Page 6

Brandth wanted to throw up. Groaning, he struggled to move, groaning again as his head spun, his stomach protesting vigorously. Good Gods, how much mead had he drunk? He couldn’t open his eyes. He must have gotten beyond plastered.

“Keep still.”

The voice was soft, lyrical, but with a terse no nonsense edge. A hand pushing him back down upon the bed. A very welcome cool cloth applied to his forehead.

For a moment Brandth felt fractionally better, his hand drifting off the bed to cup the derriere of his bed partner turned nursemaid. Um, nice, soft, rounded. He wish he could recall what she looked like. But knowing his taste, drunk or sober, she would be stunning, worldly, and enthusiastic. He gave said bottom a grateful squeeze. Only to have his hand slapped away. Ouch.

Another female laughed, the sound coming from the opposite side of the bed. How many women had he entertained last evening? And seriously, Deities above, he needed that memory back right now.

“He’s pretty and handsy.”

The voice that belonged to that laugh was ragged with age.

“Reminds me of my third… no, my fourth husband.”

“What….?”

Finally, Brandth managed to speak. Was he ill? He thought perhaps he might be. And just where was he? His leg ached something fierce, his head hurt and his stomach still rumbled in rebellion. Ugh.

“Get him to drink this.”

“I’m a little busy, perhaps you could…”

That voice again, sweet and pure of tone.

“You chose to stay and help instead of attending the wedding, this would be you helping. I have a dressing to change and a poultice to mix. I’m putting you in charge of pretty boy.”

“Oorfff.”

The hissing sound in reply was equal parts frustration and exasperation. With eyelids still welded shut for some unknown reason, Brandth was aware of the lyrically voiced woman bending low over him. Her scent filling his nostrils; honey, vanilla and jasmine. She lifted his head, thankfully very gently, placing a pillow under it before resting a cup against his lips.

“Drink this.”

By the nine circles of hell, that stuff smelt vile. Whatever was in that cup, Brandth wanted nothing to do with it. Smashing his lips together in a rebellious firm tight line. No liquid would be getting past as long as he was capable of drawing breath.

“Honestly?”

Hah, take that purveyor of stinky cups of swamp juice. You shall not find Lord Brandth De’Luca a helpless target. He’d only just completed that thought when fingers clasped his nose, closing his nostrils… what the… ah, hell, the liquid that was hastily poured down his throat tasted of dead things that had been brought back to life, only to die again three days later.

“Argh.”

He gulped the contents of a new cup pressed against his lips, clean cool water doing its best to drive away the taste of the first cupful of swamp liquid.

Ugh, Brandth lay there, exhausted, blind, his mouth tasting like he’d licked a funk toad, wondering which of the Gods he had offended recently. Perhaps all of them, considering his situation.

The only thing that could make matters worse would be… his stomach rumbled again. He didn’t blame it, but nor did he like the idea of having a second taste of that vile liquid as it exited his body. Determinedly Brandth attempted to quell his guts. Nope, his guts refused to be quelled. This was happening, his head spinning in a painful throbbing manner. His stomach heaving.

Now those fingers had a firm pinch on his lips.

“Oh, no you don’t.”

The tide rose but had nowhere to go but back down once more, leaving a second coating on Brandth’s tongue and throat.

“Ugh. Ah, cruddy hell.”

“Sip this.”

Water once more, cool, refreshing. Brandth tried not to gulp it.

A firm hand tapping his shoulder.

“Just remain still. It will pass, and your stomach will settle soon.”

“I beg to differ. If I’d had a choice between a quick death and that vile concoction, I would have cheerfully chosen door number one.”

“Heavens, you do put on a production, don’t you? It’s a wonder you do not make your living on the stage.”

That lyrical voice tinged with nothing but exasperation.

“And you are a heinous, uptight, harridan of a woman.”

Brandth accused.

“I expect everyone says so.”

“Yes, they probably do. But no one has been brave enough to say it to my face before.”

Tone as dry as the desert now.

Brandth reached up, yanking away the cloth covering his forehead, determinedly trying to pry his eyelids apart. Ow, he’d only managed a glimmer but the light in the room seared in to his already throbbing skull, causing the pain to escalate so that it felt like someone was actively stabbing him.

“Cruddy hell, why does the light hurt so very much?”

His hand promptly slapped away, the cloth replaced surprisingly gently, covering his forehead and now his eyes.

“You hit your head when you fell. It can make you a little sensitive to things such as light and sound for a while. Just relax and don’t try to force things. Give the medicine a chance to work.”

Brandth chose to comply, what choice did he have? After a few minutes he was pleased that the stabbing in his head had retreated to a dull distant throb, his stomach was calm and the ache in his leg had all but disappeared.

“Where am I? What happened? How badly am I injured? And where’s Talac?”

