Besieged and Betrothed

‘Let me see.’ She put the pile of folding aside and hurried towards him. ‘You should let me bind it at least.’

‘It looks worse than it is.’ He glanced down at his hand. That was true. There was a lot more blood than he would have expected from such a small cut.

‘I’ll be the judge of that.’ She crouched down and took hold of his hand, turning it over and studying the wound with a look of such intense concentration that he couldn’t drag his eyes away from her either. Her fingers were so velvety smooth that he felt a strange compulsion to wrap his own around them. Her very touch seemed to make him feel better.

‘What happened?’

‘I cut myself on a sword when I was inspecting the armoury.’

Her eyes leapt to his face with a look of amusement. ‘How long did you say you’ve been a soldier?’

‘Too long and, yes, I should have been paying attention.’

‘Well, just so you know what you did wrong.’

She laughed again and he felt a powerful impulse to wrap his arms around her and scoop her up into his lap. When she laughed she looked radiant, as if there were actually a light shining behind her eyes. The effect was so mesmerising that she was already back on her feet before he could do anything about it, fetching a bowl of water and two of her newly folded bandages from the other side of the room.

‘I didn’t think these would come in handy quite so soon.’ She crouched down again, dabbing one of the cloths into the water and gently wiping the blood from his hand before tying the other around it.

‘There. Now don’t take it off for a few hours and no playing with swords in the meantime.’

‘Playing?’

‘Yes.’ Her eyes glinted with humour. ‘But if you must, remember the sharp end is the one to avoid.’

‘I’ll try to remember that. Now have you finished laughing at my misfortune?’

‘Almost.’ She sat back on her haunches though she still didn’t release his hand. ‘You can’t blame me for enjoying one small victory. I haven’t won many of late.’

He gave a low chuckle. ‘Then I’m glad I’ve made you feel better.’

‘You have.’ She tilted her head to the side again. ‘You know, I’ve never heard you laugh before.’

‘It happens. Not very often. Though I could say the same about you.’

‘There isn’t much to laugh about.’ She ran her fingers absently along the inside of his wrist. ‘But maybe one day, when the war’s over... Did you get your scar with a blade, too?’

‘This?’ He touched his forehead incredulously. ‘How careless do you think I am?’

‘That’s what I’m trying to work out. What happened?’

He took a deep breath. His scar wasn’t something he talked about. It had been part of him for so long that he barely noticed it himself any more and nobody else usually dared to ask questions. He’d never really considered the effect on his appearance either, but now for the first time in his life he felt self-conscious. What did she think of it? he wondered.

‘Lothar?’

She said his name softly and he sighed, feeling as though those green eyes were somehow drawing the truth out of him.

&nb

sp; ‘My father kicked me into a table.’

She clamped a hand over her mouth in shock. ‘But that’s terrible!’

He smiled mirthlessly. ‘He was terrible. Everyone who knew him thought so. Though most of the time he was just drunk.’

‘You mean he did it more than once?’

‘Let’s just say it wasn’t unusual. My mother took the brunt of it.’