Page 9 of The Warrior’s Forbidden Virgin

Honora was not the only one who knew how to wield this weapon.

Katherine slashed upward, the blade cutting into the soldier’s flesh. His eyes widened as it ended his life, and she turned her gaze away from the blood on her sword.

Just as she stood, Ademar roared a warning. As Katherine sidestepped, he dove forward with his sword, taking the full impact of the blade against his own weapon. The third soldier spun, slicing at Ademar’s head. Katherine tried to block the attack, but the blade tip sliced Ademar’s temple, and the knight sank to his knees. The soldier fled the chamber without looking back.

Blood poured from Ademar’s wound, and the sight of it made her dizzy. Not now, Katherine prayed. She loathed blood, and the idea of having to sew up his wound made her stomach pitch. “Are you all right?”

He grimaced, reaching his hand to his head. “I think so.”

The blood continued to stream downward. “It’s not…too bad.” He stumbled forward, easing onto a chair. “What in God’s name were you thinking, trying to use a sword against those men?”

“You needed my help. And I knew how to use the weapon.” Katherine took off her veil and pressed it to his head, trying not to look at the blood. She sent up another silent plea: Let it stop bleeding on its own.

His eyes pierced hers. “You could have been hurt.”

She flushed, uncomfortable with his harsh tone. “So could you.” Gripping her hands together, she realized she was shaking.

Ademar reached out to her, as if he needed to touch her. “Don’t ever risk yourself on my account.”

Katherine wanted to protest that she wouldn’t have done this for anyone else. But at the sight of his blood, the room was starting to spin. She saw the bodies of John’s men on the floor, and her stomach lurched.

“I want to leave this chamber,” she insisted. “Now.” She didn’t wait for him to agree but escaped into the hallway. The soft sounds of his footsteps followed her. When she reached her chamber, she grasped the wooden post of her bed, trying to force away the dizziness.

“I’d forgotten…how much head wounds bleed,” Ademar muttered. He cursed beneath his breath. “Could you help me with this?”

Katherine took a step backward. Her knees were quaking at the thought of having to ply a needle to his flesh. She swallowed hard. “You need a true healer, not me.” She gripped the bedpost so tightly, her knuckles turned white. “I’m not like Honora. She’s good at healing and—and I—”

Her legs buckled, and she held fast to the wood. A rush of noise filled her ears, and the chamber swayed. Desperately, she tried to regain control of herself, but to no avail. The vision of Ademar’s blood overcame her, and she crumpled to the floor.

Katherine awoke with her head in Sir Ademar’s lap. She stared up at him and saw that he was still clutching her veil to his head. Dear God. She was truly the most pathetic woman in all of England. How could she possibly have fainted, when Ademar needed her help?

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, forcing herself to sit up. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“It’s all right.” His hand reached out to touch her hair. “The bleeding has mostly stopped.”

“It’s not all right.” She pressed her hand to his temple. “You’re hurt.”

He shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

Gingerly, she lifted aside the veil. His blond hair was matted with blood, the wound swollen and bruised. A small cut, the width of her finger, was bleeding, though it had slowed to a dull flow.

She should summon a healer, someone who knew how to care for the wound. But she felt responsible for what had happened. He’d been hurt while trying to protect her.

It humiliated her that she’d fainted instead of helping him. He would think her a coward, which bothered her deeply. She had to redeem herself, to somehow overcome her fears.

“I need to stitch this,” she said, getting up from the floor. Though she had never sewn a cut before, she would force herself to get through the task. Taking a deep breath, she retrieved her needle and a length of silk thread, along with a small basin of water.

Ademar sat, quietly awaiting her attentions. His hands rested on his knees, which lay slightly apart. Katherine drew near, and he placed his hands on her waist, almost in an embrace.

She looked into his dark blue eyes and saw understanding in them. “I’m afraid of hurting you,” she admitted. “I’ve never stitched a wound before.”

“You won’t hurt me,” he said. He lowered his head to allow her to reach. His hands remained about her waist, and the light touch bolstered her courage.

You must do this. He needs you.

Katherine bit her lip hard, determined not to faint again. She threaded the needle, then used her discarded veil to clean off the dried blood and his wound. When she examined the cut, she guessed it would require three stitches. But the act of piercing his flesh was unsettling.

Ademar’s hands caressed her back in silent encouragement. Katherine held her breath and steeled herself. When her needle pricked his skin, he didn’t move. Only the tension in his arms showed that she had done anything.