THE AFTERMATH
The next day, Amabel and Glenna set to work. After a night passed comfortably in the nearby town, she and her companion rode to the flat piece of land where the battle had been fought. She looked around the healer's tent with distaste.
“This place is a slaughterhouse.”
The physician was oddly silent. Amabel had given him a horrid look when she first entered, and she felt she had managed to quash him. She had the suspicion it was more the shock of having a non-male person intrude in his personal domain that did the quashing almost as much as her look alone. No matter – she didn't mind what it was. He was mute and that was enough.
Or, as someone might say, he's haulding his whist.
She chuckled to herself. Glenna was at her shoulder.
“Glenna, we're staying on.”
Glenna sounded enthused. “Yes, milady. What's happening?”
As Amabel surveyed the tent she found orders springing to her as she saw what needed to be done. She had never known she contained such a natural authority, but apparently she did.
“We need to move that bed out from in the sun. Gracious! However, that man will fry if he lies there much longer. He can't move himself. In addition, we need to put a poultice on that burn. And will someone please wash that table, the stench is appalling.”
As she snapped out orders, she was amazed to see them being followed. Three men who had apparently been better healed or who were here visiting started to shift the stretcher from under the tent's edging. Glenna ran to tend the man whose wounds inflicted by the cautery were raw and oozing. A knight came to wash the table.
She herself turned to Rufus. “How many of these men can walk?”
Rufus looked at her as if she had spoken in German. Then he shrugged. “Men?”
A few heads stared out.
“Yes?”
“How many of you can stand. Just try and stay standing when you manage.”
Amabel blinked. That was simple but smart. She turned her attention to the ones who couldn't move. She winced, seeing a man who had massive wounds on his arm. She bent down to look at the injury, holding her breath at the smell of raw flesh.
I am glad that my mother always kept me informed.
She had seen wounds before and heard her mother's descriptions of the wounds that followed skirmishes and clashes on their lands. None of this was new to her, for which she was grateful. She reached into her basket for a bread poultice.
“Here,” she said gently, as she applied it to raw and bleeding cuts. “It may hurt but hold it on.”
The soldier, who she was surprised to see was even younger than herself, nodded. “Thank you, ma'am.”
Amabel smiled. “Not at all. Now, we'll bind that on. Hold still now.”
She worked busily, tying on poultices and overseeing the tent as she did so. She ordered water dispensed to all the men and told the three who sat around the worst-afflicted man's place to help them drink.
“Observe how to hold it,” she said, illustrating with a man closest to her, who was flat on his back, unable to sit up fully. “Hold it so the man can sip. Don't submerge him.”
Harsh laughs echoed round the room and Amabel smiled. It was so much better in here than it had been when she had arrived. In the place of raw suffering were chuckles.
I think we can make things better in here.
She saw how Glenna sat with a young man who seemed to have a broken bone in his forearm. She watched her wet his hair and try to question him, to find out whether he had a fever. She thought he likely did.
“Glenna?”
“Yes, milady?”
“Willowbark's on the table.”
Amabel watched her friend nod and she found she was smiling.
I am enjoying this.
It was the last thing she would ever have planned, to find joy working in a field infirmary, but the happiness lifted her.
She was busy holding a man against her chest, trying to ease the pain in his head, which was badly bruised and likely needed a compress to help the swelling, when she heard someone cough.
“Yes?” she said.
“Milady?” someone said humbly.
“What?” she said, knowing who spoke without looking as his voice echoed in the marrow of her and flowed through her heart like warmth.
“You have noticed it's late? Please, stop for some broth.”
Amabel sighed. She looked up and noticed that the field was orange with low sunshine. It must be past four in the afternoon and she hadn't had any lunch. She turned to the man and tried to ease him up.
“Here. We'll sit you up like this,” she said, reaching for a roll of spare bedclothes. She was glad they were at least well-stocked.
She stood, sliding off the wickerwork.
“I am a bit weary,” she admitted. In truth, she was almost collapsing. Her mind pulsed and she had to shake her head to clear her eyes.
She felt a hand on her shoulder and noticed absently that she was being guided towards a chair. She wanted to find the strength to object but, somehow, she was suddenly drained. She allowed the strong, firm hand to press her, unresisting, toward the seat in the center of the room. She sighed.
“I am a bit tired,” she murmured, covering her eyes with a weary hand.
“I'm certain of't,” the familiar voice growled. “Now, eat. Here.”
Amabel tried to push away the bowl he held, but he thrust it toward her and, to her surprise, pressed a ladle to her mouth.
“Please, my lady,” he said. “You are starved.”
Amabel sighed. “I'm weary, yes. Nevertheless, I don't recall becoming too soft in the head to hold a spoon to my own mouth. Thank you,” she added as he passed her the spoon. She heard a canvas creak and realized he had settled on the stool.
She looked up at two big eyes watching her. She laughed. “I am sorry,” she said.
“No,” he whispered. “No. You must never be sorry. I cannot believe you...” he trailed off, shaking his head with amazement.
“You can't believe I'm sitting here in an innkeeper's dress with farmhand boots on, up to my arms in body fluids?”
He shook his head as she replied and she laughed.
“No, milady,” he said. “I can't believe you wanted to come.”
She felt his words flow into her and touch her feelings. She coughed. She was not going to cry.
“Of course I came,” she said harshly. “What was I supposed to do? Wait about wailing and thinking you departed? In the realm of the heavenly singers?”
