Page 29 of Summer Warrior

“I do,” she said, quickly going to her horse and leading him back to Somerled. She held up a drinking flask. “’Tis wine.”

“Pour it over what’s left of the shaft.”

Her brows drew together as she moved to take a stance behind him. “All right but ’twill sting like a wasp.”

He was tempted to laugh. “I expect it will.” He winced as the liquor met his raw flesh. Once done, he gripped the arrow tip and, with clenched teeth, yanked the shaft from his arm.

The blood ran free from the wound and she covered it with a wine-soaked cloth, a worried look on her face. “You are pale but at least you are free of the wretched barb.” She pulled a cream-colored scarf from inside her sleeve. “Hold still while I try and stop the bleeding.” With her forehead furrowed in concentration, Ragnhild tied the scarf around his arm above the wound, cinching it tight.

Aware her face was mere inches from his own and her faint scent of rose wafting to his nostrils, he lifted her chin with his right hand and looked long into her eyes that were the green of the hills of Morvern in spring. Loose tendrils of her red-gold hair had come free to frame her beguiling face. “Princess, do you care so much I shed a little blood?”

She met his gaze and her mouth opened as if in surprise, or mayhap in sudden realization. Averting her eyes, she said, “Why, yes…I do.”

“That being the case, I would show my affection for you.” He brought her face to his and pressed a kiss on her sweet lips. He wanted more but since she was an innocent and this their first kiss, he refrained. Meeting her wide-eyed gaze, he said, “I write no poetry, Princess and, as yet, have no castle, but my intentions are honorable and I am ever constant once my heart is given.”

Her gaze lingered on him, her mouth slightly open, as if begging for another kiss.

The sound of the other hunters riding toward them and the hounds baying intruded into their private moment. Somerled stepped back, leaving a blushing Ragnhild to take up the reins of her horse.

Moments later, the hunters entered the clearing and the huntsman sounded a wavering note on his horn, signaling the kill had been made. Though they could not see him and Ragnhild where they stood among the trees, he thought it time for him to leave.

“Best claim your kill,” said Somerled.

“But your arm—”

“Do not worry. I am fine.” Wincing against the pain, he swung into the saddle and smiled down at her. “We will take up this meeting again soon. Meanwhile, tonight we dine on venison, thanks to you, Princess.”

Not wishing the hunters to see his bloodied person, he led his horse from the woods in another direction, still experiencing the taste of her lips.