Page 88 of Blood & Claw

Darach scowled. He could drag her away. He should.

He should yank back control before things spiraled again. He was losing focus, and he couldn’t afford that.

Instead, he let her have her way.

“Fine,” he muttered, regretting this already. “But be quick.”

Ailsa inspected the wound. She had expected worse, but the gash on the woman’s side wasn’t as deep as she’d first thought. It had pierced the skin and even a little of the muscle beneath. But no deeper. The Gods had been watching over her.

Sitting back on her heels, she frowned. Or they might not be, not if the wound festered. Glancing up, her gaze settled upon where Dale was boiling some water in a small iron pot he carried with him in his saddlebag.

He moved efficiently, yet she could feel the tension in him from here. Like a bowstring pulled too tight. He’d been ready to walk away earlier, and that troubled her more than she liked to admit.

More than last night?

She shoved the thought aside.

Getting to her feet, she brushed off her skirts. “I’ll fetch some woundwort.”

He cast her a sidelong look, eyebrows rising. “So, the tattooist’s apprentice is a healer too?”

There was an edge to his comment. Not mockery, but not approval either.

“No … but Kayla taught me which herbs heal … and which harm. Woundwort is easy enough to learn about.”

Without waiting for him to answer, she picked up her skirts and moved away. The afternoon was drawing out now, the light filtering between the trees golden. She nearly tripped over a root in her haste.

She bit down, swallowing a curse. Gods damn it. Dale did have a point. They couldn’t afford this delay.

And yet, he was wrong too.

They couldn’t leave a woman to bleed out on the road.

Dale might not have a conscience, but she wouldn’t forgive herself if she walked away without at least trying to help.

Her movements were hurried now as she searched the undergrowth nearby for the herb. The day was racing by, and Kayla still lay ahead. Every heartbeat mattered.

Aye, she knew it, but still she searched.

Thankfully, it wasn’t long before she discovered a growth of woundwort, picked it, and hurried back to where Dale knelt next to the unconscious stranger.

Ailsa surveyed her for a moment. She was an unusual beauty and tall for a Marav woman, easily Ailsa’s height, if not taller. Crouching next to her, she peeled away the woman’s hunting leathers and the thick woolen tunic she wore underneath to reveal the pale arch of her ribcage and smooth flank.

Dale didn’t rush her. Yet every few moments, she caught him looking toward the trees. He was marking every moment lost.

Curse him, she was too.

Ailsa poured the cooled water over the wound then. The woman groaned, lashes fluttering.

Thank the Gods.

“I’m going to scout,” Dale announced then, getting to his feet. “Back soon.”

Without another word, he disappeared into the trees, while Ailsa got to work.

She crushed the woundwort with a stick and packed the bitter paste into the gash, her hands moving deftly. By the time she was binding the wound tight with a strip torn from her tunic, her bodyguard reemerged from the woods.

“There.” She sat back on her heels. “That should hold.”