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

clean, as well, he recalled, the white fabric a startling contrast to the victim’s sun-browned skin. And after cutting the arrow loose, the healer allowed the wound to bleed freely before he sewed it closed, applied an unguent and bandaged it.
    Though Nicholas had no salve to soothe Catrin’s wounds, the rest he could manage. His spirits lighter, he hacked a wide strip from the hem of Catrin’s chemise andtore it into strips. He set the bowl of water beside the fire to warm, then took the knives outside and scrubbed them—and his hands—as best he could in the icy stream.
    When he returned to the cave he plunged both knives blade-deep into the glowing coals, pausing a moment with hands outstretched to the fire’s warmth while he reviewed his memories yet again. But he remembered nothing more.
    A sheen of sweat dampened Catrin’s brow, and the flush upon her face owed little to the fire’s heat. She hadn’t moved since he’d loosened her clothing. He’d get no better chance than this.
    But she stirred when he folded back the cloak and began to wash the area around the arrows, her low-voiced moan sending a chill up his spine. What if she struggled once he cut her? He had worries enough without having to wrestle a pain-maddened woman into submission. Hesitating but a moment, he bound her wrists together with a lace from her gown.
    If that didn’t work, he could always kneel on her.
    Nicholas drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, readying himself in the same way he would prepare for battle. Eyes closed, he concentrated until a sense of calm flowed through him. Breathing deeply again, he snatched Catrin’s eating knife from the fire and set to work.
    The shallowly embedded arrow popped free with but a nudge of the blade, leaving a faint trail of blood in its wake. Should he make the wound bleed more? Could he halt the flow once it began?
    If only he knew what in God’s name he was doing!
    If cleanliness had been the key to the Saracen’s success, he’d follow its dictates completely. Muttering a plea to the Virgin, he pressed on the cut until a bright trickle oozed forth to wash out the wound.
    Lower lip gripped tight between his teeth, Nicholasbent closer to Catrin’s back and slipped the slim blade into her flesh next to the shaft. “Don’t move,” he muttered, pushing the knife deeper despite the way her back tensed.
    Blood spurted free and ran in a rivulet over her ribs. When he pressed a wad of fabric against her to stanch the flow, she arched her back and screamed.
    “Stop, Catrin,” he said. “You must not move.” She continued to squirm, so he pinned her down and swiftly extended the cut. He tried to work the arrow loose, but ’twas difficult to grasp the short, slick shaft—he’d cut off too much, leaving scarcely enough to grab hold of.
    Catrin continued to writhe beneath him, mumbling and moaning as he fought to remove the arrow. Her struggles he could deal with, but to hear her distress…He snatched up one of his leather gauntlets and stuffed it between her teeth.
    The arrowhead ground against bone, feeling much the same as ramming a blade into someone’s gullet. Cursing, Nicholas took up the knife once more and, still tugging at the shaft, widened the cut until the arrowhead broke free.
    He blotted away the worst of the blood and pressed on the cut as he heated the needle in the flames, nearly scorching his fingers in the process. When he turned back to Catrin he found her staring at him, her eyes awash with tears. But he saw no recognition there, only anger and pain.
    ’Twas just as well she didn’t recognize him—her opinion of him had been low enough before the day’s events. Christ only knew what she’d think of him after this.
    It mattered not, so long as she survived.
    Squinting, he focused his still-blurry gaze upon the oozing wound. “Pretend ’tis a shirt,” he ordered himself ashe stabbed the needle into Catrin’s flesh. She gave a muffled shriek. “Not bloody