“I need to clean the wound and bathe you,” I stated plainly as I returned to the bedroom tugging the shawl tighter about my shoulders.
“Here I thought humans didn’t believe in bathing.” He smirked, those lovely lips tugging to one corner.
Is that supposed to be a joke?
I furrowed my brows at him.
“So have you been to Lyr? Ynyr told me every decade elves are supposed to go to Lyr on pilgrimage. Though he didn’t tell me why,” I said, making idle, pointless chatter as I made sure everything was in order.
“Yes, though I’m surprised your smith has been at all. Most of my kind who dwell in cities rarely follow the old ways. When an elf goes to Lyr, they’re not really going to Lyr. On the coast, there are ruins of the old port, Lyr Gan’ddwr. It once was a stop on the pilgrimage to the holy sites on Ynys Afalau, but it was swallowed up by the sea long ago. When I was a boy, I remember going with my parents. The only sign that there had ever been land there was a single large dead oak tree sticking out of the water, a macabre skeletal hand taunting us as it waved in the wind, reminding us of what we lost and what we’d never have again.” His voice was quiet and hoarse when he finished. “The pain is starting to set in again.” I watched him carefully as his dark brows furrowed.
After closing the distance between us, I checked his temperature with the back of my hand on his forehead. His skin was dewy with sweat, and he was starting to smell a bit like a goat—three days of sweating in pain would do that.
I’ll need a new mattress after this.
He was still running a slight fever, which was normal for his injuries.
“After your bath, I’ll give you another potion to help you sleep.” He nodded, but frustration lurked in his gaze. “It must be hard to be confined. I honestly can’t imagine what it’s like to go from being so free, to so trapped.”
“It could be worse. At least the company is pleasant enough.” We exchanged a smile, and I turned from him almost immediately to hide the blush that colored my cheeks. Clearing my throat, I went to check the water.
There was a certain amount of dread that accompanied the thought of bathing him. The smell was probably the only thing keeping me from turning into an utter moron around him. One look at him and I could forget everything that elves were rumored to do in those forests. I respected them, but there was a grain of truth to every vicious, hateful rumor. I didn’t believe everything I was told, but I knew enough. Elves treated humans in the forest like humans treated elves everywhere else. It was only fair, in my opinion, since elven harems were commonplace. Once, I had a standing order with a brothel for fisher’s root tea (more commonly referred to as whore’s tea because it prevented pregnancy). When I initiated the deal I didn’t know the whores were elven slaves, and when I found out I was mortified. It was then that I realized I had lived in the countryside for far too long. It never occurred to me that the elves employed there were being held against their will, let alone as slaves. When I went to collect payment, I saw a cart carrying in a cage filled with male and female elves of varying ages. I watched horror-struck from a distance as the owner took them out one by one, fondled them as if assessing their worth, and then placed a brand on each of their backs. I didn’t collect my coin for the tea. I turned around and walked the six days home without hiring a cart like I had planned.
That was almost a year ago. Maybe I was feeling guilty for being attracted to him because of what I had done. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts I didn’t notice that my body had continued on without me. I was sitting on the bed beside him with a small knife in one hand as the other pulled up the bandage. I shook my head and slipped the knife underneath, cutting up through the soiled linen.
“Are you all right?”
“Mhm. I just remembered that I am no less moronic than the idiots that live in this town.” I sighed as I slowly removed the bandage from his side. He hissed loudly through gritted teeth as I peeled the dirty bandage away from the wound. It was healing nicely. “Oh, that’s fantastic,” I exclaimed to myself as I wet the cloth beside me in one bucket, and rubbed the soap on it until it lathered. “The wound is healing exceptionally fast. At this rate, it will be mended completely by the end of the week.” I didn’t look at him as I spoke. My attention was focused on the wound as I gently rubbed the cloth over it. “Then we’ll just have to worry about your leg.”
Once the wound was cleaned, I applied a generous amount of ointment to it and continued washing the rest of him. I tried my hardest not to notice the exquisite composition of his body, the defined lean muscle that danced under the skin as he shifted. I was able to maintain my professional decorum until I reached his lower stomach and my wrist grazed that hard lump of flesh lurking under the linen that was wrapped around him. I froze and raised my gaze to meet his. He was staring at me expectantly with lips slack and eyes darkened by lust. I quickly rinsed and dried his torso.
