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  It could also mean she was in terrible pain, but Aslyn didn’t voice those thoughts aloud. She closed her mind to that anxiety and concentrated on the task at hand. Bruising had already begun to develop. She counted a half a dozen that looked fresh enough to be the results of the crash. Except for the knot on the baby’s head, however, none seemed swollen, nor could she detect any other areas that had swollen, indicating deeper injury. The child’s frantic wriggling seemed to belie the possibility of broken bones.

  Aslyn dressed the child once more and carefully wrapped her. She smiled faintly as she handed the wailing child to its mother. “I do not believe she has sustained lasting hurt. You must watch her closely throughout the day, however.” She removed her pouch and carefully spread it upon the cloak, examining the herbs in the tiny bundles inside and selecting small portions of several. These she bundled together in a small scrap of cloth. “If she appears dazed or confused, sleepy when she should not be—in any way not her usual self, powder these herbs, take one fourth of them and feed them to her in a cup of tea or warmed milk. I do not believe you will need it, but it is better to be safe than sorry.”

  The woman nodded and took the pouch. “This is for…?”

  “Swelling. If her brain has been bruised, it could swell and … cause her to be very ill. These herbs are known to reduce swelling and should help. But do not give her anything at all unless she seems strange to you. It is not a good idea to give medicine where it is not needed.”

  A look of fear flickered through the woman’s eyes, but she nodded jerkily that she’d understood.

  Aslyn rose a little stiffly, shook her cloak out and donned it once more, carefully pulling her hood over her head, as much to hide the red hair she despised as to ward off the wind.

  The child’s wails had quieted to a snuffling whimper as her mother put her to her breast to pacify her. “What do I owe you?”

  Aslyn glanced down at the woman. “Nothing.”

  The woman shook her head, a look of obstinateness hardening her features. “We are poor, but we are not beggars. My man will insist upon paying you for your services when he returns.”

  Aslyn glanced around the area.

  “He ran after the beast. He will be back soon, likely with the dead beast. We have no money,” she added. “But I can at least offer you something to chase away the chill. For the rest, we can haggle on something at a later time.”

  “That I will gladly accept,” Aslyn said, smiling. “But I offered no charity. The babe was not in need of my attention. I did nothing but look at her. What do you call her?”

  Pulling the babe from her breast, the woman held the child up and bounced her slightly, smiling. A look of uncertainty crossed her features, whether because her tit had been so rudely taken, or because she didn’t care for the sense of falling, it was difficult to tell. “She is called Bess. Aren’t you, my beauty?”

  Bess offered her mother a wavering smile. Her mother’s smile widened to a grin.

  She tucked the child close to her again, settling her in a sling of fabric tied cross wise around her neck and over one shoulder. When she was certain the baby was secure, she smiled at Aslyn. “I am Enid. Come ‘round to this side of the cart. Perhaps it’ll block a bit of the wind and I can get a fire started.”

  Aslyn wanted to be on her way. However, she could not dash off into the wilderness without arousing unwanted suspicions. She subdued her sense of urgency to depart, therefore, went to gather some sticks, and helped Enid to build a small fire. Relief had loosened the woman’s tongue. Or, perhaps, she was merely starved for company. She chattered animatedly as she set up a small tripod over the fire and set a tin packed with snow over it to boil for tea. As she moved to the cart and dug out a couple of earthen mugs and a jar that contained, Aslyn supposed, the promised tea, she explained to Aslyn that she and her husband had been on their way into the small, nearby town of Krackensled in hopes of finding shelter there for the winter. They had a tiny farm, but, naturally, could do little with it in winter time. Ordinarily, they would merely have settled themselves in for the winter and waited for spring thaw, but there were rumors going about that had made them uneasy enough they’d decided to seek safety in town.

  Aslyn’s brows rose. “Rumors of what sort? I confess I’ve not heard much news of late, but … our land has not been invaded?”

