Stroke of Midnight (Nightcreature #1.5)(33)

" 'Tis not a job for a lady," Alyce retorted, the word "lady" dripping with disdain. She leaned to one side, trying to see past Shanara and into the room beyond.

"Perhaps not," Shanara said. She fixed the girl with a hard gaze. She was Lord Montiori's daughter. If there was one thing she knew, it was how to give orders and have them obeyed. "Give me the tray and be gone."

For a moment, it seemed the girl might refuse; then, lips pursed in silent mutiny, she handed Shanara the tray.

Using her heel, Shanara shut the door in the maid's face.

Reyes eyed her balefully as she set the tray on the table beside the bed. She drew the blade through the fire to clean it, then she cut the old stitches from his shoulder. Taking a deep breath, she pierced the edge of the wound with the tip of the knife. Thick yellow pus mixed with blood that looked almost black oozed out in the wake of the blade. Taking the poultice, she placed it over the wound to draw out the last of the poison.

An oath hissed from between Reyes's clenched teeth as the hot poultice touched his skin.

While the poultice did its work, Shanara poured a cup of willowbark tea, then, lifting his head, she held the cup to his lips. "Drink."

He shook his head.

"Drink, you stubborn man. 'Tis good for what ails you."

When he still refused, she tugged on a lock of his hair. "Drink, I say!"

"Shrew," he muttered, but he drank the tea, grimacing at the bitter taste.

Lowering his head to the pillow once more, Shanara lifted the poultice, surprised to see that the wound looked much better already. She had intended to leave it in place through the night, but that no longer seemed necessary. Was he by nature a man who healed quickly, she wondered, or was it a by-product of the curse?

Threading the needle with a length of silk thread, she endeavored to put everything from her mind but the task at hand. She tried to ignore the whisper of the needle passing through flesh, tried to pretend it was no different from sewing a piece of cloth, but cloth did not bleed. She paused frequently to wipe away the blood that oozed from the edges of the wound as her needle moved in and out, drawing the ragged edges together.

As he had before, Reyes endured her stitching in silence. Sweat beaded his brow. Using a corner of the sheet, she wiped it away.

She didn't know who was more relieved when she took the last stitch and put the needle aside. After wiping her hands on a scrap of cloth, she sat down in the chair beside the bed and blew out a sigh of relief.

Reyes looked at her, one brow arched. "Want to change places?" he asked with a wry grin.

She wrinkled her nose at him. " 'Tis not so easy, putting a needle to a man's flesh."

" 'Tis not so easy to be the man whose flesh you are sticking, either."

She laid her hand on his brow. "We need to bring your fever down."

He nodded.

"Perhaps I should call your steward…"

"No."

She glanced at the blanket where it covered his hips. "Are you… ?"

In spite of the pain of his wounds and the fever burning through him, he grinned roguishly. "As the day my mother bore me."

With a nod, she carefully folded the blanket down to his waist, then folded the other end up to mid-thigh. She felt herself blushing under his regard.

She found a length of cloth, poured water from the pitcher into a basin, and began to draw the cool cloth over his heated flesh. The task should not have caused her any embarrassment. He was sick and she was caring for him. It was no more than that, and yet it was much more than that. She was acutely aware of his every breath, of the way his eyes followed her every movement. She couldn't help but admire the spread of his shoulders, his flat belly ridged with muscle earned from long hours of battle practice. His arms were well muscled from years of wielding a heavy sword, his legs from years of hard riding. When she ran the cloth over his neck, his hair brushed against her hand. It was softer than she had thought it would be.

She wet the cloth again and again, drawing it over his chest and belly, down his arms and legs. She wiped the sweat from his face, offered him another drink of cool water.

The room gradually grew darker, making her acutely aware of time passing. She lit the candles on the mantel, added wood to the fire. She glanced at the window, her heart pounding.

A startled cry erupted from her throat when Reyes laid his hand on hers. "I need to go outside."

"What foolishness is this? You've a fever."

His gaze captured hers. "I cannot stay inside any longer. I need your help."

"Wh-what do you want me to do?"

"Help me down the stairs. Later tonight, when the servants have gone to bed, I want you to leave my robe by the back door. Will you do that for me?"

She nodded, wondering at her willingness to help him. She turned her back when he started to sit up, listened to the sound of his body sliding over the bedding, the soft thud of his feet on the floor, the whisper of the blanket as he wrapped it around his hips.

She wondered how he had kept his secret so long and then realized that it would be an easy thing for the lord to leave the keep whenever he wished. He didn't have to answer to anyone or explain where he might be going in the middle of the night should someone see him. Most likely, anyone seeing him would assume he had a midnight tryst.

She turned when he took her hand. "Let's go."