Daggerspell - Katharine Kerr [161]
Yet, when Rhodry was walking back to his tent, he saw Jill coming in from the watch. For a moment his lust was so strong that he couldn’t breathe. Although he’d always scorned those bard songs that told of men dying for a woman’s love, that night he almost believed them. He made himself turn away and walk into the darkness before she saw him. He was afraid of what he might do if she gave him one word of encouragement.
There comes a point in any illness when the sufferer realizes not that he’s mending, but that at some point, he will mend, if not soon, then eventually. Cullyn reached that point that evening, when he woke to find his mind clear for the first time since he’d been wounded. The pain had receded, as if his slashed side stood a little ways away from the rest of him, and his broken arm was merely sore under the splints. For the first time, too, he truly noticed the luxury that surrounded him—a private chamber, a bed with embroidered hangings, a carved chest where someone had laid out his sword and silver dagger as if he were a lord. It was all because he’d saved Rhodry’s life, he supposed. He lay very still and tried to decide if he were sorry now that he’d done so.
Eventually Nevyn appeared with his sack of medical supplies.
“Will you have to wash that cut again?”
“I hope not.” Nevyn gave him a thin smile. “I’m beginning to understand why you have so much glory. You’re the first man I’ve ever tended who didn’t scream when I poured mead on his open wound.”
Cullyn sighed at the memory. Keeping silent had cost him every scrap of will he possessed. Nevyn poured him water from the silver flagon by the bedside.
“Do you remember cursing me last night?”
“I do, and you have my apologies for that. It’s not your fault Jill went off to the godforsaken war. Here, I can hold that goblet myself.”
“Good. You need to start moving to get your strength back.”
“So I do.”
Cullyn heard the venom in his own voice. When Nevyn gave him the goblet, he raised one bushy white eyebrow in a questioning sort of way.
“I meant what I said about Rhodry. That wasn’t just a sick man’s temper.”
“I never doubted it for a minute. May I humbly suggest that you wait to see if she’s killed before you start brooding your revenge? She might very well kill Corbyn. I wouldn’t have let her go if I didn’t think she could.”
Cullyn took a couple of greedy gulps of water. “How long before I can fight again?”
“Months. You’ll have to get your shield arm back in shape after it mends.”
“Ah, horseshit. And how long before I can get out of this bed and fend for myself?”
“Oh, much, much sooner. Tomorrow I’ll have you walk a few steps just to see what that does.”
“Good. As soon as I can, I’m leaving Rhodry’s hospitality. I don’t want another cursed favor from him. I wish by every god that they’d dumped me in the barracks with the other men.”
“Oh, ye gods, Gerro! I swear you’re the most stubborn man alive.”
“What did you call me?”
There was certain grim pleasure in seeing a dweomerman look utterly flustered. Nevyn’s cheeks even turned a bit pink.
“My apologies,” Nevyn said. “I’ve tended so many men today that I can’t seem to tell one from the other.”
“No doubt. It’s not like I took any insult, mind.”
Much to Cullyn’s relief, Nevyn pronounced the wound free of infection when he changed the dressing. The old man sent a page to fetch bread and milk, then stood by while Cullyn ate it.
“Answer me somewhat,” Cullyn said. “I’m really surprised that Rhodry’s honor would let Jill do his fighting for him. Why did he take her along?”
“The dweomer