He’d lost consciousness as they rode and Simon and one of his knights carried him to his room. Emily ordered Beatrix to fetch her sewing kit and wine, then ran to join Simon.
Simon’s face was only a shade less pale than Draven’s as he reached to grasp the bolt in Draven’s shoulder. “This is going to wake him. Monty,” he said to the knight who had assisted him, “stand ready to hold him when he strikes out.”
The knight nodded.
Simon pulled the bolt. Draven came awake with a curse that brought heat to her cheeks. As Simon had predicted, he swung out his arm to strike him, but Monty caught him before he could lay Simon low.
Draven threw his head back and groaned.
“I know.” Simon reached for the bolt in his leg.
Draven reached above his head with his uninjured arm and held to the headboard as Simon pulled it free. Simon held a bandage to his shoulder and Emily rushed to hold one against his leg.
After several minutes, the blood flow slowed.
“Cauterize it,” Draven rasped.
Emily gaped at those words. “What?”
“Get her out of here, Simon,” Draven snarled, “and do it.”
Simon ordered Monty to escort her outside.
Emily refused to leave. “But?—”
“No time to argue!” Simon drew the dagger from his belt.
The last thing she saw was Simon planting the dagger in the coals of the fire as Monty slammed the door shut in her face.
But she didn’t leave.
Her stomach twisted in knots from fear and uncertainty, she waited outside Draven’s room.
After a few minutes, Simon opened the door. Sweat covered his face and he looked as if he’d be sick.
“I need a drink,” he whispered, walking past her.
Emily rushed inside the room to find Draven unconscious again. Simon had stripped his clothes and covered him with a fur. She paused by the bed looking down.
Like Simon, he was covered in sweat. The skin on his shoulder was pink and blistered from where Simon had dragged his blade over the wound to seal it.
She reached out, then stopped before she touched it. So much pain and he hadn’t even cried out.
How had he borne it in silence?
Beatrix came in behind her with an ewer of water and towels. Emily thanked her, then poured water into the basin and dampened a cloth.
“How does he?” Beatrix asked as she stoked the fire.
“I know not. All we can do is pray.”
Beatrix nodded, then left her alone with him.
As carefully as she could, Emily bathed his fevered brow. His roughened whiskers scraped the palm of her hand as she tested the temperature of his skin.
His long eyelashes rested against his tan cheeks. Never before had she seen him look so peaceful. So at ease and he was so handsome it took her breath.
She traced the cloth down his muscular chest, cleaning the blood away from his wound and arm. And as she cleaned his arm, she remembered Godfried’s words.
