Page 9 of An Arrow to the Heart

But the sleeping stranger in the bed before her was not an animal. No, he was a human man. She briefly and quietly checked his temperature, hoping not to wake him for sleep was what he needed. She couldn’t help but watch his chest rise and fall softly, for the first time noticing just how attractive he was. His near shoulder length grey-tinged brown curls and matching beard framed his face, and there was a light dusting of freckles over his sun-kissed face. He’d clearly spent a solid amount of time outdoors for he donned a lovely tan, not too dissimilar from her own. That, and the fact that he was in good shape, led her to conclude that he clearly led an active lifestyle.

For a while she pondered what colour his eyes were for she could not recall. The previous night she had been too preoccupied assessing his injuries. While the arrow in the knee was the obvious injury it wasn’t a fatal one. She had worried about that knock to his head. Many a folk were known to simply drop dead from undetected head injury, and he had been rendered unconscious for quite some time. Initially, she had worried he wouldn’t wake.

And then she had been so shocked to find him staring at her through the window all she could focus on was that he shouldn’t have risen already given the sleeping aid she had given him. When he had first regained consciousness he had been less than cooperative, insisting he didn’t require aid. He actually tried to get up and walk out. Thankfully, Lonan had insisted on staying that first night to keep an eye on him. Sylvie had been forced to have Lonan hold the man down while she administered the sleep draught. It should have knocked him out for a full day. Well, regardless, she was so taken aback when he woke and he had been so polite to her despite her being incredibly standoffish that she had felt bad about the interaction and she hadn’t registered the colour of his eyes at all.

Several days had passed and it had been decided that Ardál could stay with her in the cottage, should no other patient require a stay in her treatment room. The stairs at the Alehouse would be too much for him until his knee was in better shape. She came to realise that she didn’t hate the thought of him staying in her home as much as she had previously. He was a good man. His condition had remained much the same, but there was improvement and there was no sign of infection so that was good enough for her.

Sylvie scrubbed the dirty rags in the river water, she was grateful for a moment of peace for the days since the attack had left her with little sleep. A total of eight villagers had been injured in addition to her houseguest so she was out checking on all of them as well as her regular patients. Though she could safely say they were all doing much better already.

Wyrmwind was lucky to have quite a number of skilled fighters in their midst so fared much better than many other villages did in these bandit-lead raid attacks. Luckly, Wyrmwind was something of a magnet for folk who were a bit lost elsewhere. Ernst had learned that this particular group had been terrorising the villages down the mountain this past summer. Their attacks had been becoming more and more brazen. They took a number of losses in this raid though so she hoped that this would have been the last Wyrmwind would have seen of them. Though she had no doubt they would terrorise some other less fortunate village.

The cold, crystal clear water rushed around her hands when suddenly, Sylvie was hit by a gust of wind that had reached her through the grasses and wildflowers on the opposite side of the bank. And she lifted her head to find him there, on the other side, at the edge of the thick forest. She could have sworn her heart froze before pounding relentlessly in her chest.

“It’s been a while,” she said softly with an ache in her throat.

He didn’t respond, but then she hadn’t expected him to. Truth be told, she was glad to simply see him alive and seemingly well, as well as he could be. She lifted a hand toward him but lowered it again, knowing better than to startle him. Before Sylvie could say or do anything else he disappeared into the woods, like he’d never been there, just a fragment of her imagination. The wilderness around them was the only witness to his existence.

“I promise I’ll make it right,” she said, wiping tears from the corner of her eyes.

She huffed out a breath at the sudden change of his absence, shook her head and closed her eyes as though to shake away the heartache.

CHAPTER EIGHT

-Ardál-

Ardál could hear voices by what he presumed to be the front entrance to the cottage. He hadn’t yet had the pleasure of leaving the room to which he was confined under strict orders. Something he loathed. It wasn’t that he hated being here per-se. It was that he despised the idea of not being able to look after himself. The mere thought of having to rely on others made his stomach churn.

Ardál had gone from being entirely independent to bed ridden. Not once in the past twenty years since he had left his parents’ farm had he been forced to rest. Sure, he had sustained injuries here and there but there had been nothing that he couldn’t tend to himself. Importantly, they had never hindered him from seeking new adventures.

This felt like a new type of Hel and he felt as though his sense of self had been ripped from him. He felt as though his dignity had been stripped from him and he wanted nothing more than to be able to care for himself and he resented nothing more than having to rely on others. He in no way felt prudish about his naked body or anything like that. It was that he couldn’t simply wash himself and that he needed her aid to even get dressed.

“You have a visitor,” the Healer called through, he still didn’t like to think of her as Sylvie as he thought it too personal, and he needed to keep things strictly professional between them. Patient and healer, nothing more. He refused to let his mind wander in any other direction for he wasn't sure his heart could take it.

An older woman walked into the small room and he recognised her as Margarete, one of the folk from the village. Her face, though weathered by the passage of time, bore a soft smile and kind eyes. Wisps of silver-grey hair framed her face, escaping from beneath her updo. The soothing aroma of roses coming from her. She carried a wicker-woven basket in her delicate wrinkled hands, covered in a patchwork piece of fabric of yellow, red and white. And when he noticed what had been in the basket his face grew into a stupid looking grin.

“I had Valeska make these specifically for you,” the woman smiled as she revealed the sweet rolls.

“You really shouldn’t have Margarete.” She ignored him and proceeded to hand him one. All remaining willpower left him then and he took a bite of that heavenly golden-brown sweet roll, so fresh it was still warm, that irresistible mouth-watering scent of vanilla with a hint of cinnamon filling his senses. The buttery centre mixed with the sugary glaze, a perfect balance to his taste buds. These really were the best sweet rolls in all the lands.

Margarete moved with quiet grace and sat on the chair under the window with a knowing smile perched on her lips.

“I’ll have to repay you,” he said and he thought for a moment for what he might offer before continuing, “I could cut more wood or perhaps there’s some repairs you need doing or anything. Name it and I’ll happily oblige.”

“Don’t be silly, I’ve already got more wood than I need for the winter thanks to your earlier efforts,” she said.

“Well I don’t like to be in anyone’s debt so at least accept a favour,” he said.

She contemplated for a moment and with a smile that seemed a tad too wicked she nodded in agreement, “a favour it is then Ardál.”

He wasn’t entirely sure it was a wise decision but in his state he had little else to offer and he truly didn’t want to be in anyone’s debt. He wouldn’t take for nothing. Although he had to admit he was grateful the old woman brought him some sweet rolls. Not that the Healer’s cooking wasn’t up to scratch. It had been more than satisfactory but it did lack a certain sweetness that he liked to indulge in. The Healer had told him he needed good nutritional food, not sugar to feed an infection when he had dared to ask if she had any sweet treats. They sat in a comfortable silence while he finished the roll, Margarete looking curiously at the tinctures by his bed as though intrigued by her treatments and methods.

“How is the village fairing after the attack?” He finally asked, to make some conversation but also because he was interested in the news. He didn’t want to burden the Healer with his questions.

“Ah it’s fine, like it never happened aside from the loss of Hartmut,” she paused there offering a small prayer “may he be well received by the Gods.”

Ardál lowered his head offering similar prayers to the Gods. After a moment of silence Margarete asked, “you are coming to the autumn trade fair aren’t you?”

He let out a little chuckle as he gestured to his knee and said, “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed Margarete, but I’m not exactly in the best shape right now.”