.
    Nothing.
    He turned and spread a blanket on the ground across the tent and sat down. The woman might feel safe enough regarding Malik’s condition to rest, but he did not. He would sit there and keep guard over Malik until she woke.
    • • •
    “Who …”
    Brynn drowsily opened her lids at the whisper.
    Dark eyes staring into her own only inches away.
    She was immediately awake. The Saracen had come back!
    “Who …” Malik whispered again.
    “Brynn,” she whispered. “I am Brynn of Falkhaar.”
    He frowned in puzzlement. “I know it is rude, but I do not … remember … our coming together.”
    “Shh. You must rest.”
    “He’s awake?” Gage Dumont was suddenly towering over them like a huge, dark cloud. “Gage?” Malik asked.
    “Yes.” Gage knelt beside him. “How do you feel?”
    “Bruised. Pained.” He tried to laugh. “And weak as an infant just out of the womb.” His glance shifted back to Brynn. “And so I fear I did not give this lovely damsel a fitting ride. You are new, are … you not?”
    “She’s not a whore.” Gage smiled. “And it grieves me to inform you that your wound rendered even you incapable.”
    “Impossible.” He frowned. “Wound?” His brow cleared. “The battle.”
    Gage nodded. “The battle.”
    Brynn stared at him in amazement. His hard expression had softened miraculously, and he looked almost boyish. It was clear the kinship between the two men was both deep and long-standing and she felt a twinge of envy. It had been a long time since she had felt such a bond with another. “Stop talking. You will tire him.” Brynn rose to her feet. “I’ll go prepare the broth.”
    Once outside the tent, she moved quickly to the campfire and exchanged the pot of hot water she had kept simmering all night for another. Keep busy. Don’t think of the death and pain that lie beyond this hill. While she had been with Malik she had been able tosubmerge the sorrow, but now it came back as strong as ever. No, not quite as strong. If she steeled herself, she could keep back the tears. Perhaps when Malik was stronger she could convince the Norman to move him from this dreadful place.
    She glanced to the north, wondering how Adwen was