03

The villagers were not pleased to hear that a Norman warrior was in their midst. She received quite a number of scornful glares and a few accosting words from fellow neighbors.

She was grateful that the cottage she and Lynette shared was somewhat secluded from the village. She had chosen the particular hut specifically for its remoteness from others.

With much convincing, several of the village men grudgingly assisted in carrying the unconscious Norman into her cottage. She noticed as they settled the Norman onto her pallet that he appeared frighteningly paler.

Rowan, a robust youth with a wealth of mahogany hair and eyes the color of onyx, were one of the few men assisting her. An adamant look of disapproval was undeniably etched across his brooding face as he waited patiently for the others to leave the cottage, each muttering words of reproach beneath their breath as they cast meaningful glares at Alana.

"Why do you do this, Alana?" Rowan asked gently, waving a hand towards the warrior.

Alana lifted her chin, "I have the ability to heal him."

Rowan shook his head, "Not him, not a Norman."

She sighed miserably as she crossed the straw laden floor to the iron kettle hanging above the hearth. "I do not have to explain my motives to you, Rowan, or to anybody else for that matter."

She felt him come up behind her and she stiffened. She knew Rowan had strong feelings for her but those feelings were not shared. Aye, he was noticeably handsome but her feelings went no further than companionship.

"You do not know what his kind is capable of."

"His kind?" she turned sharply only to collide against him for he stood too close. She gasped, startled by this for she had never been intimidated by Rowan before but something about his demeanor gave her reason to pause. "What do you know of his kind, Rowan? You speak as though he were a loathsome beast. I wonder if they have such poor opinions of us as you do them. As I see it, they have every reason to slander us, because you have the indecency to judge them at first glance."

His hands fell freely to her waist and she jerked beneath his touch. "Don't be a fool, Alana. You're winsome heart will steer you wrong." He leaned close enough until his breath fanned her forehead. "He will skewer you the moment he is able."

"Please leave, Rowan. You are wasting my time."

For a moment he hesitated and then slowly he stepped away, his hands falling to his side. "If you have need of me-" he started, glancing harshly in the corner, "-I shan't be far."

She said nothing and waited until he left the hut. Releasing a deep breath, she turned back to the hearth to prepare a broth.

"Have you gone mad?"

She felt a groan in her throat as she turned to peer at Lynette seething in the door way. "It would appear that I have."

"I won't stay here with you, Alana, not with that man sleeping next to us."

"I don't expect you too, Nettie."

Lynette grimaced, "What if his army comes for him?"

"Then mayhap you should help me so that he may be on his way?"

Lynette's scowl deepened, "I will do no such thing!"

She sighed frustratingly, "Could you at least take Agatha the berries for her husband? I have taught her the elixir, I am sure she can suffice for a time without me."

Lynette was silent a moment before she crossed the room to gather the basket of berries. She paused on her way out to turn back to Alana, "I don't understand your compassion for your enemy, cousin."

The moment she was able, she prepared a fire to exude warmth throughout the hut while a hearty broth simmered within the kettle.

After fetching a basin of water and some cloth, she began to gently cut away the man's bloodied clothing to inspect his injuries.

What awaited her beneath his reddened attire not only startled her but had an unsettling affect on her body.

The sheer size of him relayed his purpose in life. His body was a mass of solid muscle. His limbs stretched well past her makeshift pallet, his arms as well as his legs were immense, his chest a hard wall supporting thick, broad shoulders. His stomach was flat and undoubtedly defined, giving way to thighs as thick as a tree branch. She had never encountered anyone else quite like him.

She remembered earlier when he seized her wrist in a moment of delirium, even than she had felt the strength in his grip, the pain he could inflict with one blow and a thought of doubt flickered in her mind.

Her eyes fell to the punctured wound in his chest and her heart constricted. The blow had been purposefully dealt to end his life; she only prayed that the blade had not severed any vital parts.

After scrubbing away all the blood, she discovered an alarming amount of bruises along his ribcage and imagined that beneath the sinewy muscle the bones were certainly broken.

Most of the damage had been inflicted to the upper half of his body. His midriff revealed a severe mass of cuts and abrasions, his jaw darkened blue and black from where someone of formidable size had struck him and at the back of his skull was a rather large bump that contributed, along with certain blood loss, to his lack of consciousness.

She was relieved to find that the impact of the dagger had not been as violent as the wound portrayed. Fortunately the Norman's armor had somewhat slowed the dagger's momentum, going in only so far, just enough to sever the skin, leaving torn tissue along the edges but due to the width of the jagged blade, it had stretched the wound considerably into a gaping hole.

She needed to tend the wound quickly before it festered. She cleaned the area thoroughly with warm water and than slowly applied a salve mixed of certain herbs, all the while he remained motionless beneath her tender ministrations, his breathing painfully shallow.

Once she was assured that the wound had been properly cleaned, she knew the worst was at hand. She needed to close the gaping wound and that required using a needle.

She summoned Rowan who, true to his word, had not been far, and asked if he would oblige her by holding the man steady in case of thrashing. Very reluctantly, Rowan agreed and settled at her side as she prepared the needle and suture thread.

Once the tedious task of sewing together the edges of his wound was done, she turned her attention to his sizeable midriff. By the amount of bruises along his ribcage, she was certain the bones were broken, but she had to be sure before binding the area.

Very gently, she reached out and pressed her fingers to his chest, relieved to find that the bronze skin was naturally warm, not feverish and clammy.

"What do you do?" Rowan asked, clearly disturbed to see Alana touch the Norman so formally.

"I am feeling for broken bones." She ignored his heated glare and continued to glide her fingers smoothly over the warrior's flesh and when she discovered his ribs; she pressed firmly and jerked as the Norman released a deep, agonizing groan.

Alana was weary but knew she could not rest until the warrior was restored. She was going to have a long and strenuous night ahead of her.

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