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The Knight's Vow
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He looked quickly away as she lifted the hem of her skirt, and ripped several strips from her shift. These she knotted together, until she had a serviceable bandage. Then she tore another piece off and wadded it into a square. She leaned down to the stream and soaked it in cold water, squeezing the excess out and laying the makeshift compress against his ribs. He flinched, with a low, throaty groan and her eyes lifted to his.
‘You torture me.’ His gaze fell on her soft cheeks, the curve of her pink mouth. ‘I see you still have your hair.’
Beatrice found she could not look away from him, as his eyes explored her face, and her breath came quickly from between parted lips. She could feel the heat of his body, and beneath her fingers his flesh was solid, his sun-gold skin smooth along his ribs. She noticed that his chest was dusted with dark-gold hair, a thin dark line arrowing along the flat planes of his stomach to his navel, and beyond. Quickly she tore her eyes away. His male smell, mixed with sweat and dirt, was heady indeed and not repugnant. Her senses seemed to float, a spark lighting inside her.
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