He did recall how after he had rescued her, while on his horse, she had rested her head to his chest but he had thought nothing of it, merely her need to feel protected after a frightening ordeal.
This, however, was different, and he liked the thought that she would seek his shoulder to rest upon.
“It would be my pleasure,” he said.
She smiled, rested against his side and dropped her head to his shoulder with a sigh. “Your brother suffered a severe wound to his shoulder, his leg, and he had several damaged ribs. His face had been badly beaten. A friend of our village brought him here.”
“A friend?”
“A friend to us is anyone who knows and respects this as a place of healing.”
“How would one know that?” he asked.
“They are informed.”
“How so?”
She yawned and moved her head from his shoulder to his chest. “By people who trust.”
He slipped his arm around her, liking the feel of her body against his. “You avoid a direct answer.”
“Not true.”
“Don’t trust me?” he asked, giving her arm a rub and catching the soft hint of roses drifting off her.
“Actually, I do. Though I don’t know you long, you have demonstrated your trustworthiness. You didn’t anger when you learned of the sentinels. You didn’t fret when I wouldn’t let your men into the village. And you left the cottage when my grandmother dismissed you, though you did not want to.”
“You realized that?”
She nodded. “I can understand why you feel the way you do about barbarians, and I can’t say I blame you. I have tended many who suffered at their hands, but as a healer, I do not choose whom I heal; I only know I must heal those who need it.”
“I realized that myself after giving it thought.”
“A quality of yours I admire. You look and find reason in situations, instead of acting foolishly first and thinking it over later.”
“While you rush in,” he said, and gave her a playful poke in the arm.
“With reason,” she defended.
“Or is it foolishness?”
“Or life saving,” she argued.
“Or life threatening.” He didn’t like that thought; the idea that her need to heal could continue to place her in danger. He could save her only so many times, and then, one time…
He could be too late.
The idea ate at his gut. After all, he was a warrior, and a warrior protected the weak.
He almost laughed. He could never envision Zia as weak. She was too full of life, too passionate about all she did.
She yawned again. “I can take care of myself.”
“Can you, now?”
Another yawn followed and she burrowed deeper against his chest. “I most certainly can.”
Artair didn’t respond. He remained silent and waited, and sure enough, in a few minutes she was snoring lightly.
Bethane approached him and he cautioned silence with a finger to his lips then whispered, “She’s exhausted.”
Bethane kept her tone soft. “She fought hard for him.”
“He is?”
“Still holding on. The night will tell. You will see her tucked in?”
“I will. You need not worry, she is safe with me,” Artair said.
“I know,” Bethane said with a smile, then walked away, Nessie following her.
Chapter 6
Zia woke with a stretch then bolted up in bed. She was wearing her skirt and blouse from yesterday and it took her a moment to realize why. When she did, she smiled. She recalled being with Artair under the tree. He had to be the one who carried her to bed and tucked her in, clothes and all. How gallant of him.
She looked over at the thin drape that separated them and saw that it was pulled back, the sparse room empty. She hurried out of bed and quickly changed garments, choosing a violet skirt with a white blouse, sprigs of heather skillfully embroidered around the low neckline. After slipping her sandals on, she entered the main room, to find that empty as well. She made haste to the stream behind the cottage, scrubbed her face and hands with the cool water and saw to taming a few wild strands of short hair by dampening them.
Finished and feeling famished, she headed to her grandmother’s cottage, where she usually took breakfast. Besides, there was an ill warrior to tend, and since her grandmother hadn’t disturbed her during the night, that could mean only two things. The warrior had succumbed to his wounds or survived the night without incident.
She hoped Artair was with Bethane. She was looking forward to seeing him, recalling with pleasure the feel of his hard chest, though it had pillowed her head comfortably enough. But it was the elemental scent of him that had enticed her most; earth, wind, and fire. He was scented with all three, and oh how she loved it.