A Knight Well Spent. Jackie Ivie

      The indecision over whether or not to heat her knife ate at her, but she wasn’t going to let him know. His wound was trying to knit, it was full of poison, and it would be easier to slice if her blade was warm. She opened the knife into its half-circle shape and placed the tip in the center of her blaze.

      Though she knew he’d be watching her, it still made her start when she turned and caught those blue eyes on her as intently as they were. Aislynn looked down at the ground as she approached where he sat. She couldn’t believe she’d actually stepped up and stomped on the expanse of chest facing her, but he’d frightened and startled her. Nobody saw her at her morning blessing. Nobody. It would start the whispers again. She assured herself it hadn’t mattered. He hadn’t even acted like it was of any consequence.

      “I’ve brought ale for you.”

      She pulled the skin of it from where she’d tied it about her waist and put it in the grass beside him where it went to a bulge shape. “You may need it.”

      “I won’t,” he replied in that soft whisper of his.

      Aislynn shivered. She wondered if he always spoke like that or if he was doing so for a reason. She cursed her own lack for not checking to see if he had further injury. “Have you hurt your throat?” she asked.

      He jerked his head slightly, his eyes widening with the same odd look he’d given her on several occasions already. She wondered why he did that, too.

      “I…no,” he replied.

      “You possess a voice?” she continued.

      He nodded.

      “Why dinna’ you use it?”

      He shrugged. Aislynn’s lips tightened. It wasn’t her business but she could guess. He had an enormous, well-muscled physique. He was easily a head taller than she was. The lower leg she was about to work on looked larger than both of her thighs put together. He probably had a voice to match. It would be loud, captivating, and strong, just like he was. She instinctively knew that was why he wasn’t using it.

      “I understand,” she said. “It will give you away.”

      This time his mouth dropped fully open. Aislynn nearly giggled. He was going to think she was a witch yet. She bent to check her knife. The blade tip was glowing red. She wrapped a bit of her cloak about her hand, lifted the blade, and walked over to him. He was very trusting, she decided, as she knelt beside him. He was also in the stiffest position a body could possibly be in and still be breathing. Aislynn put the blade against his skin and sliced.

      Then she knew he definitely had a voice and it was massive, as his curse and groan filled the air. She ignored it. She had work to do. She was going to drain the pus-filled poison from him and then she had to find the lance tip he still harbored.

      Aislynn put her fingers against his skin and lightly grazed until she felt where the metal had to be. It was lucky for both of them that it hadn’t reached bone. She didn’t think herself capable of extracting anything that deep.

      She was beginning to think she couldn’t retrieve it, before she had it, and the act of sliding it out was worse. The blond man was quiet the entire time. He looked intent on drinking the wineskin dry. Aislynn looked his way once and then bent back to her task.

      He’d not only been carrying the entire lance tip in him, it had binding still attached. Aislynn put it to the side of her and tipped his leg so he’d bleed freely onto the grass. Then she squeezed the wound until no more poison came out with the blood. He didn’t complain. Another quick glance showed he was still gulping, although the ale was in danger of sliding over his cheeks with the speed with which he was drinking it.

      Aislynn picked up his souvenir and her knife and walked over to the burn to rinse everything off. Once the lance tip was clean, she realized the obvious. It wasn’t a keepsake. It was too dangerous. She dropped it into the water and watched the current rinse it away. Then she busied herself with crushing a palm-sized portion of brittle, dried orange amica flowers into the pot of water. She whispered as she did so, begging the water goddesses to assist with their healing powers.

      When the pot was steaming the aroma into the glade, she knew it was ready. She needed it warm, not burning. Aislynn lifted it and turned to him. His eyes weren’t as crystal-clear, they were a more vivid blue, with red-rimmed flesh around them.

      “You had poison to your wound. I’m going to wash it. It should na’ hurt. Worse,” she finished.

      “Don’t stay…the work on…my account,” he replied.

      He was pausing through the words, not whispering anymore, and he had a deep baritone voice that made the air rumble. She knew why he hadn’t used it earlier. It was very distinctive and very authoritative. Anyone hearing such a voice would immediately know the owner of it.

      She frowned. He’d assured her he wasn’t a knight, he certainly wasn’t a Scot…so what could he be? she wondered. He was too old to be one of their Sassenach squires. Which left only one thing: a mercenary. He was one of their paid killers. Aislynn wondered why she hadn’t realized it instantly. Not only was he her enemy…he was paid to be one! That made everything she was doing so much worse. She should have known it the moment she met him. A man possessing all the muscle and scarring this man did obviously warred for a living. No wonder he hid his wound from the others. It would probably mean his death. She was shaking as she brought the pot over to him.

      “What…is it?” He slurred the question with that resonating voice of his.

      Aislynn turned her attention to rinsing the wound. She had to. She had to keep herself occupied. Aside from a quick intake of breath, her giant didn’t give any outward sign of how it pained him. Perhaps it isn’t paining him, she told herself, since he’d just drunk a wineskin of ale.

      “Feels…strange. Like naught. What is it…you do?” he asked.

      “Your senses must be blunted.”

      “You do…such a thing? You—your talents must be…in great demand.”

      “You drank yourself into it. I had little to do with it,” she replied stiffly. The last of the water mixture had been poured on, leaving the flesh slightly white at the edges, before it started bleeding again. Aislynn frowned more at it. She knew she was going to have to seal the wound. She’d only done it once and that was to a stray dog—and she’d had her other knife. The cur hadn’t even stayed around so she could see if it worked. She stood, looked for her blade, and then put it back in the fire.

      “Why do…you heat it? A-again?”

      “I have to burn you.”

      His eyes really were a perfect match to the sky. It was especially noticeable as wide as he had them as he stared up at her. “Nay! Why?”

      “To stay the bleeding. I’ve nae other choice.”

      “Oh.” One word and he went from an anxious male back to a virile, handsome, enormous, and slightly intoxicated one. “Is it going to hurt?”

      “Aye,” she answered. “Everything I do hurts. It heals, too.”

      He nodded and was silent, watching her with luminous eyes that now matched the center of the flame. Aislynn looked away, put the comparison aside as more stupidity she didn’t need, and picked up the knife. She moved the three steps to him quickly, before the blade could cool.

      At the first touch, he arched his body and groaned again, louder than the first time, and filling the clearing with his deep voice again. Aislynn looked quickly about. Everything seemed to stop, the very air seemed to have silenced, and that made the stupidity of her actions even more apparent. If the people accompanying him think him in trouble, will they come? she wondered. She returned her gaze to him. There wasn’t anyone or anything else to see.

      “That…pained,” he said, breaking the silence.

      “Just as I warned. I’m na’ finished,” she was answering as she