“Here, you can get the rest of you.” I set two buckets on the small table. “When you’re finished I’ll rebandage the wound.” After pressing the soaped cloth into his hands, I scurried out of the room and shut the door behind me. I waited for a moment, and then curiosity got the better of me. I peeped through the keyhole. I could barely make him out in the candlelight. And though there was soap involved, I was fairly certain he wasn’t actually washing.
The linen sheet lay to the side of him, discarded in a messy, crumpled ball, leaving his body nude apart from the brace. He was truly an exquisite creature, every inch of his body ideal and immaculate. It was nice to be able to admire it from afar, to forget that he was my patient. I was admittedly taken aback by the size of him. I was widowed and had seen my fair share of men—thanks in part to an outbreak of the pox at the brothel in Nathton. But that massive, veiny, blushing cock between his strong thighs was by far the largest I had seen. I heard rumors about elves but, as they say, seeing is believing. I was hypnotized as he slid his hand up and down that impressive length. Mesmerized by the way his chest heaved with each languid stroke. And when he came, as he spilled his seed onto his chest a single utterance escaped his lips.
“Valentina.” He breathed my name with a near-silent moan. Had I not been peeping through the keyhole I wouldn’t have heard it. A large, self-satisfied smirk spread across my lips as I stood and passed my fingers back through my dark hair.
Smoothing my simple gray wool dress, I allowed myself to indulge in fantasy for a handful of moments. My mind wandered to what it would be like to be loved by an elf. I wondered if he’d bring me sprigs of rare flowers from the forest. If he’d be tender to me. What it would be like to share my life with someone again…
And then I forced myself back to reality. Chances were it was a passing attraction and nothing would come of it. I wasn’t a stupid woman. Granted, I had my moments like we all do, but I wasn’t dumb enough to read any more into it. He’d heal, and I’d never see him again. He’d go back to the forest and whatever life he had there. Even if there was a glimmer of anything between us, the worlds we lived in wouldn’t allow it. So dwelling on it for more than a passing second was moot.
Returning to the door, I drew a shaky breath before knocking a few times.
“Are you finished?” I called to him.
“Yes.”
I entered the room. He had cleaned up after himself. If I hadn’t been spying on him, I wouldn’t have ever guessed he had finished pleasuring himself mere moments ago. But there was something there. His lips were a deeper shade of pink than they had been before, and his cheeks held a slight blush.
I rebandaged his wound in silence, and he watched me carefully. There was a tension between us now, one that hadn’t existed before. Was it my fault? Oh, it certainly was to some degree. I probably wouldn’t have been aware of him watching me if I hadn’t heard him whisper my name.
“It finally stopped snowing,” I broke the silence as I finished tying the bandage.
“Has it?” I nodded to his question. “And here I was enjoying having you all to myself.”
I stilled again, as our gazes locked and lingered. It was one of those moments that seem to last longer than they should. My reaction to his words had the possibility to change things… And I wasn’t sure I wanted that. He’d leave when he was healed, and I’d never see him again—like I had never seen him before.
Curling my fingers back against my palm, I withdrew from his warmth. My only response to him was a small grin as I gathered the buckets, soap, ointment, and cloths. I left the room without looking back at him, the floorboards creaking ominously.
“Is it because I’m an elf?”
“No, it’s because once you’re healed, you aren’t coming back.” I rolled my eyes as I opened the window that overlooked my garden, and emptied the buckets into the pristine snow. Shivering, I closed and locked the window. “So attraction, regardless of mutuality, is utterly pointless. It’s like the sun and the moon wanting to plow each other. Yes, it’s all well and good, but they live in two different worlds entirely.”
“So it’s because I’m an elf.”
“Not directly, no.” I grabbed my water bucket and opened the door inward—the only redeemable quality of broken hinges—revealing a veritable wall of unmovable white. Though it had stopped snowing, what had already fallen had drifted to reach the top of the door. Using my hands, I packed the top layer of snow into the bucket. When I was finished, my fingers were numb and I felt chilled to the bone.
“Then what is it directly?” he asked the moment the door was shut.
