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For a moment, he simply watched her. She had fluid movements, so lovely and graceful, and it occurred to him that the sight of her lightened his spirit somehow.

If he could come back from a battle to her sweet face for the rest of his life, he would be a happy man.

Maybe his mother really had been correct; the right woman would change his mind.

He didn’t even really know Maitland, and he’d surely not spent an overly long amount of time with her, but his instincts told him that she was worth knowing.

But there was also the little matter of that unpleasant woman in the keep.

God, what a mess this all was.

“My lady?” he said, making his presence known. “My mother says you have been helping her with the wounded. I would like to personally thank you for your assistance.”

Maitland turned her face to him. Even having been up all night, she still looked lovely.

Somewhere during the night, she’d taken the wimple around her head and rolled it into a strip, using it to tie her hair back tightly, away from the wounds she was working on.

She had dark, shiny hair, and he could see the curls at the end of it, dragging along the floor of the hall as she sat on her bottom.

“It is my pleasure, my lord,” she said, a twinkle in her weary eyes. But that twinkle vanished when she saw the blood on his shoulder, near his neck, and the damaged mail. In fact, there was blood all in his hair and, quickly, she stood up. “You are wounded!”

Thomas put his hand up to the swipe on his shoulder and was about to brush her off as he had his mother, but the look in her eyes stopped the words on his lips. Maybe he wouldn’t brush it off at all.

A little attention from a lovely young woman wouldn’t be such a bad thing… would it?

“Aye,” he said after a moment. “I should probably have it looked at. Can you spare the time?”

Maitland nodded, taking his arm as if he needed her help and directing him towards the hearth where there was an empty space against the wall.

“Sit there,” she said, pointing to the bare wall. “I shall return quickly.”

As she rushed off, Thomas did as he was told.

He made his way over to the spot she had indicated, away from the other wounded but near the hearth so that it was warm and dry.

Wearily, he unfastened his belt and sheath, setting his broadsword on the floor, and removed the assortment of daggers he always carried with him into battle, laying each and every one down as well.

The de Wolfe tunic came off, carefully draped on top of the weapons, but his mail coat was under that and with his shoulder increasingly painful, he knew he couldn’t get it off without help.

Just as he looked around to see which of his men around him were the least injured enough to help him with his mail, Maitland suddenly reappeared.

She had a wooden bowl of something steaming in one hand and things to tend the wound in the other. She set everything down against the wall before putting her hands upon Thomas with the intention of pushing him down into a sitting position.

“Please, sit,” she said. “You are simply too tall for me to tend your wound standing up.”

He held out his arms. “I cannot get my coat off without help,” he said. “When I bend over, pull it off.”

There had been rare occasions when Maitland had helped her husband dress, so she was somewhat familiar with the process.

Taking hold of Thomas’ mail sleeves as he bent over, she began to pull.

As he shimmied a bit, she tugged on the sleeves, eventually pulling the mail right over his head.

It was heavy and dirty, and he took it from her quickly, handing it off to a nearby servant to have it cleaned.

The last thing to come off was his padded tunic, sweaty and bloody, and he tossed it on top of his de Wolfe tunic.

“There,” he said, sitting heavily against the wall. “I surrender to your capable hands, my lady.”

Maitland heard his words… sort of. The man had just stripped down to his naked torso and, for a moment, she was dumbstruck.

Having been married once, she’d seen a man naked before.

Henry wasn’t shy about parading around with no clothing, but he’d had rather skinny legs and a large gut, which Maitland had never found attractive.

In fact, she’d made a point of avoiding looking at Henry when he’d stripped off his clothing.

But with Thomas…

Looking at the man’s bare chest made her feel faint and flushed.

It wasn’t just any bare chest; it was muscular and firm, with a few scars, and a soft matting of dark hair over it.

His shoulders were enormous, including the muscles that adjoined his neck.

It was into the muscle on the left side that the sword had carved into the flesh, and she could see the dark and caked blood around it.

But with all of that staring, mesmerized by the sight, she suddenly realized she hadn’t taken a breath and she gulped air like a landed fish.

