“Are you all right, milord?” she asked.
“I fear the worst of it is the ringing in my ears.” Draven pulled his helm from his head.
Emily gasped as she saw the blood trailing down his temple. “Nay, milord, I fear the worst of it is the gash upon your brow.”
Her father’s enemy or not, she wasn’t about to stand still in the face of an open wound and do nothing.
She turned to Simon. “My maid is upstairs in my chambers. Please ask her to fetch my sewing kit and a cup of wine.”
With a nod, Simon obeyed.
Emily took Lord Draven’s hand to lead him toward a shaded spot, but when she took a step, he didn’t budge.
Confused, she turned back to face him.
He gave her a suspicious frown. “Why do you touch me?”
She immediately let go. “I didn’t mean to offend you, milord. I was only thinking that I could tend your wound better if you were seated.”
“My squire can tend my wound.”
She lifted her brow at him. “Milord, if the scar on your neck is a testament of the boy’s handiwork, then I beg you to please allow me to stitch your forehead. I shudder to think of the scar he would leave.”
As if hearing his name, his squire appeared from the side of the donjon. He had a stool in his right hand, a bowl in his left, and a linen towel draped over his shoulder.
“Lord Simon told me to fetch this for you, milord,” he said to Draven. “I also brought a cloth and water.”
Lord Draven stood a moment as if debating something, then he finally spoke. “Where would milady like the stool placed?”
For some reason she felt as though she’d won some kind of skirmish with him.
“Over there, please.” She pointed to the spot where Simon had been resting earlier.
The boy ran to obey her.
Emily led the way with Draven no more than a step behind. As she walked, she could feel his gaze on her like a gentle caress. She sensed that he wanted to touch her and yet the very idea seemed ridiculous, especially given the tone of his voice when he asked why she’d touched him to begin with.
His squire placed the stool where she told him, then quickly ran off to fetch his master’s sword and helm from the training field.
Draven settled himself on the stool while Emily dipped one corner of the towel in water.
No sooner had he removed his mail gauntlets and balanced them on his thigh, than Alys came with her basket and wine.
“Thank you, Alys.” She took them from her and placed them on the ground next to the bowl of water.
To her consternation, Alys, who stood directly behind Lord Draven, looked at the back of his head, then met Emily’s gaze and patted her chest to indicate her heart raced the way Emily’s did. If that wasn’t bad enough, Alys balled her hand into a fist and bit her forefinger.
Emily felt heat sting her cheeks at her maid’s pantomimed expressions.
Draven took that moment to look at Emily, then seeing where her gaze was directed, he turned about to catch Alys still biting her hand.
Alys’s smile faded and she took her hand out of her mouth and shook it. “Darn fleas. Bit me something silly last night.”
Lord Draven looked less than convinced as he turned back to Emily.
Alys locked gazes with her and lifted her brows several times. “Milady has all she requires?” Alys asked in a voice that conveyed her meaning of I’ll gladly be going to leave the two of you alone.
“Aye, Alys, thank you.”
