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He worried when she didn’t stir upon his arrival. When he reached out to gently rouse her, she winced, and he hadn’t even touched her arm.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she gave him a weak smile. “I’m so glad you’re back.”
“Your arm?” he asked anxiously.
“Too much pain, something is wrong.”
The pain had increased, and she had weakened since he had left her. She would not be strong enough to hold on to him as she did when he had climbed the tree. He didn’t waste time. He needed to get her settled and see to her wound.
He tossed the rolled blankets and food sack to the ground and moved to the side opposite her wound.
“I’m going to help you stand,” he said. “Slow and easy we’ll go.” He wrapped her arm around his neck, and, with his arm strong around her waist, he eased her up.
She gasped, and he stopped. “What’s wrong?”
“The pain. There has to be a reason for so much pain.”
“Can you keep one arm around my neck and curl your one leg around mine?”
“I believe so.”
“I can get us down if you feel strong enough to do that,” he said.
She nodded.
Once she did as he asked, he started their descent though it didn’t go as easily as he had hoped, and the darkness didn’t help. Pine needles poked and jabbed her injured arm, and by the time they reached the bottom branch, he could feel that her strength had waned.
He held her tight and, with one hand, took hold of the last branch to lower them to the ground. Her body went limp in his arms, and he knew she had fainted. He didn’t hesitate. He eased her over his shoulder and got them quickly to the ground.
Chapter 5
The pain woke Bliss, her eyes springing open. She lay next to a crackling campfire, a blanket beneath her and another one covering her. Her cloak was gone and the sleeve on her right arm was ripped wide, exposing her wound.
“You’re awake,” Trey said, bending down beside her.
“I fainted?” She reached out anxiously for his hand. “I have never fainted.”
As soon as his hand took hold of hers, she calmed, and her apprehension began to dissipate.
“You had good reason; a small part of the arrow splintered and broke off in your arm.”
“That explains the pain,” she said. “You’ll need to remove it.”
“Already done,” he said with a smile. “I thought it best to get it done before you came to though it wasn’t difficult. I got a good grip on the small piece, gave a tug, and it was out.”
She looked quickly at her arm. “Bleeding?”
“Not as much as I expected. I was just about to clean and bandage it for you.”
She smiled. “I see that I am in capable hands.”
“Aye, you are,” he confirmed with a smile.
His confidence eased her concern, and she allowed herself to rest as she watched him work. He bent over her, his focus intense, his touch gentle. She had studied his face often when she had helped heal him. You could tell much by watching a face. And even though he had been unconscious through most of the healing process, his face had shown discomfort, pain, worry, sorrow. But now—now she saw concern there, and it was for her.
He genuinely cared, and he was upset over her suffering, as if he suffered along with her. This caring part of him seemed in such contrast to his warrior side. He had taken two lives a short time ago, and now those same hands were gentle and healing.
He was a good man, this husband of hers, and the more time she spent with him, the more she learned about him, the more she liked him. She still wished she could see beyond these moments, but visions of him came sparingly.
