Dragons of the Watch - Donita K. Paul [51]
“Thank you. I think.”
“Yes, that was a compliment.” He withdrew his arm and waved a hand at the messy kitchen. “Shall we attempt a cleanup?”
She sighed and nodded. “My mother’s upbringing would haunt me if I left this borrowed kitchen in such disarray.”
“Your diction is that of a city gal, yet you say you have always lived on the farm.”
Ellie stood. “Oh, we can talk country when we’re among ourselves. But my mom and Gramps set store on book learning. Not so much my father. But he let us have our way, only teasing us about being high-falutin two or three times a week.”
She looked around, assessing all that needed to be done. “Do you want to wash dishes or counters and floor?”
“Counters and floor.”
“Fine!” She climbed the cabinets to the sink. Bealomondore took time to help her get the water hot and all the dishes within reach. Even though they had used the smallest bowls available to mix the dough, the heavy ceramic made it difficult to maneuver them in and out of the soapy water and then into the rinsing basin. She lined up the clean dishes upside down on a towel to dry.
When she finished, she sat on the edge of the counter and watched Bealomondore mop.
He glanced up, stopped, and pointed to the stack of bowls. “That one looks like it’s going to topple.”
She turned and saw which one he meant. Getting up on her knees, she pushed a plate farther away from the edge, making room for the bowl to rest more securely against another larger bowl.
Bealomondore shouted, “Watch out!”
The creak of one glass object rubbing against another warned her that the dishes had shifted. Something heavy hit her shoulder. She grabbed the dish she had just moved, but it tilted toward her and thrust her over the edge of the counter. She hit the floor before she even had time to scream.
Glass shattered around her. Pinpricks of pain assailed her exposed skin. Another dish somersaulted through the air, coming right at her. She ducked to the side, covering her head with her arms. It hit her shoulder and then the floor, exploding into flying shards. Broken pieces crunched as she shifted just a little bit.
“Don’t move,” said Bealomondore from beside her head. “Let me get some of this away from you so you won’t get cut.”
“Too late,” she groaned and exposed the arm beneath her. She gritted her teeth. A long red line ran from the inside of her elbow to her wrist. Blood bubbled out the end of the gash.
Bealomondore clamped his hand over the wound. “This is deep. You must have nicked an artery.”
“That’s not good,” she whispered. She knew his other hand moved quickly. He searched for something, but she couldn’t summon the words to ask what he was doing. That seemed odd to her but not strange enough to break through this sudden malaise. The malaise seemed odd as well. Perhaps the combination of heat and the physical effort to make the daggarts had drained her.
“Not good, but we can fix it. I have some battleground experience.”
“Oh, aren’t I lucky?”
She heard him laugh, but the last words he spoke were mumbled. Or maybe she just couldn’t hear through the darkness closing in on her.
Bealomondore kept his hand over the wound while Ellie’s blood poured through his fingers. Why wasn’t the flow stopping? He shifted his grip and breathed a sigh of relief as the worst of the gushing changed to a slow trickle. With his other hand he searched his pockets for a handkerchief.
His jacket! He’d tucked the square of cloth he wanted to use in the breast pocket of his jacket, which hung on the back of a chair clear across the kitchen.
Tak looked at him and then at the brown coat. Without hesitation, he trotted across the wooden floor, took the back of the jacket in his teeth, and tossed his head. After two tries, he yanked it off and brought it to Bealomondore. The goat dropped it beside his mistress and immediately sank to position himself along her other side. Bealomondore winced, but apparently the shattered crockery did not penetrate Tak’s thick white hair.
Bealomondore pulled out the white linen, put one end in his teeth, and