The Witch's Tower - Tamara Grantham (e reader books .TXT) 📗

class="subsq">He smiled, but it didn’t touch his eyes. It wasn’t the carefree look I’d become so accustomed to.

“Gothel, please allow me to apologize. I should not have hesitated to follow you into the stable. After you left to save the horses, the guardsman attacked me, just enough to incapacitate me so he could enter the stable behind you, I thought…” he swallowed. “I thought he would kill you. He almost did.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know the guardsman was following us.”

“True, but I should have known he was the one who set the fire. I should’ve realized he was trying to ambush us. He could have killed you.”

He looked away from me, swallowing hard, as if trying to control his emotions. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. The guardsman injured me. Not you.”

He only nodded, and I wished I could’ve said something to ease his regret, but what? I didn’t blame him for my injury. How could he have known the guardsman would ambush us? Neither of us had known.

“Will you allow me to tend your wound?” he asked. “I know it won’t make things right, but I feel I need to do something to help you.”

What other choice did I have? “Very well,” I said.

He nodded, removing a rolled linen from his pack and a vial of ointment. Rosewood, perhaps?

“You carry rosewood oil with you?” I asked.

“Yes. All the king’s soldiers keep it with them for injuries on the battlefield.” His fingers hovered above my waistline. “Are you ready for this?”

Despite being stabbed through the gut, the butterflies returned. I’d hoped being sliced open would have gotten rid of the annoying feeling deep in the pit of my stomach, but no such luck.

“I’m ready.”

He gently lifted the fabric of my riding gown, which I noted had already been cut open. Bandages lay across my abdomen, just below my ribcage. They were soaked through with dark blood.

Raj lifted them away one at a time. The iron-rich scent of my own blood filled the air. I wanted to gag, but held still as he removed the last bandage, revealing a cut that perfectly severed through my flesh in a straight line. Jagged black thread crisscrossed the wound, sealing it shut.

“You stitched it?” I asked.

“Yes, as you can see, I’m not as proficient as you.”

“It looks fine.”

“I guess so. The good news is that you didn’t injure any vital organs, and the bleeding has stopped, but I fear that if we don’t keep the wound clean, taint could set in.”

He picked up a bowl filled with water. After wetting a cloth, he lightly dabbed the wound.

I balled my fists against the pain. Though he worked gently, fire burned through my skin, as if I’d been stabbed all over again.

Sweat beaded on my brow, and my agitated stomach twisted, threatening to heave up the little bit of water I’d managed to drink.

After cleaning away the dried blood, Raj picked up the vial of rosewood oil, and dabbed a few drops onto my wound. The scent of roses and herbs filled the air. I forgot to breathe as he worked the oil into my skin, his warm hands calm and gentle, though the stab wound ached. He placed the vial aside and covered the wound with strips of white cloth. After finishing, he pulled a blanket over me. His eyes met mine, and his pain-stricken face revealed his turmoil.

I knew he felt responsible for my injury, for my pain, for my near death caused by the guardsman. He grabbed another cloth, soaked it in water, and wiped the sweat from my brow.

“I’m so sorry, Gothel. I swore to protect you, but I failed.”

The feel of his warm hands calmed my beating heart and soothed my pain.

“Raj, I don’t blame you. I shouldn’t have run into a burning stable. It was a reckless thing to do.”

“You were being brave. More so than me.”

He smoothed the cool cloth across my forehead. My pain eased, and I relaxed under his gentle hands. I never wanted to move from this spot. Raj’s presence calmed my fears. Closing my eyes, I imagined what it would be like to have him always close.

He moved the cloth away, then pushed a strand of hair away from my face. I moved his fingers away, suddenly reminded of the guardsman grabbing my hair last night. Panic welled up inside me. I hated the guardsman for stabbing me, but I hated him almost as much for pulling my hair.

“Do you not want me to touch you?” Raj asked.

