Apparently he was in too much pain to argue the point more, for he simply nodded once, giving her his permission to send the others away so that she might see to his needs.
It took but little time to ensure she had what she required by way of herbs, wine, and water, both for poultices and to give him to drink as medicine, as well as bandages for wrapping any broken bones he might have sustained. With a few murmured instructions to Edmee, Bernard, and the other two retainers not to disturb them until morning unless called upon, Alissende saw them ushered from the tent and tied the flap closed.
Then she faced Damien again, her hands upon her hips.
“Before aught else, you should take a draught of healing powders in wine. It will aid with the pain.” As she spoke, she strode over to the chest of herbs Edmee had retrieved for her, measuring out some yarrow and comfrey for healing bruises and knitting broken bones, and stirring them into a cup of wine. “It would taste better warmed with honey, perhaps, but I do not think it would be wise for you to wait longer to drink it.”
In answer, Damien held out his hand for the cup, grimacing after he quaffed its contents. “The cure may be worse than the injury, lady.”
“You’d be wise to accustom yourself to it,” she retorted, hiding her smile as she took the empty cup from him and turned to gather up the rest of what she would need to dress his wounds.
“Why?”
“Because you will be taking a dose of it twice each day until you have healed.”
“We will revisit that later, when I am feeling stronger,” he said, reaching up to touch the gash on his brow. “On the morrow, perhaps, when I am readying to pummel your cousin to within an inch of his miserable life.”
“You cannot be serious!”
Damien glanced at her again, wincing at the quick movement before he answered, “And you cannot be harboring sympathies for him still, after all he’s done, Alissende.”
“Nay,” she retorted hotly. “I would delight to see him humbled on the field or elsewhere. What I mean is that you cannot intend to still compete in the tournament tomorrow in your condition.”
He made a scoffing sound. “Of course I can. There is naught else I can do, in all honor.”
“But you will kill yourself trying to fight, wounded as you are!” She faced him fully now, placing the pots and bandages down on the table beside the bed and glaring down at him where he sat. “And then you will be giving Hugh exactly what he desires, which would accomplish a great deal of nothing, wouldn’t you say?”
“I will be giving Hugh exactly what hedeservesduring the next week of tourney games, do not fear, lady.”
Damien’s voice sent a chill up her spine, and she realized that she was thankful she would never need to face him on the field of battle. She met his gaze, watching the intensity of it sharpen, if such was possible, even as an apparent wave of pain went through him, noticeable only by the slight catch she discerned in his breathing.
“As for my wounds,” he continued, raising his brow, “you have yet to examine them to know how severe they may be. With the exception of this rib and the need for a few stitches, I’d warrant there is little to worry over.”
“We shall see.” She pursed her lips, shaking her head at his stubbornness. “Come, then, and let us get on with it.”
First she cleaned the gash above his eye with a tincture of thyme oil and water, and though she knew it stung, he made nary a sound; he did not react, even, when she pressed bruised cloves onto his cut lip, both to cleanse it and to deaden the hurt. Even more so than the thyme oil, clove burned on open cuts; she knew it from experience. It was so painful that the last time she had needed to use some on her own cracked lips this past winter, it had made her eyes water for ten minutes. But he didn’t even flinch.
Appreciative of his self-control, Alissende gestured for him to hold out his right arm—the one opposite the side he seemed to be favoring—to help him in disrobing. Easing him from his tunic, shirt, and breeches proved less difficult than she had thought it would be. Of course she suspected that had more to do with his stoic acceptance of pain than with any finesse on her part. She saw the tightness of his lips and heard the catch in his breathing again whenever he was forced to move in a particularly uncomfortable manner.
Soon he was unclothed completely but for the undergarment of his braies, and she saw once again the array of scars that were the awful reminders of his ordeal with the Inquisition, layered over with several fresh bruises and at least one other cut across his ribs. What she had not been privy to see before, however, was the sight of those that continued down from his torso, under his braies, visible again below, along his legs. Her eyes stung as she was forced to bite at the inside of her cheek to keep herself from becoming emotional rather than tending to him in the calm, methodical manner that she knew would be best.
“I am sorry to upset you, Alissende,” he said quietly, and she glanced to him, realizing that he had been watching her to gauge her reaction.
“I am not upset in the way that you think. Truly.”
She’d managed to speak, but even she realized how hoarse her voice had sounded. He would have further reason to think her a liar, just as he had when they’d stood before the king and she’d affirmed the reason for their marriage as one of love. It was just as well, she supposed. Better than him guessing the truth—that what she had said then hadn’t been a lie at all for her.
“I had hoped to avoid the need for you to see the rest of it.” He gave a tight-sounding laugh. “The contrast is great, I know, between the man I was before and what I am now. At least with these covered, it is easier for me to hide from myself…and from you.” He shifted his gaze to hers, where she sat next to him on the bed, and she saw pained humor competing with the deep sense of shame apparent in his eyes. “I would be glad if you would work quickly, lady, so that you need not be burdened with the sight for longer than is necessary.”
She paused, letting the fullness of what he had just said sink in before she decided that she could not let it pass. To speak with him of her thoughts on this would require that she expose a portion of her heart, perhaps, and that was always dangerous where Damien was concerned. But she realized that she could go no further without setting him straight on this point.
“You speak often of this different man you have become, Damien,” she answered quietly at last, “and yet I must tell you that these outward changes—the scars of those many hurts that were inflicted upon you—mean naught to me in the way you think they do. When I look upon them I feel no revulsion or pity, even. Nay, I feel only anger over what you were made to endure. Do you not know that?”
She blinked, forcing herself to keep her gaze steady upon him while she shared the rest of this difficult truth. “I need you to understand something once and for all, Damien. My feelings for you have never been tied to your appearance. I will not deny that I have always thought you a handsome man, but that has not changed. I continue to find you very attractive, as I am sure you have noticed when we are alone of the evening in our bed.”
She picked up the pot of liniment and a roll of bandage then, setting her jaw as she finished, “That is all I intend to say on the matter, Damien, but I wished you to be clear upon that point, if upon naught else.”
He was staring at her as if she’d sprouted feathers from the top of her head, though he remained silent in the face of her declaration. Surprisingly so, for someone who had never seemed to have difficulty voicing his opinion about anything before.
