Page 16 of Paladin's Hope

To distract himself, he said, “I may not be used to staying on the road instead of at inns, but I learn quickly. Just tell me if I’m about to walk off a cliff or set myself on fire.”

Galen shook his head. “It’s not that,” he said. “This could be dangerous. We may have a murderer, or more than one.”

“As opposed to the city, which is notoriously free of murderers?”

The paladin gave a short huff of laughter. “All right, that’s true enough.”

Slightly offended that Galen thought so little of him, Piper began stripping off his gloves. “I may not be a warrior, or even a guard-gnole, but I’m not completely helpless. People have broken into the morgue before.”

Galen was quiet for a little time, digesting that. Then: “Why would someone break into a morgue?”

“To hide a cause of death. Or in this case to steal the papers where I wrote it down.” Piper shrugged. “They tend to back off when you wave a bonesaw at them.” He kept his voice light and amused, even if the memory made his mouth go dry. The burglar had tried to hit him over the head and Piper knew intimately, even if most people didn’t, just what damage a blow to the head could cause. He’d heard it in time to dodge sideways and then he’d picked up the bonesaw and started screaming and the burglar had panicked and bolted.

He folded his gloves on the crate beside the lamp, and loosened the ties of his shirt. Galen watched him in silence, and Piper had no idea what the man was thinking. He could feel a blush starting to rise. Does he think I’m undressing for him? Did he think I was bragging about the burglar? Am I overthinking this?

“Believe me,” he said, talking to fill the awkward silence, “I’m not going to jump into any fights. You’re the one with the sword. I’m perfectly happy to let you use it while I stand back and wring my hands and worry about infections.”

Galen chuckled. “Don’t worry. The Saint of Steel left us all very hard to kill. I’d much prefer to be the one in front with a sword.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He pulled his shirt off over his head. Not the pants. I guess I’ll just sleep in my pants.

“Anyway,” said Galen, “sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.” He picked up his bedroll and turned toward the back of the wagon.

“You’re sleeping outside?” said Piper. “But I thought—I mean, there’s plenty of room—”

Galen flashed him a quick smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be fine. I’m used to it. Sleeping underneath the wagon keeps the frost off.”

“But it’s still cold…” Piper trailed off as Galen pushed the cloth flap aside, swung himself over the back of the wagon and was gone into the dark.

He stared at the flap for a moment, then quietly finished folding his shirt. Piper blew out the lamp and lay down on his blankets, trying not to feel as if he’d been rejected for something he hadn’t even been offering.

* * *

Galen lay under the wagon and felt like a right bastard.

He’d seen the flash of hurt in Piper’s eyes as he left. The poor man probably thought he’d driven Galen away somehow. Nothing was further from the truth.

Hell, when the doctor bit the index finger of his glove to pull it off, Galen had briefly lost the power of speech. The slide of leather over skin, barely audible, made him want to howl like a dog. It had taken an effort of will to focus on what Piper had been saying, about someone attacking him in the morgue, and then he had been able to focus because he needed to find out who these people were and hunt them down in the streets.

Then the man had started on the shirt, and Saint’s black and bloody tongue, Galen wasn’t made of stone. He’d seen Piper shirtless before, when he’d woken the man up, and the memory of dark hair and smooth muscle was still fresh, but it wasn’t the same as actually watching him undress. There had been absolutely nothing intentionally seductive about those long fingers working the ties on his shirt, and Galen was still rock hard before he’d gotten the first knot untied.

But Galen couldn’t stay. He couldn’t sleep next to a stranger, not without explaining that if he started yelling in his sleep, under no circumstances was Piper to touch him, or even get too close. And that was a conversation that he just didn’t want to have. Not right now. Maybe not ever. Prospective bedmates tended to get very alarmed when they learned that you were capable of horrific violence in your sleep.

Hi, you’re very sexy, incidentally I’m a berserker and if you touch me during a nightmare I’ll break your arm, wanna bone?

His lips twisted. No, that rarely went over well.

Besides, it might not happen. It’s been over a month since the last nightmare. Brindle knew all about it and would handle matters if it happened, but if he didn’t have to explain to Piper that he was, incidentally, sometimes a raving madman, so much the better.

The thing that no one warned you about insanity was how incredibly tedious it was. You were always having to explain yourself and apologize, over and over, and you got so tired of being crazy. And Galen, at least, was always crazy in the same way, so he was just repeating the same explanation over and over.

Not that I particularly want my madness to develop any exciting new manifestations, but Saint’s teeth, it’s tiresome.

He’d gotten better, anyway. Mostly better. Right after the god had died, waking him up during a nightmare would send him into a berserker fit. Fortunately, the Temple of the Rat had taken the liberty of strapping the broken paladins down until they woke from their comas, which had turned out to be providential. After that, Galen had taken to strapping himself down, but the healers got very upset by it and lectured him about nerve damage in his hands. But the nightmares had faded over time, and it went from every night to every few nights, to every few weeks. If someone woke him while he screamed, they’d still probably get a black eye, but the tide didn’t rise and it stopped there. It was…manageable. When the Rat sent Istvhan out after the smooth men, Galen had gone with him and slept in a tent alone, and strangely, that had helped even more.

But he still didn’t feel like explaining this to Piper. Not tonight. Not with the image of the doctor stripping off his gloves still fresh in his brain. Whatever will happen with him will happen. But it would be unconscionable to put someone in danger just because I’d like to get in their pants.

He was doing the right thing, and he knew it. He told himself this four or five times, while picturing those long fingers in vivid detail. Then he got up and took a walk because there was only so much that mortal flesh could bear.

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