“You’re in the Lair infirmary. During the chaos of today’s hunt, you were thrown from your horse-”

“That idiot Elliot and his cronies doing their silly jig.”

The memories snapped back into place.

“And that momma boar tearing through them. I remember now.”

“That’s a good sign. You were thrown from your horse, hitting your head, and breaking your leg.”

Damn, a person could still die of a broken leg, or be left with a serious impairment if the healers were poor practitioners.

“And my diagnosis?”

“You’ll mend and be exactly as you were.”

Something about that voice had Brandth believing her reassurances.

“And Talac, the Captain of my Guard? I would have thought he’d be close by. He wasn’t hurt, was he?”

“Not at all. He has other duties to perform.”

“What could be more important than sitting by my sickbed, fetching me blankets, fresh water, and a chamber pot when I am in need?”

“Acting as best man at the wedding of Master Kinnith and Gretani.”

“Talac? Best man? At a wedding? Where there’s singing, dancing, and people having fun? Now that is a surprise. Oh, well, I suppose in his absence you’ll do.”

“I’ll do what?”

“Fetch me things. See to my comfort.”

“I have better things to do than hover by your bedside acting as your personal slave.”

“Personal slave. That has a lovely ring to it.”

Brandth was feeling better by the minute. Although he had no desire to move and jostle his lower limb. Or remove the blindfold and be stabbed in the eyes by the light. But he found himself enjoying needling his bossy nursemaid perhaps more than he should.

“There are bandages to fold. Elixirs to mix. Other patients I need to check on. And another million other little things that need to be done.”

“Ah, but you’re not responsible for all those duties right now, are you? I distinctly heard your… superior tell you to look after the pretty boy. That would be me, unless I have competition from one of my bed mates? Tell me, sweet harridan, is there someone here prettier than I?”

That hissing sound came again, part frustration, part exasperation. This female was like an angry cat when you provoked her. And for some strange reason Brandth enjoyed hearing that sound.

“I shall take your silence on the subject as a no. Now… do you have a name, or shall I just call you nurse harridan?”

“That would be healer harridan to you.”

“Oh, forgive me, healer, but would you honour this poor humble soul by imparting your name?”

The scoffing sound that followed was all exasperation without an iota of amusement.

“Perri. My name is Perri.”

“Perri? Lovely. Now let’s start with you fluffing my pillows. Then perhaps a cup of tea would be in order to wash away the lingering taste of that most foul medicine. Then I’d-”

“Lord De’Luca-”

“I insist you call me Brandth. After all, you and I it appears will be spending a lot of quality time together.”

“Brandth.”

Once more Perri’s tone couldn’t have been drier.

“Your pillows are fine. And we are short on staff currently, what with the wedding. I have other patients to attend. I’ll bring you some tea shortly, after I have seen to their needs.”

Brandth heard the rustle of material as she stood up. He didn’t want Perri to leave his side just yet, enjoying sparring with her too much. Her voice was admittedly lovely, a joy to listen to in fact. But for some reason he found himself craving hearing those waspish terse prim tones of hers just as much.

Surprised as a gentle hand came down to rest on his shoulder for a brief second, giving him a reassuring pat.

“I won’t be far away. Just call out if you require anything.”

The hollow feeling in his gut as she departed surprised Brandth. He felt strangely… abandoned, even though he had merely been teasing and idly passing the time with her.

With nothing to do but lie still and listen, he felt marginally better as Perri’s lyrical tones drifted over to him as she saw to the comfort of other patients. No exasperation or frustration tinging her tone. No dry as a desert put downs. No hissing sighs. Only sweetness and light.

Interesting, it appeared only he brought out the healer harridan side of her nature with his mere existence. And for some bizarre reason that pleased Brandth, the hollow feeling in his gut dissipating.

* * *

Perri was procrastinating. Elixirs were mixed. Temperatures taken and recorded. The bandages folded away neatly. And the swept floor so clean Master Healer Mary could have performed surgery on it. Yet still Perri found herself reluctant to return to Lord De’Luca’s… Brandth’s bedside.

Though that hadn’t stopped her gaze from incessantly drifting in that direction. Just to check on him. Not because he was so pretty. Which he was. With his straight nose, full lips, strong jaw and that waterfall of wheat gold hair falling messily down to his shoulders. His chest broad, but not too broad. He was tall, but not worryingly so. His limbs muscular and toned.

With a droll sense of humour and an infectious smile, it was clear he made friends easily. But that smile of his, it only roused Perri’s anger. Pretty men, in Perri’s experience, were the least trustworthy of the entire gender.

Spoilt from the cradle by doting mothers and nursemaids, they seemed to think their looks somehow entitled them to all the bounties life had to offer. They saw no wrong in misdirection, outright lying or placing the blame on innocents’ shoulders to get their way.

