Page 54

His eyes drop to my stockinged legs, and his mouth falls open. As soon as he regains his wits, he whirls around.

I glance down, remembering I ditched my skirts before I leaped into the tree.

At some point after my fall, Henrik covered me with his cloak, but I dislodged it when I crawled back.

The soldier tugs it back up now, protecting my modesty. It’s not like theimportantareas aren’t covered by my bloomers—they are. But I imagine I do look a bit shocking.

“Bartholomew,” Henrik says. “Go fetch our horses.”

“Are you all…” He gulps. “Are you all right?”

“We’re fine,” Henrik reassures him.

When the young man hurries away, I turn to Henrik, my embarrassment temporarily forgotten. “You weren’t crushed in the fall. I thought…it looked like…”

I turn away, quickly blinking back belated tears. The whole thing was a bit of a shock, I suppose.

“I leaped off before we hit the ground,” he answers solemnly.

“Poor creature,” Pranmore says, rising to go to the aynauth.

“If you manage to revive that beast, I will gladly let it eat you,” Henrik warns.

I snort out a laugh, but suddenly tears are spilling over my cheeks.

“What’s wrong with me?” I try to laugh as I swipe at the tears, but there’s no hiding my distress.

We’re all fine, and the monster is dead. But I keep replaying the events in my head—I keep seeing Henrik falling with the aynauth.

“It’s normal,” Henrik says. “The first few battles are the worst.”

“I didn’t cry over the vultures,” I point out.

The soldier chuckles—a low, fully amused sound that makes the tears flow harder.

Hesitantly, he wraps an arm around my shoulders and tugs me into a side hug. It’s a friendly gesture, one of camaraderie.

“You did well,” he says gruffly. “I’ve worked with many men who don’t execute orders as quickly or efficiently as you did.”

Finally feeling as if the tears are ebbing, I give Henrik a sideways look. “Is that a compliment? Do you know how to give those?”

“About as well as I joke.”

I laugh, turning to face him. He smiles, and I smile back, perhaps both of us sensing we’re entering a tentative truce.

Unfortunately, I also realize how much I like Henrik touching me. His arm is warm around my bare shoulders, and he’s a little too appealing when he’s friendly.

I have the strongest urge to crawl onto his lap and press a kiss to his smiling lips. Would he return it, or would he push me away?

Would he be horrified, or would his fingers press possessively into my sides as he claimed my mouth with relish?

Henrik frowns. “How are you feeling? You took quite a fall.”

“Still a little dazed.” Before I’m tempted to do something stupid, I pull away from his friendly embrace.

“Where did you leave your skirts?” he asks matter-of-factly—a sentence that would be too much for most men to utter with a straight face.

“Just above the stairs,” I answer, waving to the building I used to get into the tree. “There’s no way I could have climbed the tree in them.”