A Knight Well Spent. Jackie Ivie

keep or donjon. Nor, I might add, am I about to.”

      “You…heard that?” she asked, and frowned at the timid-sounding words from a like voice.

      “That, and the battering-ram reference to a blow from my fist. I enjoyed the listening. It showed wit to use such to control them.”

      “Words?”

      “Nay, fear. Their fear.”

      Aislynn’s eyes went wide on the dust at her feet. He was this perceptive and she’d thought him a dimwit just this morn? She couldn’t believe her naiveté.

      “You listed titles and I believe you know the why of them. They inspire fear. You knew that and you used it.” He was right in front of her. Aislynn took another step back, but he matched it.

      “You needn’t back from me. You need only say the words. Grant me your service and your fealty, and reap the rewards. Your every desire I would grant. Your every whim I would see to.” His voice was lowering.

      “I—” she began.

      “Nay.” He put a finger to her lips, silencing any desire to speak. Then, he moved it away. The spot tingled…burned. She almost licked at it.

      “Don’t answer yet. Not until you know the offer. I put it forth now. I would have you for my healer, just as I spoke this morn. I would protect you from further ravishment. By anyone. You would be mine.”

      The inflection on the word started such a swell of warmth through her belly that Aislynn’s eyes widened.

      “You’d wear Ramhurst blue—legally and in full view. You’d sleep in Ramhurst linens. You’d be served. You’d be safe. There is no man to dispute it. Or, if he does, he can feel my wrath. You have already seen some of it.” He gestured with a head movement over to where Brent lay.

      “Is that all?” she asked.

      She assumed he was smiling as he answered, since it sounded in his voice. “You would also have the duty of overseeing my household…and you would have the care of me. All of me. I would put myself in your hands. I have needs. I would have them seen to.”

      Aislynn’s heart felt like it did a dive to the depths of her before resuming its position. She was choking, but he just kept talking through it.

      “…and start with this leg of mine.”

      She glanced down at the hose-covered calf. Then, she raised her eyes to the black holes that were his. “You dinna’ speak of your hand, My Lord,” she replied, finally.

      He reached out with his left hand and took her arm, bringing her close enough she could smell the wood smoke, pine soap, and mead scent of him. That was just what one of her senses was experiencing.

      “How do you know about that?” he asked softly, his voice a rumble of sound while his breath fanned her cheek.

      “I have brought all she requires. I only have one bucket of water. I am no serf. They can haul more water if she needs more.”

      The door slammed open with a shoulder applied to it and Weasel stomped in, setting a bucket noisily on the floor. He took exactly three more steps before stopping, mouth wide as his arms opened, spilling her supplies.

      “What is it you’ve brought?” The liege swiveled both of them to ask.

      Aislynn was being held against him, where her cheek rested against his chest. From this hearing distance, his voice was a thing of immensity in one ear. She didn’t hear Weasel’s answer, or even if he gave one. All she heard was the door slamming and the liege’s huge sigh. The whiff of air touched her head.

      “That one reminds me of a weasel.”

      She started and moved her head to stare. He’d turned them toward the light and the look on his face wasn’t sinister or fearsome. He looked more like he was hiding a smile.

      “Don’t tell me you didn’t note it.”

      Aislynn caught the answering smile, probably giving her the same expression he had.

      “So…you did see it. This is good. Such a thing binds us. You and me. The beast and the witch.”

      Aislynn stiffened. It was stupid, since her movement put her entire frame against his. Beyond a blink, she ignored how it felt as she glared up at him. “I’m nae witch,” she said finally.

      “I’ve said something to distract you from fear? Good. Come. Show me what you plan to do to my brother with these weapons you’ve requested.”

      Brother? Aislynn wondered at her blindness as he moved them back to the pool of light above Brent’s prone form. There was a pile of herbs and a broken jar on the floor.

      “You must unhand me,” Aislynn told him.

      He sighed, moving her with it. Her eyes widened. “If, as you say, I must do this, then I must. But only for the moment, I fear.”

      “I dinna’ understand,” she replied.

      “You haven’t given an answer. Without it, I have nothing. You’ll escape me. I think you a mountain sprite, or a lowland faery, or an enchantress; one possessing uncommon beauty, and a heretofore unknown sweetness of smell. If I release you I have nothing.” He released her and stepped back.

      “You…jest.” Aislynn choked out the words, and went to her knees to check the supplies and keep the reaction on her face to herself.

      “I never jest,” he answered.

      “You flatter, then.” Her voice was stronger.

      “I never flatter.”

      “I tire of the telling. I am neither faery, sprite, or enchantress. I’m a healer.”

      “You didn’t tell me I would ponder the methods of bewitchment you practice, though. You forgot to speak that part.”

      She gasped at the floor. “I’ve done naught,” she whispered.

      “Here. Cover yourself.”

      It was his short cloak falling onto her shoulders. Aislynn had a moment to enwrap herself in his smell, before she stopped.

      “Make certain there are no escaped locks of hair. Cover that skin. Such perfection was meant to be touched and savored…enjoyed. You’re a bewitching maid. Almost too much so. I’ll not leave. I will give you distance. I will give myself the same.”

      He was speaking the soft words in an ongoing cadence of sound, making a sonnet of words. She could believe him a troubadour. She could believe almost anything of him. She focused on her supplies. It was all she could think of.

      Weasel had broken the jar containing her herbs. The floor held the fragrant aroma. Aislynn picked up each linden flower petal, scraping them with her fingernail to release the aroma before mashing them in the jar bottom. Then, she moved toward Brent.

      “What is it you do?”

      “Make certain he does na’ choke on his own blood,” she replied.

      He grunted. Aislynn ran a hand over Brent’s jaw, feeling for the joints.

      “What are you doing now?” he asked.

      “Checking for breaks.”

      “I broke no bones.”

      “Nae? You loosened teeth and I fear his nose is broken. You must na’ realize your own power.” She was adding scooped water into the jar and mashing the linden flowers with her fingers into a paste.

      “Tie the cloak more securely. Cover your head.”

      Aislynn glanced from the corner of her eyes at him. He was pacing; silently and stealthily…passing through the light before disappearing into the gloom. Reappearing. Disappearing. In a leonine fashion. Prowling. The word flashed through her mind.

      “I will na’ be able to