Page 33 of My Warrior
But Holden’s shuddering gradually slowed, then ceased. His body was cooling. He would live.
Cambria’s own body was suddenly racked with sobs of relief, and she struggled to conceal them from her clansmen as she hauled the Wolf back out of the water and onto the bank. Quivering with cold, she peered down at the man cradled helplessly against her and bit out a self-denigrating oath, forcing herself to admit the sad truth.
She wasn’t a killer. She had the skills, the chivalry, the spirit of a soldier. But she wasn’t ruthless enough to be a killer. Her enemy lay helpless in the palm of her hand, and yet she couldn’t let him die. She could almost imagine her father clucking his tongue and shaking his head at her soft heart.
Her strength spent, she struggled to move Holden off of her. Jamie and Graham, at last snapping out of their amazed stupor, helped her pull him back to the litter. She dried him and wrapped him again in the blanket.
“You saved the bastard’s life,” Jamie said in wonder.
“Aye,” she agreed with a shiver, irony curving her lips. She was exhausted. Her skirts would be icicles by morning. But she’d saved his life. “God grant that he last the night.” She added under her breath, “He owes me as much.”
A strange bird call woke Cambria. When Jamie mimicked the sound, she realized it was a signal. Shortly after, Robbie returned to camp, announcing that reinforcements were arriving and gloating over the fact that a band of English knights from Bowden Castle had been apprehended by the Scots.
“Good.” She’d had an idea that loyal Sir Guy would ignore her warning. “Now we have more hostages to bargain with.”
Plans were made to gather at midmorning in the field below Blackhaugh. Robbie, Jamie, and Graham set out to join the rebels in the forest, leaving Cambria to guard the prisoner.
She squinted into the rising sun, ran a grimy hand through her hair, and moved to check on the Englishman. Looking down hopefully at the slumbering knight, she realized that his face was at last peaceful, his brow untroubled, his breathing slow and even. Welcome drops of sweat rolled down his forehead and neck. The fever had broken at last. Thank God, he was going to live.
She loosed him from the tree, but bound his wrists together before him. There were just the two of them now. She couldn’t afford to take chances.
As she began the ritual of changing his bandage, Cambria suddenly felt him staring at her. She slowly lifted her gaze until their eyes met. Her heart lurched like a whipped ox. His stare was still glazed with pain, but it was no longer vacant.
With effort, he parted his lips, croaking a single word. “Water.”
She dipped a clean rag in the stream and held it to his lips. He chewed on it a few times, and then turned away in disgust.
“More,” he said.
She tossed down the rag, then added water to the bit of wine in her goatskin pouch and crouched behind him. Her heart beating erratically, she reached under his heavy head to support it while she helped him drink. He groaned at the pain of movement as he tried to gulp down the sweet refreshment.
“Easy,” she advised.
He clutched the bag with his bound hands, ignoring her words.
“Easy!”
They battled with the pouch, but in the end, his sapped strength was no match for hers, and he was forced to take the meager sips she allowed.
After he’d drunk, he continued to stare at her with emotionless eyes, eyes that made her feel strangely guilty.
“What happened?” he asked.
“You were wounded,” she replied, lowering her gaze and busying herself with his covers. “You’re lucky to be alive. A blade slipped through that flaw in your mail I warned you about.”
He was silent for a beat, properly chided. “Where are we?”
“Near Blackhaugh,” she said with deliberate pride, expecting an outburst from him. “I’m going to reclaim my castle. The renegades fight by my side, and we have you for a hostage.”
Holden closed his eyes and had surprisingly little to say. “You trust the men who deserted you?”
Damn him. He sounded just like her father. How dare he question her judgment?
“Garth will give you Blackhaugh without a fight,” he conceded. “But you won’t hold it long.”
“You can’t know that!” she snapped. She didn’t want to admit it, but his words seemed eerily prophetic.
Holden said no more, and Cambria, vindictive but not cruel, offered him some cheese and bread. He ate slowly. His mouth was doubtless still dry from the fever.