Perri, once upon a time, had been no better than everyone else, naively believing that a man’s looks reflected his true heart and nature. Even now she winced at how appallingly stupid and childish she had been. Though she’d paid for her foolishness ten times over and a thousand times every day since.

A man could share a joke with you, flatter, and quote poetry; words of love and adoration spilling from his beautiful lips like a golden waterfall of cascading honey. But words were useless if they had no substance. If they were nothing but a web of lies.

Actions. Deeds. They were what mattered. Never again would Perri be blinded by mere beauty. She had sworn an oath to herself ten years ago, encasing her heart in flash fired iron. Never again would she be idiotic enough to gift it to a pretty man.

Though perhaps it was unfair to taint Brandth with the same brush as… him. Admittedly Perri had been a little brusque in her treatment of her newest charge. Bordering on the terse. So unlike her. It seems Lord De’Luca brought out the worst in her.

She would try to do better from now on. Treat him like she did every other patient that came through those arched doors in pain and discomfort. She would be serene and she would be even-tempered, just like she normally acted.

With that in mind Perri fetched tea, serving several of the more mobile patients first before returning to Brandth’s bed located at the far end of the chamber.

“Tea, at last. I’m beyond parched and can still, unfortunately, taste that vile medicine.”

The man had canny senses, he’d been listening for her footsteps she surmised. Sitting in the chair beside his bed Perri contemplated the logistics.

“Perhaps if I were to bring a few more pillows you could sit up slightly and serve yourself.”

“I fear my head aches too much, and my limbs feel as weak as those of a newborn kitten. May I suggest instead you sit here beside me.”

Brandth patted the bed.

“And I shall lean against your pillowy soft bosom whilst you hold the cup and I sip from it?”

“I would be undeserving of such an honour.”

Perri fought hard for serenity, for calm. Lord Brandth De’Luca thought he was so charming and funny.

“We have an orderly, Jerimiah, stout lad, heart of gold, brave in the face of danger. He would be much more worthy of your esteemed offer. Shall I call him over?”

“Ahhh, let’s not disturb this paragon of an orderly. Add some more pillows you say?”

Perri fetched two more pillows and cognizant of his lordship’s recent injuries gently raised his head and shoulders slightly higher. At one point he muttered something, but she wasn’t sure if she heard him right.

“Did you say you wished for honey in your tea?”

“I’m fond of honey, or certainly becoming a convert, but for the moment I’m sure the tea is fine.”

Whilst he took an appreciative sip Perri dipped the cloth covering his forehead and closed eyes in fresh cold water, wringing it out before replacing it.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Having served Brandth his tea it seemed silly to sit here and just watch the man purse those sensual lips and gulp it down. Perhaps the floors could use another sweeping.

“Don’t go.”

He must have heard the rustle of her dress as she began to rise. Sinking back down, Perri sighed.

“Was there something else you needed?”

“A break from doing nothing but listening to myself breathe. Tell me, how are the gentlemen who were hurt?”

“All are doing reasonably well. Healer Mary is pleased with their progress.”

“Really? Even Molphs? I could have sworn I saw the man gored in the chest.”

“Master Molphs is our most direly injured patient, but all the hunt parties are sent out accompanied by a lay healer. Thanks to their actions and getting him back to the Lair quickly so Master Healer Mary could attend him, there is no reason he should not recover.”

“This place, the Lair, as you refer to it. It’s part of Baron Gloomenthrall’s holdings?”

“We maintain close ties with the Keep, but his Lordship does not rule these grounds.”

“Huh? That seems… unusual.”

“Perhaps to you. But it’s all we’ve ever known here. Now, if there’s nothing else, I should be-”

“Wait.”

Brandth’s hand reached out searchingly, cannily grabbing hold of Perri’s. How had he done that effectively blindfolded? His hand warm, his hold firm but not hurting her. Heavens, when was the last time anyone had voluntarily touched her? Automatically Perri yanked her hand away, rubbing absently at the back of her hand where the skin strangely tingled.

“Don’t go yet. It’s not like I can read to pass the time. Please, just a few more minutes of your time.”

Master Healer Mary had requested Perri care specifically for this patient, she would be failing in your job if she neglected him. Settling back down in her seat, Perri found herself staring at Brandth’s hand, the one that had touched her. It was lying on the bed, palm up, callouses and scars marring the skin. This was not an idle man, for all his languid airs. He rode often and was trained in weaponry. It must be hard for him to be ill, to be effectively tied to this bed.

Still, Perri found herself surprisingly restless. Her? Restless? She was renowned for her tranquillity. Yet, she had to fight the urge to fidget.

“Would you like me to freshen your tea?”

At least that would give her a credible excuse to leave his side.

