The Dragon Healer (3 page)

“That should do for now.” She rubbed the excess burnjelly off her hands with a small square of cloth. “We should leave the wounds open to the air tonight. Do you think he can sleep in this position? If he rolls and gets dirt in the open wounds, it would be bad.” She looked over at the dragon’s head, surprised to find his eyes open and his head turned to look at her. “Well, hello there, Sir Dragon. I hope you are feeling better than when you came in.” She bowed low, holding the dragon’s gaze. Everyone who was sent into Draconia by the Temple was given instruction on how to deal with dragons should they cross paths with one. There was a certain etiquette to be followed.

“I feel much better. Thank you, healer. I will sleep now and not move from this position. I am comfortable enough.”

The great head turned and settled on the dragon’s front leg, his eyes closing. Silla was still shocked immobile by the sound of the dragon’s booming voice inside her head. Never had she imagined such a thing, but there could be no doubt. It was the dragon who had spoken to her, silently, in her mind.

Silla shook her head as she gathered her supplies and put them in the wheelbarrow with the now much smaller plants. She passed the knight as she did so, knowing she had many chores to see to before she could rest this night.

“Your companion will require further treatments,” Silla told the man. “I will prepare the jelly tonight and apply it at first light, if that is all right with you, sir.” She kept busy while she talked to him, mentally taking stock of what she needed to do before going to sleep and the subsequent dawn.

A hand on her forearm stopped her when she would have lifted the handles of the wheelbarrow. She looked up to meet the gaze of Sir Broderick. Brodie.

She was caught in his gaze. He was closer than she had imagined. Closer and far handsomer than any man had a right to be. She felt breathless again at his proximity.

“Allow me,” he said in a quiet voice as he lifted the wheelbarrow and waited. It struck her that he was waiting for her to direct him.

“You’re very kind, sir.” She knew she was blushing as she led the way toward where her cart was parked next to the stables. There was a water pump nearby and an empty trough that would serve her purposes. She had to clean the implements of her trade and prepare them for tomorrow before she could seek her bed.

Much to her surprise, Sir Broderick did not leave after delivering the laden wheelbarrow. He had placed it alongside her cart so she could move the now-bare plants into the covered storage area with the rest of her stock. At the same time, she removed four plants that still had all their stalks and put them into the wheelbarrow with the two empty bowls they had used before, plus two more bowls she retrieved from the back of her cart.

Brodie—make that Sir Broderick—stayed by her side and picked up the wheelbarrow once again when she moved toward the empty trough. She got there first and began pumping water into the basin. She didn’t need much. Just enough to wash her implements and her hands.

She realized then that Sir Broderick’s hands were probably still covered in the slimy jelly.

“If you want to wash your hands first, I’ll pump the water for you,” she offered.

He looked like he wanted to argue the point, but gave in after a moment’s consideration. “I would be much obliged.”

Brodie—no, she must think of him as Sir Broderick, lest she slip and become far too familiar—moved close, washing his hands briskly. He was so large, and so near. He had been through battle, injury and his dragon’s pain today and he still seemed so strong and vital. Because the pump was small and the space limited, she couldn’t help but stand very close indeed to his tall, muscular form. Even in the flickering light from the lanterns all around the inn’s yard, she could clearly see the masculine lines of his angular jaw, straight nose and strong chin. He was really too handsome for his own good. For her good too.

She tried to avert her gaze downward, but that brought her focus to his thickly muscled arms, rippling as he moved. She lowered her gaze even more and was caught by the sight of his strong thighs, encased in black leather that followed his form so faithfully. Her mouth went dry at the sight.

Then she noticed the tear in the soft hide of his pants. And the blood.

“You’re injured,” she whispered, shocked he hadn’t been limping or even once complained of the discomfort he must be in. She could readily see the angry red gash along his right thigh. It looked deep and very painful. She had seen such wounds before. She knew what they did to a normal man. That this brave knight was still standing and acting as if nothing was wrong, was a testament to his fortitude.

“It’s just a scratch,” he replied, glancing down at his thigh and shaking his head. His nonchalant attitude amazed her.

“That is more than a scratch, my lord.” Normally she would not have argued the point, but perhaps, she admitted within her restless mind, she wanted to prolong this encounter. She didn’t want to leave his presence yet. His wound was a fantastic excuse for her to spend just a few more minutes with him.

“I will wash it when I get to my room.” He shrugged, as if it were of little importance. “Let me help you get set for the morning first. I want to help in whatever way I can, since you are being so kind and generous aiding Phelan.”

“It is my honor and my duty, milord,” she replied, slightly embarrassed by his praise. “But if it will get you off that leg faster, by all means, let us get down to business. This will not take long. And then I insist on dressing your leg wound. It will not help your dragon if you fall from an infection that could have been easily avoided.”

He smiled then and her breathing faltered. He was potent at close range. He was incredibly handsome—why couldn’t she stop thinking that?—and seemingly unaware of his effect on a female’s ability to think clearly in his presence. With slightly addled wits, she changed places with him and allowed him to operate the water pump. She cleaned her tools and her hands as quickly as possible, wringing out the small cloths she had used that were not that soiled. She would let them dry overnight. The cloths that were truly dirty, she segregated into a small pile for later attention.

For the next ten minutes, they worked companionably, cutting the outer stalks off the new batch of plants and preparing the jelly for tomorrow morning. Burnjelly was more potent when it had between twelve and twenty-four hours to set before use. This batch would be even more helpful to the dragon in the morning as long as they were careful to cover it securely overnight.