Thomas looked up with concern when he heard her gasp. “Is anything wrong, my lady?” he asked.

Feeling embarrassed that she’d been caught studying the man, Maitland quickly shook her head and knelt down beside him, next to the steaming bowl and the other things she’d brought.

“Nay,” she said. “I was just thinking of… your wound. It may be beyond my capabilities. I should send for your mother. Surely she has tended more of these than I have.”

Thomas waved her off. “I have faith in you,” he said. “Just clean out the debris and stitch it. I will heal.”

“But you say this so casually. I can see that you have other scars, so is this usual for you? Wounds like this, I mean.”

He nodded. “It is nothing,” he said. “You can do this. I know you can.”

Maitland appreciated his confidence in her, but she was rather worried.

Timidly, she leaned in to his shoulder to get a better look, touching his flesh as she did so.

His skin was hot and smooth, and the moment she touched him, she felt her stomach lurch in a most wonderful way.

To gaze upon the man was one thing, but to touch him… it was entirely another.

Her fingers were warm and gentle as she touched the skin around the wound, inspecting the gash to see just how bad it was.

All she could think about was his searing flesh beneath her hand, and so very near her face, and she resisted the urge to lick him.

God, she would have liked nothing better at that moment than to lick him.

To taste him .

Long ago, when she first married Henry, he’d managed to arouse her once or twice before the dislike between them grew.

She’d liked the feel of a man upon her, his body embedded within her.

She thought she’d lost the ability to be aroused by a man but, clearly, she hadn’t.

Thomas had unwittingly brought it out in her.

It was a startling realization.

Taking a deep breath, she struggled to focus, turning to her steaming bowl, which was really a bowl containing boiled water with wine mixed with it.

As Lady de Wolfe had told her, the wine kept away the poison, so Maitland went about washing out the wound with the hot water and wine, using a soaked rag to rinse it out and rinse it again.

The mixture rolled down Thomas’ chest and back as she cleaned, but he didn’t move, nor did he complain.

He simply sat there, as still as stone, and let her work.

“See?” he said. “You are doing an excellent job already. I have had a good many battle wounds, so I know. You are doing quite well.”

Maitland smiled, a humorless gesture. “You are being kind,” she said. “I will be truthful– up until this evening, I have never tended a wounded man.”

“Your husband did not have an army?”

She shook her head, concentrating on removing a piece of mail that had been jabbed down into the wound. “Henry had a few soldiers, but nothing that could be considered an army,” she said. “He came from an old and distinguished family, the House of de Bowland, but his father was a bastard.”

“Is that so?”

She nodded. “He changed his name to Bowlin.”

Thomas thought on that. “I know the House of de Bowland,” he said. “From Lancashire.”

“It is,” she said, removing the offending piece of mail and dropping it on the ground. “Henry had very little and whatever he had, he inherited from his father.”

“Then if he had so little, why did your father allow you to marry him?”

Maitland’s movements slowed as she reached for a large pair of tweezers, debating just how much to tell him. “Several reasons,” she said as she returned to picking out the last bits of debris from his shoulder. “Female children can become a burden if not married at the proper age.”

“Did your father tell you that you were a burden?”

She plucked out a tiny piece of something, tossing it aside. “He cursed the fact that I was not born male,” she said. “I suppose that meant I was a burden. When Henry made the offer for me, my father took it immediately. Mayhap he was afraid that I would never have another offer.”

Thomas frowned. “You?” he said, incredulous. “With your beauty and accomplishments? Your father is a fool, Mae. He could have commanded a very high price for you had he only been patient.”

She suddenly stopped and Thomas turned his head to look at her, to see why she had paused. She was simply sitting there, staring at him, a hint of warmth and delight flickering in her brick-brown eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Maitland shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. “But you… you called me Mae.”

Thomas thought she looked rather pleased that he had and it fed his boldness. “Did I?” he said. “Des said I could. You heard him. If you have issue with me addressing you as Mae, then you’ll have to take it up with him.”

Her smile broke through at his defiance. “I have no issue with it,” she said. “You may call me Mae.”

He grinned. “Good,” he said. “Because I like the name. I shall call you it often.”