He laughed. “They don't want me, milady.”
Amabel grinned despite her tension. “I can imagine not.”
He grinned at her. “No choir wants me.”
“I can imagine.”
They both chuckled. In the background, Amabel caught sight of the priest and hoped he would just ignore them. She was happy. She didn't want anyone to move her along.
“You're staying here?” he asked her. He had passed her the bowl and Amabel sat with it in one hand, tasting it with the other.
“Mm. Yes, I am,” she said, swallowing the thick stew. “In the town.”
“In the town!” He stared, unbelieving.
“What?” she said, feeling amused.
“You cannot do that!”
She sighed. “Why ever not? I have means. I have a chaperone even.” She waved a hand at a slight dark-haired woman.
He sighed. She could see he didn't like the thought of her staying alone in the town and it chafed at her as much as it moved her. He shouldn't feel that intense protectiveness toward her – she wasn't some helpless creature, but a woman able to fend for herself.
Even so, she thought, tasting the stew, which was surprisingly satisfactory for a field kitchen – it was nice to have someone watching over her. She would have stayed on much longer than was sensible without him there to make her stop.
“Sir,” she asked, frowning. She suddenly realized she'd not seen to his wounding. She was angry at herself for having overlooked him in the face of all the apparently more wounded around her.
“What?” he asked. He looked up at her with a smile. He looked oddly hesitant and she loved the way his smile turned up at the edge like a hesitant young child stealing out the larder.
“My obsession with cleaning up seems to have made me overlook you,” she said with a smile. “You don't look too badly wounded.”
“No,” he replied to her unspoken entreaty. “I'll mend.”
“I'm going to look at that, later.”
He shot her a look. “It's mending,” he said tightly.
She sighed. “You needn't hide it away,” she said gently. “I've seen worse you know.”
“I'm fine,” he said. “I don't want to make you work too hard. You're drained.”
“No, I'm not,” she said, feeling her impatience blossom. “You will go and sit in the mess tent and let me have a look at that head wound later.”
He looked at her from under those heavy brows. She found herself smiling. He was so attractive that she found it hard not to give in just for the want of that smile.
“You know it'll do better if someone cleans it properly,” she said.
He sighed. “I trust you.”
Amabel felt her heart twist. She reached out for him as his hand touched hers.
His fingers closed around hers as they had in the stairwell, as they had in the dance and that magical night when they had been in the alcove, conversing.
She squeezed his fingers.
“I know,” she said softly. “I trust you.”
He beamed. His eyes lit up and he leaned forward. Amabel tensed. He couldn't very well disgrace her by kissing her here, in the infirmary, in front of everyone...
He sighed and put his right hand to her shoulder. She gripped it. They sat like that, with his breath soft on her face, somehow closer than kissing.
“Come on, you,” she said in a low voice. “I need to see that wound.”
He rolled his eyes but let her stand and push him down to the seat. He sat down and winced as she ran her fingers over the bandage, lightly.
“Rufus,” she murmured. “This is a bad wound.”
He flinched as her fingers slid across what felt like a line down the bone, lightly swollen. A crack.
“I guess it feels like one,” he said in a strained voice. She found herself smiling.
“I'm sure it does,” she said softly. “Now...let's get this unwrapped. I want to check that the wound is properly cleaned. We need to change this anyway,” she added, wrinkling her nose. The bandage was stiff with dried blood.
She heard him hiss sharply with pain as she unwound the bandage and then she was patting down the wound with a wool wad soaked in brandy. He jumped and she felt a stab of guilt.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “I am sure that hurts quite awfully.”
“Couldn't have put it better myself,” he said through a clenched jaw. She chuckled.
“Well, whoever bandaged this did a very good job. I'll just put some wool wadding in to pad it, and give you a fresh bandage now...”
She talked him through it as she worked. Then, when it was done, she turned away. His hand came out to take her wrist. She gasped, feeling the warm, firm pressure of his fingers tightening around her arm.
“Sir..!” Her voice was breathless. She could pretend to be affronted as much as she liked – in truth there was, along with the affront, a soft excitement growing deep within her.
“Forgive me,” he said as he drew her round to face him. “I just had to thank you.”
She looked into his eyes. She twisted her wrist in his grasp and he let go. “You don't need to thank me,” she said softly. Her heart was thumping in her chest, quick, fluttering, and intense.
“I do,” he said softly. “You are here. It's...it's a blessing.”
His eyes were on hers, warm and full of emotions so complex she could barely fathom them. She felt her heart tense with longing and then he stood. He took her in his arms and to her astonishment his mouth descended over hers.
She felt her heart thump in her chest as his tongue explored her mouth. He drew her against his chest and she felt her own arms tighten around him, holding him close. Her body was shivering as his lips slid on hers, every part of her wound to a pitch of excitement.
He leaned back and looked into her eyes. “My lady,” he whispered. “Forgive me.”
She took his hands, trying to control her breathing. “There isn't anything to forgive,” she whispered back.
He bent forward and kissed her again, lips slipping softly over hers. She wrapped her arms around him and held him close. She was flushed and she could feel her body responding to his, filling with that strange urgency, that rising, growing need.
He stood back and smiled down into her eyes, stroking her hair.
Then Amabel let out a long breath. “I should go,” she said. She stood and wearily levered herself to her feet.
He stood back to let her pass and, very gently, she put her hand on his shoulder.
“Take care,” she said gently. She walked past, blinking back tears she didn't fully understand.