The Maiden and Her Knight by Margaret Moore Read Free Book Online Page B

attend to the wounded.
    She went to the tent flap and looked out. “I don’t see Brother Jonathan. He must have seen you and realized you were injured. He’s a physician.”
    â€œIs he a short fellow running about with two soldiers carrying a litter?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI saw him and waved him off. Perhaps he tends toothers more seriously hurt. I can wait.” His grin looked more like a grimace of pain and there was discomfort in his brown eyes.
    She was here to nurse the injured, not consider her wayward emotions. “May I at least take your helmet?”
    â€œSince I don’t see anybody else.”
    Despite her resolve, she approached him as she might a skittish horse. If he noticed her awkwardness, his expression did not betray it, although it could be that he was too enveloped by pain to pay much heed to her at all.
    As she lifted the helmet from his elbow, she pulled upward on his left arm. A foreign word exploded from his lips so loud and unexpected, she nearly dropped the helmet.
    With his right hand, he grabbed her arm to steady her. “Forgive me, my lady.”
    She shied away, taken aback by both his strength and the surge of blatant excitement within her. “You are in a great deal of pain, aren’t you?”
    â€œNot the worst I’ve felt.”
    She put his helmet onto the cot behind him. “You should have told me how much your shoulder hurt. I would have been more gentle. Can you move your arm away from your body at all?”
    â€œI don’t think so.”
    â€œCan you touch your right shoulder with your left hand?”
    He tried, but when she saw how pale he went, she stopped him and said, “I had better examine it more closely. We must remove your garments.”
    His eyes narrowed, but in the dark depths of his brown eyes, another emotion flared. “We?”
    The sparks kindled something in her, too, that must and would be controlled. “I don’t think you’ll be able to do it by yourself.”
    Accepting what she said, the fire in his eyes diminished. He shrugged, and winced. “Very well, my lady.”
    Although she had little choice, her fingers trembled as she unbuckled his sword belt. She could tell that beneath the chain mail and padding, his belly was flat, the muscles taut from years of training and warfare. His hips were narrow, and she could guess the breadth and strength of his thighs.
    Despite his pain, he stood perfectly still, which was a mercy. She could pretend he was a statue, not a man of flesh and blood, bone and sinew.
    â€œSince I am at your tender mercy, my lady, I think it would be wise to apologize for any offense I may have caused last night. I was impetuous, I know. I have often been chastised for that.”
    Was it some sort of trick he had mastered, to sound both amused and sincere? She didn’t dare look at his face. Just the notion of raising her eyes past his virile chest to his strong chin, to encounter his tempting mouth and intense eyes, was enough to keep her gaze firmly focused on his buckle. “Now you have apologized, so you may be quiet and still.”
    Her task was accomplished at last and, stifling the urge to fan herself, she laid the belt and sword on the bed beside his helmet.
    â€œIf I crouch, you can lift my surcoat over my head,” he suggested. He did just that, so that his face was level with her breasts, his lips a mere finger’s length away.
    Her breath caught in her throat. Remember who you are. Remember what must be .
    She repeated the words over and over in her mind, an insistent chant to strengthen her resolve to pay as little heed as possible to the man in front of her who had no smirk on his face, or lust in his eyes. In fact, he was very pale and clearly in some considerable pain.
    â€œTell me if I am hurting you.” Biting her lip with determination, she took hold of his surcoat and eased it over his arms and shoulders as carefully as she