Free The Knight's Prisoner by Renee Rose Page B

at all. But no, she saw him pressing his forearm to his ribs as if to staunch the flow of blood as he whirled around.
    She stopped walking. Shite. Damn, shite, damn it all to hell.
    She turned and started walking swiftly back the way she had come.
     
    * * *
     
    He'd known the moment she left. He had been throwing glances over his shoulder in case she needed help. He'd seen her move from the rocks where she'd taken shelter and flee to the cover of the woods. It had been curious sort of pain he'd felt at it. One part of him was happy for her—he knew how badly she wanted her freedom. One part felt gutted at the loss. One part was relieved she was safely away from the melee of the battle, and one part feared she'd get lost or meet trouble fleeing them.
    But now here she was, kneeling beside him, removing his leather armor, peeling back his tunic and undershirt, her face pale and drawn.
    He brought his hand to her thigh and squeezed it. “I'm all right,” he muttered.
    “I see that,” she said, but her jaw was still clenched. “It's a surface wound. The leather kept it from going too deep. It's long but it didn't make it through your ribs. I'll just stitch you up, we'll keep it clean, and you'll be fine.” She spoke firmly, as if she were reassuring herself of it.
    “What made you come back, Dani?” he asked softly.
    Her eyes widened, and then her face took on a look of ferocity. She leaned her face right up to his and said through clenched teeth, “Don't even think of punishing me, Ferrum.”
    He started laughing, then, which pained him, and he curled up on the ground, clutching his wound and laughing.
    “Stop that!” she snapped. “Stop it, Ferrum!” But then she started laughing reluctantly too.
    He rolled onto his back and gazed at her, loving the way her face transformed when she smiled. Their eyes met and held, her wide blue stare full of a desperate confusion. He stroked her thigh.
    “It's all right, little flower. Thank you.”
    She regarded him warily. “For what?”
    He shrugged. “For this. For coming back.”
    Her lips twitched and she swallowed, still locked into the gaze from which neither of them seemed able to look away. She broke it first, turning her attention to threading her bone needle and knotting the end of the thread.
    “Should I get a stick for your teeth?” she asked nervously.
    He snorted. “No.”
    She started stitching him, watching his face anxiously until at last she seemed assured she wasn't causing him pain and focused on her stitching. It took a long time. He drifted in and out of consciousness a bit, the loss of blood making him feel light-headed and the pain making him numb.
    “Ferrum?” Danewyn's worried voice brought him back.
    “It's all right,” he said automatically to reassure her. “Don't fret.”
    She peered into his face, anxiously. His strongest instinct was to soothe away her anxiety, but he was warmed by it, just the same. “Can you come to our tent?”
    “Not just now,” he grunted. There was no way he could get up. “In a little bit.”
    That worried her more. She pressed wine to his lips and he drank a few choking gulps, unwilling to prop himself up to swallow properly. When night fell, he got up on his own, refusing help from the men who tried to offer it, and staggered back toward their tent. Phillip appeared next to him, knowing better than to offer a hand, but keeping pace beside him in case he fell. Inside, he collapsed on the bedroll. Phillip sat next to him and looked at him gravely.
    “I'm fine.”
    “Of course you are,” Phillip said.
    “How many dead?”
    Phillip blew out his breath. “Over half.”
    “God's teeth.” Ferrum shook his head sadly. “At least it wasn't a complete ambush.”
    “Aye. Your little Seer has proved her worth, not that I had any doubt of it.”
    “She left during the battle.”
    Phillip raised his eyebrows. “And then returned?”
    “Aye—I don't know why.”
    “I had a vision of you bleeding,” Dani's