The woman swallows thickly before lifting her pleading eyes to my face.
“I—I’ve come to ask for an extension.”
I raise a brow. Her words make as much sense as her being here does. Whatever this extension is, it must mean quite a lot for her to have come all this way.
She lets out a sharp gasp and her body pitches forward. A harsh metallic wave washes over me. Crimson blood blooms through the front of her dress and trickles into her boot.
“You’re hurt.”
Her nod is sharp.
“I took a tumble before I reached your door. I’ll be fine.” She grits her teeth. “If I could just sit?—”
The woman steps forward with her good leg but trips over the threshold. Her round cheeks are ashen as she loses her grip on the doorframe and tumbles. My arms envelope her on instinct before her body can hit the floor.
I clutch her to my chest. She is warm and soft. A fluttering tickles my heart, but I shove it away. Especially as she looks up at me in wonder. It’s surprising she doesn’t fear me. More surprising when she leans into me for support.
I have to stop touching her or I fear I’ll never stop. Setting her before the unlit fireplace, I drag over a small stool.
“What hurts?” I ask.
“My ankle.”
I nod before reaching into my pocket and pulling out a small knife. The silver blade catches the light from the candles. Iglance up at the woman who leans away from me. It seems even her good humor has its limits. She has nothing to fear from me.
I show her that by using the worn blade to cut away the thin leather of her boot.
My fingers trail over her swollen ankle. The woman hisses at the slight touch. Blowing out a breath, I take in her purpling flesh. No blood. She has more injuries elsewhere.
“It’s worse than I thought,” she whimpers.
“Your knees are bleeding.”
Gripping the hem of her skirt, I wait for her shallow nod of permission before lifting the fabric.
Her golden skin is torn. Dirt and grass are caked into her scraped knees. Blood trails from the open slices. I rock back on my heels as I survey the damage.
“I’ll clean your wounds and bind your ankle.”
Surprise flickers in her gaze before gratitude smooths out the lingering worry on her brow.
“Thank you.”
I grunt as I rise to my full height. I’ve never been around a woman before who wasn’t my mother. Never dealt with one who is hurt and bleeding. I’m not sure what to do or how I’ll survive touching her again.
That strange stirring inside me is back. White-hot desire kindles, but I smother its ensuing flames. This woman is not mine to keep. She is hurt. I will aid her and send her on her way. Once she is gone, I will never think of her again.
At least that’s what I tell myself.
Being away from her for the mere moments it takes to collect the supplies for her wounds is like torture. I bask in her nearness as I deal with her scrapes first. She hisses at the antiseptic solution I use to cleanse the grime from her cuts. Once I am satisfied they are clean, I wrap cotton around both her knees to stop the bleeding.
Her lavender scent grows more intense. It quickly blots out the scent of blood. Traces of her smell will remain in my cottage long after she goes to torment with her sweetness.
My fingers gently grip her ankle as she groans.
“Could you talk to me?” she asks. “To distract me from the pain.”
Staring up at her, I watch her full lips twist to the side. I open my mouth, but no words come out. I haven’t made conversation since I was a child. What would I say to her?
