Page 37 of The Orc Warrioress and the Elf Lord

“Perfectly well,” said Gathren, glaring at the man, clearly disgusted.

“You will not string her up,” said Iahir, managing to stand on his own feet without wavering. “I will not have that.”

She was reaching inside his jacket to find his coin purse. “We have to pay the man, my lord.”

“Always do,” he said, smiling up at her. “Everything has a price.”

And then, the room swirled out into nothingness and he dropped straight down. He had fainted.

He came back to himself only moments later, being hauled to his feet by Gathren, who was making all sort of concerned noises at the innkeeper.

“I’m fine,” he told her.

She had him brace himself against her shoulder and they made their way to follow the innkeeper to the room where they were staying. There was only one bed, he noted delightedly, and he fell backwards onto it.

He must have fainted again.

When he was aware again, it was because of the pain of something stabbing into his shoulder. He gasped.

His shirt and jacket and waistcoat had all been removed and he was lying on a towel on the bed. His skin was wet, and there was a bloody rag lying there, indicating she’d washed away all the blood. Now, she was perched on a stool, glaring at his wound, her pink tongue trapped between her teeth. She was concentrating as she stitched him up.

“You dressed many wounds, warrioress?” His voice was a bit too breathless.

“You’re awake,” she said. “And truthfully, no more than most soldiers. I had a bit of resistance to being roped into being a nursemaid. I don’t have as much experience as I could.”

He flexed his shoulders.

“Hold still,” she snapped.

He let out a breath. “How long does this take?”

“Not long. It’s deep but there’s only a small cut. Just the width of a sword blade.”

He nodded. “Good, all right, good.” He looked at her and then down at his pale bare belly and he couldn’t help but remember his fantasy of them in a room together. How reality differed. “I’m sorry I fainted,” he said. “Remarkably womanish of me.”

She scoffed. “You had lost a lot of blood. It’s not a character flaw, my lord.”

He laughed softly, then winced as the needle went into his skin. That stung.

“You do have character flaws, of course,” she said, pulling the thread tight. “Shall I enumerate them for you?”

“That’s all right,” he said, shutting his eyes. “I’m quite grateful for this, you know. If you weren’t here, I would probably be bleeding out on a bed in this inn.”

“Oh, probably,” she said.

He laughed softly. Another bite of the needle. He sucked in a whistling breath.

“Almost done, my lord,” she assured him.

He only breathed.

And then she was tying off the string and tucking away the needle and wrapping a clean cloth around his shoulder. He noticed that her glances kept straying to his bare skin. She would look at his chest, at his stomach, at his arms, and then her gaze would skitter away, and she would seem flustered.

“Have you ever been this close to a half-naked elf man, warrioress?” he said.

“Stop it,” she said. “You are injured.”

“My shoulder is injured,” he said. “Other parts of me are quite functional, I assure you.”