They sat on the edge of the half-empty trough, each working silently at first. They worked well together, establishing a rhythm. Brodie—Sir Broderick—was good company and did not balk at work, even while injured. She was more impressed by him the more she was around him.

“So tell me, how did you come to the Temple?” Brodie asked out of the blue after they had been working for a few minutes.

She was so surprised by his question, she almost dropped her knife into the trough. Regaining her balance, and her equilibrium somewhat, she thought about how to answer his question. It was a loaded one, to be sure.

Chapter Three

“It is a long story and a sad one for the most part,” she said finally, deciding to give him a little bit of the truth. “I was married off young to an old man. When he wanted to be rid of me, he beat me and threw me out into the street. A kind-hearted soul called one of the brothers from our order and he treated me. It was a long recovery and over the time I spent in the Temple gardens, I discovered an affinity for plants. They allowed me to stay on and join the order to train has an apothecary. As you can see, I made it through to journeyman.” She shrugged, gesturing toward her cart.

“How long have you been on the road?” He seemed to understand more about the way the Temple worked than most people.

“About five years. I’m almost halfway through my journeyman trial.”

“You have done very well for yourself.” He gave an approving glance to the cart and her stock of rare plants.

“You seem much more familiar with the Temple and its ways than most people I come across. How is it you know so much about the order?”

“We knights meet many people on our journeys, but as it happens, someone dear to me is a member of your order.”

“Truly? Do you think I would know him?”

Sir Broderick gave her a secretive smile. “Oh, I would bet you know him if you spent any time at all in the Temple gardens. Have you met Brother Osric?”

“Osric? He is the best of us. The leader of all apothecaries in our order.”

“He is my brother,” Brodie said in a playful voice, as if sharing some private joke, but she didn’t quite understand. It was becoming increasingly difficult to think of him as
Sir
Broderick when he was so open and warm. The shortened version of his name fit his friendly manner, and she knew it was a losing battle to keep that more formal distance between them in her mind.

“That’s not possible. He is probably old enough to be your father,” she said with a scowl of confusion.

“A benefit of joining my life to a dragon’s.” Sir—make that Brodie—glanced toward the sandy area where the dragon lay sleeping. “I will outlive my baby brother, Osric, by many years. Perhaps a lifetime or two.” He shrugged, but she saw the discomfort of that knowledge sitting restlessly in his eyes, even in the flickering lantern light. “I was chosen by Phelan when I was the age you probably are guessing me to be. In truth, I’ve lived double that time already, even though my body stays as youthful as it was when Phelan gave me just a tiny portion of his magic.”

“I have never heard of such a thing,” she admitted, allowing some of the awe she felt to be heard in her tone.

“It is not widely known, though it isn’t a secret, exactly. So few men can be knights, it isn’t something that regular folk seem to concern themselves with.”

“So you’re really older than me, though you look younger,” she thought out loud. Only after she realized what she had said did the blush start in her cheeks.

He sent her a speculative glance. “Indeed, mistress. I am far older and wiser than a pretty young thing like you.” He chuckled, leaning forward to place the plant he’d been working on in the nearby wheelbarrow. The action brought him closer to her and for a heart-stopping moment, she thought perhaps he meant to kiss her.

The disappointment she felt when he didn’t was involuntary, but all too real. She’d only just met the man and already, she wanted to feel his kiss.

She wanted even more than that, if truth be told.

“Living so long must be a blessing indeed,” she said, speaking quickly to cover her confusion. She hadn’t really thought through her words and the way he looked at her made her realize their folly. It was not a gift to watch one’s family grow old and die. “Forgive me,” she added, looking down at her work, embarrassed yet again by her reactions to this confusing knight.

The back of his fingers touched her cheek, then her jaw, so gently. It was like a butterfly’s caress. A strong butterfly that urged her to look up and meet his gaze. She complied, feeling much like a young girl, quivering at such an innocent caress.

“I can never regret joining my life to Phelan’s. He is my best friend,” he said simply. “But all knights search for a family of their own. We know we will eventually lose the family we were born to when we are chosen. It seems a small price when you consider the amazing benefits of partnering with a dragon and being able to train and fight to protect our land and our people. It was my life’s ambition to become a knight and I was never happier than the day Phelan first spoke the words of Claim upon me.” He withdrew his hand from her face, but held his gaze. “But I will always search for the woman who can complete our circle.”

That sounded serious. And why was he looking at her so speculatively all of a sudden? Could he possibly think she was the woman he seemed so determined to find? She felt breathless once more, but then she recalled the strange things she had heard about marriage in dragon Lairs.

She stood and shook a bit of dirt that had fallen from one of the plant pots off her skirt. It was as good an excuse as any to put some distance between herself and this confusing man.

“And by circle, what exactly do you mean?” She walked over to her cart for something to do, pretending to need something out of the back.

She was unprepared to feel his hard warmth at her back, his hands on her shoulders. She was up against the wheel of the cart, reaching over the waist-high side when he trapped her with nothing more than his heat and his light touch on her neck. Just one finger. Stroking. Raising goose flesh with the slow, back-and-forth motion against the sensitive skin just under her ear.

“Phelan is an older dragon,” he said, confusing her yet again. Although it was probably his touch that made every last brain cell she owned jump around in mixed delight and panic. “He has a mate. She is named Qwila and her knight is called Geoff. He was chosen only about a decade ago and is probably about your age, maybe a bit older, if that makes any difference to you.” That tantalizing finger moved to trace her ear and her insides quivered while her body shivered. “When one of us finds the woman who can complete our circle, only then will Phelan and Qwila be able to join once more in a mating flight. Until we have a woman of our own, Phelan and Qwila must abstain. Don’t you feel sorry for them?”