“No. It’s just that last night, the guardsman grabbed my hair and nearly pulled it from my scalp. It’s not a pleasant memory, and now I can only imagine what my hair must look like.”

“Would you like me to comb it for you?” Raj asked.

“You don’t have to. I can manage.”

“It’s no trouble.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m sure it still hurts for you to move.”

“It’s not too bad.” And by that, I meant it hurt like hellfire with every inch I moved. “But I suppose my hair must look frightful.”

“You’ll let me comb it, then?”

“Fine,” I relented. “There’s a boar hair brush in my pack.” I was letting him get way too close, yet I seemed incapable of doing anything about it. Sighing, I decided since I was injured, surely it was okay to let my guard down. Just this once.

Raj gently lifted my head and pulled my matted mess of hair away from my neck. He carefully ran the brush through the strands, working the tangles out as he went. I wasn’t sure how to react to his familiarity. Aside from my mother and that accursed guardsman, no one had touched my hair, let alone brushed it. I’d always been too self-conscious. The greenish-blue strands stood out. My hair made me feel exposed, so most of the time I kept my head covered. To have Raj’s fingers in my hair, working away at the tangles, unnerved me. Despite his familiarity, I couldn’t find the willpower to ask him to stop. He’d enchanted me, and I was powerless to resist him.

Calmness settled over me. He worked the brush toward my scalp, never pulling, working gently. He couldn’t have realized how awkward this was for me. No one touched my hair. Ever. But he held me under his spell, and I remained on the pallet, staring at the oilskin tarp overhead, listening to the sounds of the bristles running through my hair, removing one tangle after another, one barrier after another, taking away all my defenses, until he left me exposed and vulnerable, and oddly content.

Sighing, I closed my eyes as he moved the brush up to my scalp, brushing from top to bottom, long, elegant strokes—a painter creating a work of art.

He placed the brush aside, then gently ran his fingers through the long strands. My breath stilled, and I lay frozen, not wanting him to stop. He moved to sit beside me, his hands still moving deftly through my hair.

“You should never hide your hair.”

“Why?” I asked.

“It’s too beautiful to be hidden.”

“I disagree. It makes me a target.”

“You’ve never told me why it’s blue.”

“I haven’t told you because I don’t know. When I asked my mother, she told me it was my father’s fault, but I never understood what she meant.”

“Do you remember him very well?”

“Not much. I remember my mother’s face when he returned from his journeys. Those were some of the only times I saw her happy. But he died when I was very young, and I only remember brief images of him. He was very handsome, and he always brought the most beautiful flowers when he returned. Although now, I realize they were only wildflowers.”

His eyes lingered on my face, and I desperately wanted him to kiss me again, but I knew a second kiss couldn’t possibly feel as good as the first. If it did, I might lose my head completely and never be the same. No, a second kiss couldn’t be half as good.

He leaned closer to me, his dark eyes drinking me in, and I could do nothing but stare into the bottomless depths—dark and mysterious. Exotic.

The scent of sage and dark forests clung to his skin and hair, and a hint of a beard shadowed his jaw. I reached up and touched his face, feeling the prickly hair beneath my fingers, a subtle masculinity that set my insides on fire.

He placed his hand atop mine. Warmth seeped from his skin, melting the chill in my fingers. Leaning toward me, he focused on my lips, but as he drew closer, voices came from outside the tent.

Raj sat up straight, and I pulled the blanket to my chin as Drekken and the dwarf entered, each carrying several large canteens. The sound of sloshing water came from their containers as they set them on the sand.

“Sun’s getting higher,” the dwarf said. “We’ll need to hurry if we want to make it across the desert before nightfall.”

“Do you think you can travel?” Raj asked me.

The thought of sitting on a horse wasn’t a pleasant one, but what choice did I have? “I’ll manage.”

Raj took my hand and helped me sit up. I expected the wound to hurt, but with the rosewood oil numbing the pain, I only felt a slight prickling sensation. Raj held my hand a second longer than necessary, still looking at me with that guilty expression.

I let