Sharon Schulze by To Tame a Warrior's Heart Read Free Book Online

everything he did, no doubt. As it was, he felt a fool. A knight—a former mercenary, by God—who had done his best to skewer the enemy at every turn, hesitant to use a knife to save another’s life.
    He had to work swiftly, for he’d no notion how long she might sleep. His fingers felt clumsy as he struggled to knot the thread. Vision gone blurry once more, he closed his eyes and willed himself to stillness. If his hands didn’t stop shaking, he’d do her more harm than good.
    Feeling somewhat better, he took up the cup and returned to the stream. It was full dark now. A crescent moon hovered over the horizon, playing amongst the clouds scudding across the sky. Somewhere in the forest an owl hooted, perfect accompaniment to the howl of the rising wind.
    ’Twas a night made for magic; he hoped ’twould help him in his labors. He knelt beside the spring and slaked his thirst, then scooped water over his aching head. The shocking cold helped clear his senses. Casting a last look around, he went back to the cave.
    Catrin slept on undisturbed while he built up the fire and prepared his meager supplies. Idris remained against the far wall where Nicholas had placed him, his gaze fixed with steadfast devotion upon his mistress. Nicholas shifted the torch to a better spot, then settled down at Catrin’s side.
    He could delay no longer.
    He eased off her cloak, slipping the fabric over the broken-off arrows before turning his attention to the laces on each side of her bliaut. Even after he loosened them, he couldn’t remove her gown, so he cut a neat slit down the back. ’Twas ruined anyway, but he tried to preserve it enough for decency’s sake. Her undertunic laced up the back, simple enough to roll down over her arms to her waist.
    When he loosened her chemise and pushed it aside, still another layer of fabric covered her from armpit to waist. Now he understood why her wounds had not bled freely; this garment—whatever it was—was wrapped so tight, it acted as a bandage.
    “Thank God you’re not awake,” he murmured as he reached beneath her in search of the fastenings. “Please stay that way.” A twist of his hand and he found the knot and loosened it
    Soft, yielding flesh sprang free as he tugged the stiff material apart.
    If she woke now, he was a dead man.
    His fingers brushed against an ample pair of breasts. He grinned. Never would he have imagined that such bounty lay beneath her modest gown.
    Enough! he censured his unruly mind. He was no green boy, to be set off by a bosom, no matter how impressive. Frowning, he turned his attention to working the binding over the arrow shafts.
    The garment had likely saved Catrin’s life, for the stiff fabric had kept the arrows from sinking too deep. And despite the rusty streaks of blood that marred the smooth ivory skin of her back, the wounds had bled little.
    One arrow tip lay half-buried in her flesh, its barbs still exposed—a simple matter to remove. The other two, unfortunately, were embedded to the shaft. He’d have to cut them free.
    Red streaks ran from the crusted wounds, and the flesh around the crudely molded arrowheads felt hot and swollen. Nicholas drew the cloak up over her and sat back upon his heels, cudgeling his scrambled brain for any knowledge he could use.
    There had been an incident in the Holy Land. Though he’d been little more than a lad, he had never forgotten it. A Saracen healer of great renown had traveled with them for a time, bartering his medical skills in return for their protection. Nicholas had watched, fascinated, as he removed a deeply embedded crossbow quarrel from a soldier’s back, a man who survived to die in an angry whore’s bed not six months later, he recalled wryly.
    What had the healer done?
    The Saracen had washed his hands, the knife and the injury, then passed the knife and needle through a flame before he used them. Nicholas had never seen any barber or chirurgeon do that before or since. The bandages had been