  The woman crossed herself. “Don’t even say such. It tempts the fates. Nay. Wolves. Not more than a month ago a stranger passed through and told us there’d been attacks, and not only upon livestock. And then, only a few days ago, our nearest neighbor came huffing up to our door at dawn, white as death, and babbling about some great beast trying to tear his door down and set upon him and his family. I decided right then that that was enough for me, but Jim—that’s my husband—he wasn’t so easy to convince. I suppose he’s convinced now, though,” she finished, looking pleased about the matter as she handed Aslyn a cup of the tea she’d brewed.

  Aslyn took it and glanced at their wrecked cart. “I would think so.”

  “Where are you off to then?”

  Caught off guard, Aslyn stared at the woman blankly a moment.

  “You said you’d not heard the rumors.” She paused, frowning, then looked around as if she’d only just then realized that Aslyn was alone. “And traveling alone? That seems a bit strange, even for a healer.”

  Aslyn stared into her tea, trying to quiet her pounding pulse. “I’m on pilgrimage. I travel with others as I can. Only this morning, I parted company with the group I’d been traveling with, for they were headed west and I north.”

  The woman nodded, apparently satisfied. “You should come with us. It isn’t at all safe to travel alone just now. And lone travelers this far north are like to be viewed with suspicion…. Not so likely when you’re a woman, but still…. We could introduce you around. I know for a certainty they’ve no healer in Krackensled. The old woman, Gershin, died nigh six months ago. We heard of it the last time we were there.”

  Aslyn looked at her, torn. In truth, she would have far preferred to part company with the woman altogether, but she was weary from her travels and needed to find a place to stay for a while. She would have to move on before the moon completed another cycle, but the chance to rest awhile, and the comfort of a cottage were too great to resist. “You don’t know me. I couldn’t ask it of you,” she said a little hesitantly.

  “You didn’t, did you?” Enid responded tartly. “I offered. Besides, I figure one good turn deserves another. Anyway, I can see you’ve a good heart.”

  Aslyn might have argued further, but she was distracted by the sounds of approaching riders. Enid looked up, as well, rose slowly to look down the road. “Soldiers,” she gasped, her eyes widening. “The king’s men by their banner. Should we hide, do you think?”

  Aslyn moved a little closer to the woman. “Too late,” she murmured. The riders were already bearing down upon them and had almost certainly spotted them. They couldn’t outrun mounted horsemen in deep snow anyway, no matter how fleet of foot and, in any case, Enid was burdened by her child. Aslyn would have little chance. Enid none at all. As strong as the urge to flee was, Aslyn found she simply could not run off and abandon the woman.

  The man leading the group was not dressed as a soldier but rather wore the garb of huntsman. Long and leanly muscular, his build seemed to bear up the image of hunter. She had no difficulty imagining such a man moving invisibly through the forest.

  His face, she saw as he came closer, was long and lean, as well, his strong jaw clean shaven, but she could see that the long hair fluttering about his face was dark as sin. He was a man of good birth, no commoner, regardless of his garb. Or, perhaps, he claimed bastardy. She didn’t believe it. His bearing alone proclaimed pride and self-confidence, traits no bastard would possess. This man had secrets … and eyes that would not miss the secrets others might wish to guard. He bore the unmistakable look of a predator.

  Chapter Two

  Enid cri
ed out quite suddenly. “Jim? What’s happened?”

  Aslyn glanced quickly at Enid, then transferred her gaze to the oncoming riders once more. It was only then that she realized one of the horses was mounted double.

  “Now, don’t start yer wailing, love. It’s scarce more’n a scratch. Tripped over a bleeding root and caught meself in the leg with me own arrow, fool that I am,” Jim reassured her as the riders drew abreast of them.

  Enid, apparently, wasn’t convinced. Shoving the baby at Aslyn, she rushed over even before the horses had been drawn to a complete standstill, grasping at his leg worriedly, as if she could lift him from the horse.

  Aslyn remained as she was, frozen to the spot, her gaze held captive by the huntsman’s golden eyed stare. He nodded slightly, but his hard mouth did not so much as twitch on the verge of a smile as he released her at last from captivity, turning his attention to the soldiers milling around him. “You men--dismount and see if you can get their cart righted.”