“I’ve known you for three days, during which you’ve spent most of your time unconscious. I’m flattered. Were I someone who had lived a different life than I have, I would probably have no reservations about entertaining the possibilities. But I don’t see you coming back here after you’re healed, and the idea of bedding a stranger isn’t appealing to me. If you just want to dip your wick in some pretty thing, there’s a nice girl at the inn. I could fetch her for you if that’s what you want.”
“No. I… Forget it.” He sighed in defeat.
* * * *
By the end of the week, enough snow had melted that people started visiting again. Ynyr stopped by one night with a large bag slung over his shoulder. There was still an extraordinary amount of tension when I was alone with Aneurin, so the visit was a welcome distraction. The black-haired, hazel-eyed elf, with his delicately pointed ears, was always a welcome sight.
“I thought our friend might appreciate a little wine and some dice,” Ynyr said as he pulled back his hood while I closed the door behind him.
“I’m sure he’d welcome the company.” I grabbed a stool, took it into the bedroom, and set it beside the bed. Aneurin didn’t seem happy to see Ynyr and a terse exchange in elven tongue followed. At the end of the outburst, his gaze trailed me as I moved to check his leg.
Once again, I tuned out the room as I checked the bone. Sliding my hand over his femur, I lightly grazed the tender flesh. The swelling had gone down for the most part, and the only warmth from the leg radiated from the area of the break. He’d be able to put pressure on it soon, maybe a week or two.
“I wish I healed as fast as your kind,” I remarked as I stood.
“Speaking of which. I brought some warmer clothes for you, Aneurin. I thought since you’re on the mend you might want to take a walk through the town with Valentina for exercise. See what we live like here.” Ynyr was full of mirth as always, but there was something about the tone of his voice that I wasn’t sure I liked.
“It’ll be another week still before he can put pressure on the leg. It’s a more complex break than what happened to your daughter.”
“Would you care to play with us?” Ynyr smiled up at me. Dice could be fun; any distraction was a good distraction at the moment.
“Sure, I’ll fetch some cups,” I offered with a chuckle, after adjusting the table beside the bed. In the common room, I grabbed a chair from the dining table and three wooden cups from my shelf. I passed the cups out, and Ynyr poured the wine. Then I proceeded to lose every round we played.
An hour later, Aneurin and Ynyr were fairly drunk, and though I wasn’t exactly sober, I was nowhere near as drunk as they were. Still, they beat me mercilessly at the game. The truth was I doubt I’d ever understand elvish dice. Each die had six sides, with each side holding the image of a chess piece: pawn, knight, priest, rook, queen, or king. I knew pairs and multiples won, but beyond that, I was confused, completely and utterly confused. Cupping my dice, I shook them before tossing them out and watching them roll across the table. I had one of each piece.
Damnit.
I sighed and rubbed my hands over my face.
“Nothing again. I give up. I surrender.” Frowning, I gathered my dice and set them in a row.
“That.” Aneurin gestured to my dice. “That is a winning hand.”
“Is it?” I furrowed my brows and looked and up at Ynyr, who was smirking. “Oh, you’re a dirty cheat!” I flicked Ynyr’s forehead, and he chuckled.
Our joy was cut short, my front door flung open. I quickly jumped up and shut the door to my chamber on my way out to the common room. A group of men in full armor had forced themselves inside. Blood dripped from their chain and plate onto the floor.
“We need you to come wit’ us,” one of them said. “Now,” he barked, causing me to jump.
“And if I refuse?” I furrowed my brows as I looked them over. I didn’t recognize any of them. These were not the city guards.
“You won’t if you know wot’s good for you, bitch,” one growled at me.
“Fine. What will I be doing when I get wherever you need me to be?” I asked as I walked to the shelf piled high with herbs and retrieved an empty basket. “Burns, wounds, breaks… I need to know.” I turned back to them and scanned their armor. I caught the emblem on one of their bloodied tabards and my eyes closed for a moment. It was a white lily at the center of a golden sun on crimson; they were Knights of the Morning Lily, supposed holy knights of the Dawn, tasked with ridding the forests and towns of those deemed impure by the church—nonhumans and witches (or anything that resembled the vocation). They had to have been desperate to come to my door, or they planned to kill me when I finished helping them. I wouldn’t put it past them—though they did tend to make lavish spectacles of burning Cunning Women and herbalists. Every village loved a good burning…until someone got sick or hurt and they realized they had no one to treat the injured party properly—aside from the Barber Surgeon and his hoard of leeches.