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So by all logical rights, the man should be toes-up, six-feet under, not walking around preparing breakfast like it was some lazy Sunday morning.
“You’re a good healer,” he said.
I snorted. “Not that good.”
I grimaced and rounded my stiff shoulders and a few other muscles not worked out in a long time, definitely feeling the effects of our mad hike to safety.
That reminded me of those assassins yesterday, and I was about to ask him about them when Bryant set his cooking aside and meandered over.
Squatting down in front of me, he transferred my swollen left foot from the whiskey cask onto his thigh, then began to massage some minty, slimy ointment into my throbbing ankle.
“What’re you doing?” I asked. “Ow! Watch it, Rambo.”
“Rambo?”
“He’s a movie...Ow!”
I tried to retract my foot, but his fingers tightened around my arch, not letting go and continued his oily ministrations.
“Hold still,” he ordered. “This will help.”
“It stinks. And burns. What is that slime you’re slathering on me anyhow?”
“Bear grease and herbs.”
“Gross. Stop it.”
He tightened his hold when I tried to pull from his grip again, looking both annoyed and amused at my pinched expression. “You complain a great deal, woman.”
I winced as his calloused fingers kneaded my skin, returning, “Yeah? Well, you should’ve heard all the creative new swear words I learned last night when you were out of your gourd with pain. Some in a language I didn’t recognize.”
He twitched smile as he lightly wrapped my ankle and heel with thin strips of cloth, explaining, “Probably Gaelic, my first tongue. It comes out sometimes.”
That explained the lilt in his voice now that he was talking in full sentences.
“You’re from Scotland then,” I remarked.
“Ireland. Similar tongue for the most part. How does that feel?” he asked, propping my foot back onto the wooden cask.
“That’s...better, actually. Thanks.”
“Well now, fair’s fair,” he said. “You tended me last night, so I’m returning the favor. Hold still now.”
Before I could ask why, Bryant dabbed at the stinging scabbed lump on my forehead with a damp cloth, making me wince and suck through my teeth.
“I’m very sorry for injuring you,” he quietly said, frowning as he lightly pressed the cool compress to my skin. “Sometimes I forget how strong I can be. To a woman.”
“What, this? No, this happened back in the cave,” I said, waving absently. “There was an earthquake, and some rocks fell on my head. The ankle, too. I mean, I twisted it when I tripped inside the tunnel.”
“Cave?”
“Right outside where you tackled me like a Green Bay linebacker. It’s not in plain sight. It’s covered by some bushes. Anyhow, you didn’t hurt me.”
His frown deepened as he retracted his hand with the compress. “I’m glad then.”
“Speaking of which, do you have any pain reliever? I couldn’t find anything last night, and my head feels like it’s going to split in two.”
Bryant walked over to the window counter, returning with a tin cup of something fragrant and steaming.