“No. This has been sufficient. Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

“Me?”

She couldn’t have been more shocked if Brandth had asked for her hand in marriage.

“Why would you want to know anything about me?”

“I like hearing people’s stories.”

Yes, she just bet he did. Making it easier for Brandth to manipulate others. The poor na?ve idiots, tripping all over themselves to spill the details of their meagre existence to such a golden god who blessed them merely by showing some passing interest. Perri would not fall for his games.

“I told you my name. You know I have healing skills and work here. What more is there to know?”

“Do you enjoy your work?”

“It’s very satisfying.”

Short and to the point.

“What led you to take up such a career?”

“Witnessing people I care for in great pain. I chose never to feel that helpless again.”

Determinedly Perri pushed away memories that threatened to shred her composure and sanity.

“Admirable.”

“Not really.”

She neither wanted nor needed this man’s approval or admiration.

“Everyone here at the Lair contributes. Stable hands. Hunters. Bakers. Tanners. Blacksmiths. Gardeners. It’s my privilege to contribute in any small way that might help others.”

“Just so. Though there must be a way to make the medicine taste less vile?”

“We do so… for children.”

Brandth chuckled, a warm masculine sound that echoed around the large infirmary chamber.

“That’s put me in my place.”

Surprisingly he appeared amused to be the butt of her put down. Nor did it seem to discourage him.

“What about your spare time? How do you fill it?”

“I practice my stitches for sewing wounds. I seek out and gather plants that make up our elixirs and medicines. And I teach several classes for those interested in learning more about healing.”

“None of that sounds particularly… restful.”

“Perhaps not to you, but I like to keep busy, feel useful.”

“I find you rather unique and intriguing Healer Perri.”

“I can’t think why. I’m only one of a number of healers who work here, there is neither anything unique or intriguing about me.”

“And yet, you may count me amongst your devotees now. Of which, no doubt given your lyrical voice and soft hands… when you aren’t forcing medicine down a man’s throat… I believe there must be a legion.”

Perri made a scoffing sound. No doubt he thought she should be flattered by his words, his attention. But that’s all they were, worthless words.

“I would know what you look like.”

“Excuse me?”

He had all Perri’s attention suddenly.

“Between my aching head and this blindfold, I’m forced to surmise that the packaging that matches that voice is grace and beauty personified. No doubt many a suitor had written poetry to honour your sweet lips and bewitching eyes.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong, Lord De’Luca. I am… plain beyond measure.”

Gods, why was she still sitting here participating in this ridiculous conversation about her looks. The only poems Perri ever featured in anymore were those created by the children, who made her the star of their rhyming tales. The Monster of Gloomenthrall. It didn’t have quite the same respectful ring to it that Alia’s Beast title heralded.

“I shall be the judge of that… hmmmm, I’m beginning to feel surprisingly sleepy… you put something in my tea, didn’t you?”

“Yes. Just a small sleeping aid.”

“Bossy. A harridan. And now, sneaky… intriguing.”

Between one breath and the next the man was asleep. Perri could have dropped to her knees and sent up a prayer of gratitude right then and there. Absently reaching up to double check that the scarf covering her face was tucked tightly into the high neck of her grey dress.

She’d gotten over how she looked many years ago… yet the idea of Brandth’s reaction when he eventually would set eyes upon her made Perri feel a little ill. She was used to small children and newcomers to the Lair initially recoiling at the sight of her. She had learnt to deal with that. Be especially careful and gentle with them until they got to know her. And understood that whilst she might look like a monster, she was not one. Their reaction to her scars only… natural. But why then did the idea of Brandth flinching at the sight of her cause Perri’s stomach to curdle?

Ridiculous. His opinion of her looks should not matter. No doubt if he ever caught sight of her, he’d gasp in shock before beating a hasty retreat, not wanting Perri to taint his pretty perfect world.

Hah, her in Lord Brandth De’Luca’s world, what a preposterous concept. He was a titled Lord. Heir to a Barony. Wealthy, garrulous, elegant and so very handsome. She was a healer. Her clothes plain and practical. Kind, but reserved in manner, and so very scarred.

Still, as she moved around the chamber performing her duties, Perri couldn’t shake the strangest idle curiosity that took hold of her. Thanks to helping care for Brandth upon his arrival, cutting away his trousers, and other muddy clothes, she knew every scar, every freckle that decorated his body. He had no need of padding in the shoulders of his tunic. Nor did he hide a girdle beneath the waistband of his trousers. Physically, the man had no secrets from her, except one… the colour of his eyes.

It was beyond silly to wonder if they were blue, or dark. Mentally she berated herself for dwelling on the subject. Besides, it wouldn’t matter how beautiful they no doubt were, the only thing that would be of concern would be the look in Brandth’s eyes when he finally caught sight of her… horror.