  Without a word, the men dismounted almost in unison. The one who had been riding with Jim on his horse’s rump helped Jim down before dismounting himself. The youth among them, who looked to be a squire, gathered the reins of all the horses and led them far enough off the road to secure them, then returned to help his five fellows. After a moment, the huntsman dismounted, as well, and went to help Enid, who was struggling under her husband’s weight … as well she might, for Enid’s Jim was a bear of a man.

  Shaking herself from her stupor at last, Aslyn followed them, knowing her services would be needed. Jim groaned as he was helped to sit with his back against a tree. At a glance, Aslyn could see that he’d lost a great deal of blood. The leg of his breeches was soaked with it.

  Her heart thudded dully in her chest. She had to fight her reluctance to approach him. She should not have been so squeamish about blood, all things considered, but the fact was her own experiences had made her more repelled by the sight, not less so.

  “Who be ye?” he said in a growling voice that matched his size as she knelt beside him.

  Aslyn met his suspicious gaze with a cool look of her own. She was accustomed to it, but she hated the suspicions always cast in her direction.

  “This is Aslyn, love. She’s a healer. She came to help when she heard me crying about Bess.” She turned a beseeching gaze upon Aslyn. “You can help him, can’t you?”

  “Phsaw! I’ve no need of a healer, an’ especially not one so young as she. Find something to wrap me up, love ... and bring me a bit of the good stuff, just to warm me bones.”

  “You will bleed to death if the wound isn’t closed.”

  Enid looked as if she might faint at Aslyn’s words. Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp. The man glared at her. “If ye think frightening the wits out of me woman is the way to convince me to let ye have a go at me, yer dead wrong.”

  “Don’t be more of a fool than you need be,” the huntsman said coldly. “Allow the woman to attend your wound.”

  To Aslyn’s amazement, Jim looked cowed. They were much of a height, but Jim was easily twice the bulk of the huntsman. She would not have thought he could be so easily intimidated by a man of the huntsman’s stature. Or, perhaps it was not that at all. Perhaps it was the ingrained subservience of the lowborn toward those of higher birth and Jim sensed that in the huntsman even as Aslyn had?

  Beyond that, there was something about the huntsman that unnerved her. Undoubtedly it was not merely her imagination, for Jim sensed it too.

  Without another word, she stood to hand the baby to Enid and knelt beside the woman’s fallen husband. Taking her knife from her pack, she slit the leg of his breeches from knee to hip so that she could get a better look at the wound.

  “Here now! These are me good breeches!” Jim objected.

  Aslyn allowed her gaze to meet his. “And your good wife can sew them up for your again.”

  “But they’ll be patched,” he muttered.

  “They would be patched anyway, you great lummox! You’ve torn them already,” Enid snapped. “Stop being so difficult!”

  He yelped as Aslyn probed the wound. Aslyn gave him a look. “I’ll be as gentle as I can, but it needs to be cleaned. If you’ve anything trapped inside the wound it could putrefy.”

  He studied her uneasily for several moments and finally nodded.

  Aslyn pinched his leg, forcing the wound to gape. Blood welled to the surface. Jim groaned, gripped the ground on either side of him, but gritted his teeth.

  Aslyn frowned in concentration as she peered into the gash. It was always difficult to tell whether foreign matter had been forced into a wound or not because of the blood. Torn tissue looked very little different than bloodied cloth, but Aslyn thought she saw a fragment of cloth from his breeches. Releasing him, she took her pouch of medicines from her belt and laid it out, selecting a long needle. Jim eyed the sharp needle with obvious misgivings. In the next moment, however, he had squeezed his eyes shut and uttered another growl of pain as Aslyn dug around in the wound, removing a fairly large piece of fabric and a number of splinters from the arrow. Finally satisfied, she laid the needle aside and began scooping up snow. Jim let out a yelp the moment she placed the packed ice on his leg.

