Page 8 of One Knight in the Forest

The sheriff touched her arm. “Magdalen. Trust me, all right?”

Part of her wanted to trust him, but surely, she was far wiser to be cautious. Forcing herself to take slow, calming breaths, she lowered her hand back down to the bedding. “Cynric—”

“Cyn. ’Tis what most folk call me.” His smile softened the harshness in his features, and her stomach fluttered in a most peculiar manner.

“Cyn,” she repeated. His name sounded just like the word sin. “I was wondering—”

“Before you ask, as I am certain ’tis of concern to you, I did not remove your wet garments. Dyane, a local woman who was visiting earlier, did that before she left.”

Relief wove through Magdalen. She was most grateful that he hadn’t undressed her. Imagining his strong, callused hands moving upon her body when she was senseless made her tremble inside.

“Even your chemise was soaked,” he added, busy adjusting the blanket, “so she dressed you in one of my long shirts.”

A renewed blush warmed Magdalen’s cheeks. That explained why the garment was so very soft; ’twas made for a lord, and therefore was of the finest quality linen. She’d like to examine it more thoroughly, but ’twould mean lifting the edge of the blanket tucked securely under her armpits and she had no wish to do that with Cyn watching.

More importantly, she must find out what had happened to her clothes, especially her gown. “My—”

“Also, in case you were wondering,” he cut in, a flush darkening his cheekbones. “I was not present when you were undressed. Borden and I waited in the other room until Dyane finished, so you need not fret that either of us have seen more than your legs.”

He seemed most concerned that she understood naught improper had happened while she was unconscious. How curious and…undeniably charming. Magdalen nodded, and was rewarded by Cyn’s relieved nod in return.

“My clothes,” she said, determined to finally have an answer. “Where—?”

“By the fire,” Cyn said. “They are drying.”

She turned her head on the pillow to see the hearth. Three wolfhounds were dozing with their paws stretched onto the glazed tiles, one of them the dog Magdalen had encountered in the forest. In Magdalen’s quick glance earlier, she’d seen the rope tied between two large chairs, but had thought the garments were someone else’s. Her gown was draped there, along with her chemise. Her shoes and leather bag were tied to the rope as well.

Was the missive still concealed in her sleeve? What of the ruby she’d stowed in her bag? Without it, she had no way to pay for a new start—

“Here we are.” A thin, gray-haired man with a cheerful smile walked into the room. He carried an earthenware mug in his gnarled hands.

“At last,” Cyn muttered.

“I had to be sure the herbal mixture was right.” The man’s intelligent, blue-eyed gaze met Magdalen’s. “Good day, milady.”

“You must be Borden.”

“Indeed, I am.” He set the mug on the side table and bowed, his movements spry despite his advanced age. “How are you feeling? I was sorry to hear you have a nasty wound—”

“Please,” Cyn cut in. “Give her the drink.”

“Of course, milord. We are merely getting acquainted first. A bit of courtly civility—”

“Borden,” the sheriff growled.

Concern touched the older man’s eyes as he glanced from the injury to his scowling lord. Borden nodded briskly and then offered the mug to Magdalen.

Her hands closed around it, and she inhaled the earthy scent of the greenish brew; it had the crushed-plant smell of the forest.

“’Tis an excellent blend, if I do say so myself.” Borden grinned. “I started with some Poppy, then added Chamomile, Valerian, and—”

“Later, we can discuss such matters,” Cyn said, clearly impatient. “Milady, we need you to drink.”

Magdalen didn’t know much about herbs, but was familiar with the medicinal properties of Poppies. She’d helped her mother down a strong Poppy infusion before…

“Please,” Cyn said, more gently, but his tone was still earnest. “You will not come to harm in my home, I promise. You must drink now. I cannot wait any longer to tend to your wound.”

Beside Cyn, Borden smiled at her, his expression kind.

She studied the drink again, her conscience telling her to resist. Yet, she did need to have her wound cleaned and sewn, especially if she planned to flee as soon as she was able. And, truth be told, she’d rather not be awake to watch the stitching.

Moreover, she was exhausted, more tired than when she’d spent the whole day and half of the night caring for Timothy, when Edwina had been ill with an upset stomach.

If she rested now, her clothes also might be dry when she woke.

Encouraged by that thought, she raised the mug to her lips and drank. The brew was sweetened with honey, but had a bitter aftertaste.

“Drink it all down, now,” Borden coaxed. When she handed him the empty mug, he winked. “See? Not so unpleasant.”

Cyn’s fingers pressed upon her leg again. Flinching, Magdalen tilted her head to better see what he was doing, but soon, her eyelids grew heavy. She tried to lift her hand from the bedding, but her arm was leaden.

Her eyes slipped closed, and then she knew only darkness.