As Rose emerged from the storage room and walked toward Lord Hamlin, she thought his eyelids flickered but hoped he was still unconscious. She hesitated beside his bed. Wipe the face of the duke’s son? If she knew he wouldn’t wake up she would gladly perform that small act of kindness.
His chest rose and fell beneath his fine white shirt and hip-length, sleeveless doublet. Her gaze shifted to his face. She couldn’t pull her eyes away from his masculine features—strong chin, high cheekbones, thick lashes, and well-formed lips. The way his black hair curled and clung to his forehead gave him an endearing look. His arms and chest were well-muscled, possibly from his training in archery and swordplay. And now that she had seen him up close, her curiosity had been assuaged and she could tell Hildy—his eyes were blue, deeper and darker than a woodland pool.
Those eyes flicked open and fastened on her.
Rose inhaled sharply and thrust the cloth toward him.
He stared at it then reached and took it from her. “I thank you.” He wiped the sweat from his face.
Heart pounding, cheeks burning, she scurried back toward the storage room. She prayed he didn’t realize she’d been standing there visually examining him.
At least she hadn’t wiped his face.
When she returned, he had pulled himself into a half-sitting position and regained the color in his cheeks. His bare leg looked vulnerable on the white sheet. The black stitches stood out against his skin. She cringed. They looked like the crooked stitches of a child just learning to sew.
Rose sat on the stool, holding a long strip of clean linen. She tried to ignore Lord Hamlin’s steady gaze. Saints be praised, this is almost over.
She wrapped the bandage around the wound several times with one hand, awkwardly holding his leg up with the other. Finally, she tied a thin strip around it to hold it in place. Relief spread through her. It was done.
“May I get you some water?” She didn’t have any wine to offer him.
“Yes, I thank you.”
She filled a tankard from the pitcher in the storage room and carried it back in to him. As she returned, his eyes focused on her skirt.
“Forgive me. I’ve ruined your dress.”
She looked down and saw a blood stain the size of an apple. She shook her head. “It’s my fault. I forgot to put on my apron.”
“The fault is mine. I’ll see that it is replaced.”
“I pray you not to trouble yourself.”
“I shall have it replaced.”
Her face grew hot. I’m arguing with Lord Hamlin. She curtsied. “As you wish, my lord.”
Rose handed him the water and began cleaning up, relieved to have something to do. She picked up his cup of tea and the pan of bloody water and carried them into the storage room, emptying them in the refuse bucket. When she returned, he was drinking the last of the water from the tankard. He set it on the floor, his expression gentle.
“I am most indebted to you, Rose.”
He knew her name.
She swallowed and shook her head. “I apologize that Frau Geruscha wasn’t here. She’s the experienced one.” Her voice trailed off at the last sentence. She wasn’t eager to let him know that his was the first wound she’d ever treated.
At times such as this Rose wondered why Frau Geruscha had chosen her to be her apprentice. Rose had always been a favorite with the healer, who had often visited Rose’s family when Rose was a child, teaching her to read and write. But Rose suddenly wondered why she’d never thought to ask her parents why Frau Geruscha—obviously an influential woman at Hagenheim Castle, a woman educated in a convent—had paid so much attention to her, a poor woodcutter’s daughter.
Lord Hamlin sat calmly studying her. She remembered the proud tilt of his head and the disdainful way he’d looked away from her the day he and his brother returned from Heidelberg. There was no evidence of that arrogance now. But as the son of the Duke of Hagenheim, he possessed more wealth and power than anyone else in the region. If truth be told, more than King Wenceslas himself.
She felt uncomfortable beneath his gaze. If the townspeople thought of her as lacking social status, how much more lowly would she appear to Lord Hamlin?
“You will want to return to your room.” She jumped to her feet.
Lord Hamlin raised his eyebrows, but before he could reply, she bolted to the door. She spotted Sir Georg and Sir Christoff in front of the blacksmith shop in the castle courtyard and motioned them in. The two knights entered the room and advanced to where Lord Hamlin lay. They each hooked an arm around his shoulders, hoisted him up, and started for the door.
Lord Hamlin looked over his shoulder. His eyes locked on hers with an intensity that paralyzed her.
She should curtsy at least. She bobbed a quick one as he disappeared out the door.
The morning after tending Lord Hamlin’s wound, Rose went to the kitchen to break her fast. When she returned, a stack of fabric lay on the desk by the window where she often sat. On top was a folded note with Rose written on the outside. She unfolded the parchment and read.