  “What’re you doin’ now, woman? Tryin’ to freeze me ballocks off?” he demanded irritably.

  “You’ll have no need for them if you’re dead,” Aslyn said coolly, continuing until she’d packed ice all around his leg. “This will slow the bleeding.”

  She rose when she was done, took her needle, moved to the tin of boiling water and dropped it in. Removing the tin from the fire, she moved back to the tree where Jim sat and set the tin on the ground next to him.

  “What’d you do that for?” Jim asked suspiciously.

  “To clean the needle.”

  “Ye didn’t clean it before you poked me with it.”

  “I always clean it. It’s not been touched since the last time I used it … and cleaned it.”

  After a few minutes, she began removing the snow. The wound was still bleeding sluggishly, but she was satisfied that no large vein could have been ruptured, else it would have continued to bleed profusely. She reached into the tin and grasped the needle.

  When she turned to thread it, she saw that both Enid and Jim were gaping at her, their faces pictures of fright. “Are you a witch, then?” Enid asked breathlessly.

  “No.”

  “Then how’d ye do that?” Jim demanded. “Your fingers aren’t burned. I can see that.”

  “The snow,” Aslyn said with determined patience. “My skin was too cold from handling the snow for the water to burn. Try it yourself, if you doubt me.”

  He didn’t looked convinced, nor as if he had any desire to test her words. In any case, he forgot all about the incident when he saw that she was threading the needle. “Here now. I’ll not be needing that! Look, it’s stopped bleeding. All I need is a rag tied about it.”

  “If it’s not closed. It will continue to bleed and it will be too easy for something to enter the wound. It’ll be best if it’s closed.”

  Aslyn’s nerves were on edge by the time she’d sewn the flesh together. It was an unpleasant task at the best of times, and Jim made no bones about trying to be manful about the thing, yelping each time the needle was plunged into his skin, growling, groaning with pain as the thread was pulled taut. Aslyn was forced to conclude that he hadn’t been brave about his wound so much as he was fearful of having it treated. Men were such infants about their hurts.

  When she’d finished, she took a clean strip of cloth, sprinkled herbs on it to ward off putrefaction, and bound it snugly around his wound.

  It was only when she turned to retrieve the tin that she discovered the huntsman stood nearby, watching her every movement. She wondered if he’d been observing her the whole time she attended Jim.

  What had he expected? That she would prove herself totally incompetent? Or that she would deliberately harm the man?

  With
an effort, she pretended she hadn’t noticed his rapt attention and took the tin, moving back to the fire.

  To her consternation, he followed her. He knelt on the opposite side of the fire as she scooped up fresh snow and set it to boil so that she could clean her needle again. “I am called Kale,” he said, lifting his gaze from her hands to her face and studying her with a piercing, unnerving stare that Aslyn could feel even without looking at him.

  She allowed her gaze to flicker to his face when he spoke. Up close, she saw that her observations as he’d arrived had not done him justice. She’d had the perception that he was well favored, but assumed, as is quite often the case, that distance had lent him more comeliness than he actually possessed. At a distance, one could not observe the little flaws that could make a world of difference in whether or not one actually was pleasing to the eye.

  She saw now that, although his face was harshly angular, he was exceptionally well favored. In the days before, she would have been filled with maidenly confusion and pleasure if she had drawn the attention of such a man.

  The interest she drew now made her heart flutter uncomfortably, but she rather thought it was more fear than excitement.

  His eyes were golden. She’d never seen eyes that color … on a human. Perhaps it was the eyes, so near in shade to any number of predators, that lent him the look of one?

  “I am Aslyn.”

  “You are a stranger here?”

  She’d had no choice but to admit she was a stranger to Enid, knowing it was too risky to do otherwise when the woman was obviously a local. She was far more reluctant to admit it to the king’s man. A huntsman did not commonly lead a band of soldiers. She didn’t like to think what the purpose of this group might be.

  And yet, she had no option, not now, not when Enid and Jim had already indicated they had no knowledge of her.