Page 82 of Tending the Ache

"I haven't —"

"I will be the judge of that."

Eskil closes his mouth. Indrie retrieves the tray from the table and carries it to the bed and sets it on Eskil's lap, positioning it with the care of somebody who has managed infirm patients for years and knows exactly how high a tray must sit so that eating does not require the man to fold in the middle.

Bohdi stands. He has gotten himself under control, mostly, though his eyes are still bright and the ghost of the grin lurks at the corners of his mouth.

"I'll leave you in capable hands," Bohdi says, and his voice is almost level.

He heads for the door. As he passes Indrie, something in his face changes. Eskil catches the edge of it, the amusement going out and something quieter coming in, and he knows Bohdi and he knows what that face is doing.

Thank you. For coming. For fixing him. For being here.

The door closes. The room is quiet.

Indrie stands beside the bed with his arms folded across his chest. He is watching Eskil eat, vigilant, ensuring compliance, and Eskil is eating because he is hungry and because Indrie is watching and he will not give the man cause to scold him again.

Although….

The scolding had been — well. Eskil tears off a piece of bread and chews it and does not think about how attractive it is when Indrie is angry on his behalf. He does not think about the flush or the wild hair or the way Indrie's voice drops half an octave when he is issuing medical directives, acquiring a firmness that sits in Eskil's chest and does things that cannot possibly be good for six inches of fresh stitching.

He does not think about any of it.

He eats his bread and his porridge and drinks his tea and Indrie stands beside him like a sentry, and the quiet between them is not uncomfortable. It is the quiet of two men who have survived the night and are still here, still breathing, and do not need words to confirm it.

When Eskil finishes, Indrie takes the tray and sets it aside and then sits on the edge of the bed, carefully, on the left side, the unwounded side.

"I need to check the wound now."

"It's fine."

He gives Eskil a look.

Eskil pulls the blanket down to his waist and Indrie leans in close, his eyes on the wound with the intensity that means the healer is in full possession of the body and the man who lives in it has temporarily vacated.

His fingers touch the skin around the sutures. Featherlight. Barely there. Mapping the edges for heat or swelling, pressing gently to check the tension of each one. His hands are cool and precise and Eskil can feel each individual fingertip, four points of sensation tracking along the line of the wound.

"No inflammation," Indrie murmurs, more to himself than to Eskil. "The edges are holding. Good apposition. No seepage." He presses a spot near the lower end of the laceration and Eskil hisses and Indrie's eyes flick to his face and then back down. "Tender here. That is where the blade went deepest. The periosteum is bruised. You are going to feel that for weeks."

"I have felt worse."

"That is not the reassurance you think it is."

Eskil almost laughs. The motion pulls his side and he catches it between his teeth and turns it into a grunt instead. Indrie's hand flattens against his stomach, a steadying pressure, warm and grounding, and the clinical detachment in his expression flickers. Just for a moment. Just long enough for Eskil to see behind it, to the man who slept curled against his side all night and reached for him when he left.

Indrie pulls his hand away. Straightens. The healer clicks back into place.

"You'll live," he says. "But you are not to engage in any physical exertion for at least two weeks. No training. No riding. No —" His cheeks pink. "— no strenuous activity of any kind."

"Define strenuous."

"Eskil."

"I'm asking a question."

"You are not asking a medical question." The colour is spreading down his neck. "You are confined to this bed until I say otherwise. Bohdi can handle whatever needs handling. Morgan can run things from the study. You are going to rest and heal and eat whatever food is brought to you and you are not going to argue with me about it."

Eskil looks at him. At this small, fierce, beautiful man sitting on the edge of his bed with his cheeks red and his jaw set.