All he could seem to do was watch her.
Corisande had been with the young soldier with the gash on his head when he’d arrived with Addax, lugging the man over to the spot where he was now. It hadn’t taken him long to find her in the hall, bent over a young man and reassuring him that everything would be well in the end.
Dressed in a brown broadcloth dress with a linen apron, stained, her long hair was pulled into a braid that trailed down her back and she wore a kerchief over her head to keep it away from her face. Cole had been struck by her confidence, her kindness, and her fluid beauty as she tended to the young soldier and deftly stitched up his head. There was something about Corisande that made him feel reassured and comforted, something he’d never experienced before.
Not even with Mary.
Mary had been a sweet woman who had been obedient to a fault, and at the time they were married, that was what Cole needed. He hadn’t been eager to marry as it was, so a wife who somewhat blended in with the house and hold and never gave him any trouble was perfect for him. He didn’t exactly ignore Mary, but he wasn’t as attentive as he could have been. He knew that. Little Lucy came and he’d found himself being more thoughtful of his little family, enjoying it more than he thought he would have. Then the fever struck.
He’d been away at the time, at Alnwick Castle on an errand for his father. He’d been gone five days and in those days,his wife and child had succumbed to the same fever. It had been vicious and fast and overwhelming, and he well recalled returning home to find his mother and father waiting for him in the bailey. He didn’t believe anything they told him until he saw the bodies for himself.
Sometimes, that episode of his life seemed like a bad dream and he had regrets about it. Regrets that he wasn’t the father and husband he could have been. Regrets that he’d never once told his wife that he loved her.
Perhaps that was why Corisande gave him hope.
He was older now, and wiser, and he understood the value of a good woman. There was part of him that always wanted to marry a woman who was like his own mother– smart, focused, determined, loving. He found that he required more than a pretty girl who made herself scarce. He wanted a wife he could be proud of and in watching Corisande, it struck him that she was exactly that– someone he could be proud of. Someone he could boast of to other men, telling them that he had a wife who was strong, brilliant, beautiful, and loving.
Wasn’t that what all men wanted?
Cole watched Corisande examine Addax, looking at both eyes, inspecting the split scalp on the back of his head, the one that bled so profusely that when bent over as he had been, blood had streamed into his ears and nose and mouth. It was all from that gash to the back of the head, as Corisande determined, and she went through the same process with Addax that she’d gone through with the soldier. She cleaned, she rinsed, she stitched, and she bandaged, and Addax was well-tended.
Corisande wanted him to rest, however, so Cole escorted the man back to the knight’s quarters and watched him as he climbed into his borrowed bed. Addax didn’t want to stay in the hall with everyone else, but simply be alone to recover. Cole lefthim alone, sprawled out on his bed, and returned to the great hall.
He found Corisande supervising a young, dark-haired woman as she cleaned up an eye injury. Cole seemed to remember seeing the lass when he’d feasted with Alastor and the de Bourne brother and he was told that she was a ward. It was the Gratiana Corisande had spoken of. When Corisande looked up and saw him standing behind her, she left her post and went to him.
“Is Addax lying down?” she asked.
He nodded. “He is,” he said. “But I always thought that men with head injuries should not sleep. Should we send a servant to keep him awake?”
She shook her head. “I do not think there is anything to worry over,” she said. “He is exhausted from battle and some blood loss, but I did not see anything else that was concerning. It is right that he should rest now. No more fighting for him.”
Cole took her word for it. “As you say,” he said. “But there is more for me. I should return to the battle and help your brothers.”
She grew serious. “Must you?”
“I must, unfortunately.”
“Did you really cut that man’s head and hand off?”
“I did.”
“But why his hand?”
He gestured, lifting his left hand to his face. “Because he raised his hand to stop me and it got in the way,” he said, watching her features ripple with distress. “Would you rather I did not and let him kill Addax?”
“Of course not,” she said, growing frustrated. “I simply meant… I do not know what I meant. I’ve seen battle before. I know what happens. That does not mean I like it or understandit. The next injured man they bring in here could be you and I would not like that at all, Cole. I think it would make me sick.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “This is our first real test of coming to know one another,” he said. “I can see that you are a competent, knowledgeable healer, and you can see that I am a knight who will fight to the last man. You have your vocation and I have mine.”
She eyed him. “I know what you are,” she said. “My father and brothers are the same. But with you…”
She stopped herself and turned away, but he reached out and grasped her by the arm, preventing her from moving away. “But with mewhat?”
Corisande shook her head and tried, weakly, to pull her arm away. “It does not matter,” she said. “I have already said too much. If you really do intend to return to battle, please be careful.”
He didn’t let her go, but his grip wasn’t crushing. It was firm, strong. She finally stopped trying to pull away and just stood there, turned away from him.
“Cori,” he said in a soft, seductive purr. “Look at me.”
