To Tame A Warrior's Heart. Sharon Schulze

elbowing her pride out of her way, she forced out the words.

      “Talbot.” Her voice sounded little more than a hiss. “Talbot,” she repeated. Why didn’t he answer?

      Her back screaming agony, she turned her face toward the fire. All she could see of him was a boot-clad foot protruding from a filthy cloak. “Damn you, Talbot. Wake up.”

      She shifted her legs until she connected with something soft, eliciting a moan. Must have been his head. Despite her pain, she smiled.

      “Wake up, you Norman idiot.” Her voice grew stronger with every word. She nudged him again. “Lazy fool.” A bead of sweat ran down her nose and plopped onto her sleeve. Though she tried, she couldn’t raise her bound hands enough to wipe her face.

      “Talbot!”

      A stream of curses, interspersed with moans and grunts, told of her success.

      “Unless you’d like me to stuff that glove down your throat again, be silent.” Talbot sat up and faced her. Pale and whisker-stubbled, eyes red-rimmed and puffy, he still looked far better to her than any man had a right to.

      Obviously her brain had been affected, too.

      He squatted beside the fire pit and stirred up the coals. “Are you mad?” she asked as he piled on more wood. “It’s hotter than hell itself in here.”

      “It only seems that way to you—you have a fever.” He held his hands out to the growing flames. “I’m so cold I doubt I’ll ever feel warm again.” His gaze rested upon her face. “Do you remember what happened?”

      “Not since we stopped by the stream.” His earlier words came back to her. “What did you mean, stuff a glove in my mouth again?”

      “You screeched something fierce last night. Yon beast—” he pointed to Idris “—didn’t care for it. Nor did I.” He held up his glove, teeth marks still visible in the battered leather. His smile, so fleeting she almost missed it, sent a strange feeling to lodge in the pit of her stomach. “’Twas the only way to quiet you—other than kissing you. But it wasn’t the right time for that, alas,” he added, amusement lighting his eyes in contrast to his solemn tone.

      “Norman swine!” Her blood nigh boiled. “How I wish I could give you what you deserve.” She held up her wrists. “And what is your reason for this?”

      “’Twas necessary.” He busied himself with something beside the fire. “You moved so much when I cut the arrows from your back, I feared you’d do yourself further harm.”

      Now she knew why she hurt so much! But other than sore muscles from journeying slung over a horse like a sack of meal, only her back pained her. She’d suffered worse in the past—and survived.

      However, that knowledge did nothing to ease her pain. Fire raged through her blood, radiating out from the wounds.

      She hoped Talbot didn’t intend to go on today.

      But the least he could do was free her. “You do intend to untie me, I trust.” A strange hissing distracted her from haranguing him further. She looked up and bit back a cry.

      Stripped to the waist, Talbot tended to his own injury. His upper arm looked swollen, and blood seeped from around the hacked-off arrow.

      “Why didn’t you care for your own wound?” She focused her curious gaze upon his broad shoulders and wellmuscled chest. Clearly Nicholas Talbot was no stranger to pain. Several scars marred the smooth, tanned flesh of his torso. The two on his left shoulder looked to have been severe.

      Mayhap he considered his present injury a mere trifle.

      He watched her while he prodded at his arm. “After I finished wrestling with you, I wanted nothing more than to rest. It feels no worse now than it did then,” he added with a shrug. “Compared to your back, ’tis naught.”

      Unwilling to bear the weight of his scrutiny, Catrin glanced away. She did not believe him, for she’d seen how his lips tightened when he poked at the shaft protruding from his arm.

      Her heart sank further within her chest. How much suffering had she caused through yesterday’s foolhardiness?

      He shouldn’t have ignored his own needs to tend to hers.

      She rested her cheek on her folded arms and settled her gaze on his face once more. “What are you going to do?”

      Talbot wasted no time with words; breathing deep, he pushed the shaft through his arm.

      Now she understood why she’d left teeth marks in the glove—and why her throat felt so raw. Sweat beaded on the taut planes of his face, but he made no sound. She bit at her lip to stifle her own cry when the arrowhead broke through his flesh in a gush of blood.

      He flung the arrow aside and mopped at the blood dripping from his arm. His lips twisted into a rueful grin. “That’s a relief,” he said, wiping his brow against his good arm.

      The urge to smile in return died a swift death as she considered her own lack of control. “You didn’t even need a glove,” she muttered. Though he could not know it, the loathing in her voice was directed at herself, not him.

      He tied a scrap of cloth about his arm, then slid closer. “This is but a trifle compared to your wound.” He reached out and cupped her cheek in his palm.

      “Don’t patronize me.” She jerked away from the comforting warmth of his hand, wincing as the movement pulled at the stitches in her back. “Just untie me, if you please.”

      That he dared to touch her should anger her. But ’twas her own reaction to him that fired her temper.

      She liked the way it felt—and she should not.

      Her gaze lowered, Catrin held out her wrists. The cool steel slipped between them, the well-honed blade slicing through the bonds in an instant. As soon as she was free she curled her hands close to her body to hide how they trembled.

      Talbot touched her face again. “Be still. You’ve blood on your cheek.” His fingertips stroked along her cheekbone, then lingered there to hold her captive. With a sigh he bent so near that his breath feathered across her lips. “You believe I mock you?” He sat back and released her, then raised her hand to a large, puckered scar to the left of his collarbone and pressed her palm to the mark. “You’d have enjoyed how I screeched when I got this.”

      Did he think her so heartless?

      Was she?

      ’Twas possible, but…“Nay, milord. I take no pleasure from another’s pain.”

      “Not even mine?” Amusement lit his eyes, and she felt laughter rumble beneath her hand. “You cannot deny your delight when that beast—” he nodded toward Idris “—pinned me to the muddy ground of l’Eau Clair bailey, his teeth at my throat.”

      “’Twas your pride he hurt, nothing more. God knows you’ve an abundance of it”

      As did she.

      And she could not deny that a blow to her pride stung at least as much as a wound to her body.

      The strong beat of his heart beneath her fingers jolted her. His warm skin felt far too good against her own. Closing her eyes to shut out his face, she tried to slip her hand free, but Talbot held it fast.

      Did he seek to torment her?

      Or did he enjoy her touch, as well?

      “Aye, ’twas my pride he hurt, nothing more,” he said, his voice soft, beguiling her to watch him yet again. “Even as he held me pinned to the ground, I could appreciate your control over him. In that moment, you might have held my life in your hands.” His eyes darkened. “Is it a game you play, to show your disdain for men?” His fingers pressed hers tight against his heart and his gaze held hers captive. “Or is that honor mine alone?”

      She wished she could look away, but she refused to permit