Page 8 of An Arrow to the Heart

He looked and felt like shit, probably worse actually.

“You are supposed to be resting. You cannot put any pressure on that leg if you ever want to walk again,” she said rather sternly, looking him over with careful attention to detail. She began lecturing him about how he needed to be more careful and how he was lucky she was able to tend to the wound as soon as it had occurred.

He knew he should be listening to her. He knew this was a potentially life altering injury but he couldn’t help but stare at her. The pointed tips of her ears just about visible from behind her hair and her eyes the colour of lilacs burned into his soul. His eyes lingered on the way her dress showed off her curves in the right places, a brown pocket apron tied at her waist filled with all manner of produce from the garden. He watched as she quickly and with furiosity rubbed her soil covered hands on her pale blue linen skirts. And he quickly came to realise that her chest was the one he saw just before he blacked out.

Gods, she was so beautiful, and he couldn’t help but feel his blood rushing at the sight of her. Ardál let out a dry cough before he muttered, “sorry, my lady, I meant no disrespect to you or your services.”

“Don’t be such a milk drinker,” she said, before continuing, “I’m no lady, my name is Sylvie and I’m a healer, I don’t like to see my efforts wasted. So please, just rest, if you ever want to use that leg again.”

“Yes,” he said weakly, giving a curt nod, “thank you,” he added sincerely, and “thank you for allowing Phelan in here too.”

“Oh he’s half the reason I agreed to let you stay here,” she said turning to Phelan, giving him a big pet and in so doing provided Ardál with an eyeful of her breasts as she leaned over.

He quickly turned away, looking anywhere else, cheeks flushing slightly.

What is wrong with me? He thought to himself.

It’s like he had no self-control. Perhaps it was the medicine or blood loss or something. Gods, he hoped that’s all it was. Normally he’d find himself flirting with her, and Gods he wanted to, he’d spent many a night or day with a woman, it normally came easy to him. And his body clearly indicated wanting her, yet he couldn’t think of anything to say to her other than, “thank you.”

Thank you.

Gods, he felt like a stuttering idiot, and perhaps he was one for he proceeded to sit there unmoving and silently unsure of what to do.

As though sensing his unease and taking some kind of pity on him she said, “it was easier to have Ortolf bring you here than have you stay at the Alehouse, besides I wanted to keep an eye on your wound and temperature for a few days. To make sure any infection stays away.”

“I’ll be alright soon enough, I’m sure,” he said rather sheepishly as though not quite believing his own words.

“You will be if you do as you’re told, I’ll be right back,” she told him sternly as she left the room and disappeared for what felt like an eternity though it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. She reappeared carrying a tray of medical supplies and she’d changed into clean clothes, the dirt beneath her fingernails gone. She moved onto her knees before the bed, “now, sit back and let me take a look,” she said, her tone much softer.

Ardál let out a strangled grunt of pain as the healer unwrapped the scraps of linen from around his knee. Once free of bandages she inspected the wound while he found himself looking away, the sight of the open gash turning his stomach. She talked him through everything she was doing, he heard words in the back of his mind though he couldn’t register them through the pain. Teeth clenched to fight back a moan, the smell of calendula filled his nostrils as she cleaned out the wound, the bright sweet scent easing his suffering ever so slightly. Next, her fingers gently traced over his wound and the surrounding skin with a thick balm, the coolness of it bringing instant relief. Then she wrapped his knee tightly in what smelt like yarrow infused linens.

“Here, chew on this, I know it tastes horrid but it will help with the pain,” she said, handing him two pieces of willow bark as she got back onto her feet. She smiled at him then and he could have sworn there was something endearing about it, it wasn’t a smile of pity, it was a smile of genuine kindness. And despite the horrid taste of the willow bark, the pain of his injury and the humiliation of it all he felt grateful that the Gods brought him to her.

“I imagine you must be quite hungry and thirsty,” she said after she cleared all her supplies, heading for the door.

“Ugh, yes, I am actually,” he said rubbing his temple and he came to realise that he felt starved, how long had he been asleep?

This was all so embarrassing. He wasn't one to be waited on or fussed over. “How long has it been?” he asked.

“Since you ate, I don’t know. Since you took an arrow in the knee - it’s been a night and the better part of a day,” she paused a moment before continuing, “I’ll bring you a pitcher of fresh water and I’m about to get started on supper,” she pointed towards the rest of the cottage beyond the open door, “I’ll be sure to bring you some. In the meantime please, for heavens sake, do not put any pressure on that leg.”

Ardál gave an appreciative nod as he said, again, “thank you,” and he watched her leave the room, leaving the scent of verbena, gooseberry, and something uniquely her in her wake. As soon as she did, he let out a huge sigh.

Thank you.

“I’m such an idiot,” he said, shaking his head as he looked to Phelan as though he would give him some words of wisdom. But Phelan let out a breath of air as though in agreement with him before simply resuming his nap.

CHAPTER SEVEN

- Sylvie-

Sylvie realised she had not even asked him his name. Valeska had told her, she was sure of it but with everything going on, it had slipped her mind. The poor man looked more wounded by her harshness than his injury.

She wasn’t particularly keen on strangers. She was a firm believer that they usually brought more trouble than they were worth. In addition, she hated nothing more than small talk. This was of course, one of the main reasons she lived in a secluded little village atop the mountains and while she was more than talkative with the folk here that was because she’d got to know them all so well.

She did not however know anything about the man in her treatment room aside from the fact that he came to be here, in her home, due to a knock to the head and an arrow in the knee.

Both Valeska and Ortolf vouched for the stranger, having gotten to know him a little over the past week, which had been one of the reasons Sylvie had agreed to his recovery being here. Not something she had agreed to lightly. One had to be cautious, being a woman who lived alone. Of course she had also considered that the man valiantly rose to defend the village, a village he had no ties to, none that she knew of anyway. No one would have thought bad of him if he had chosen not to dive head first into danger. She thought that spoke to his character, as too did the fact that the man owned a dog. For dogs were good judges of character and Sylvie was fond of animals, in fact, often times she much preferred them to folk.