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The force of the blow had cut straight through his mail chauses. She turned grave eyes up to Rohan. “The wound is deep, and he has lost much blood. I do not know if I possess the skill to save his life.”
    Rohan knelt beside her. He pressed his hand to hers. “Save him, and I will grant you any request within my power.”
    He felt her hand tremble beneath his. And if the circumstances were different, he would lay her down then and there and give her innocent body more to tremble about than the mere touch of his hand. For the briefest of moments, he found himself captured by her big violet eyes. The delicate turn of her nostrils flared. He noticed a light spray of freckles across her nose. His eyes dipped to her parted lips. They were full and the color of a blood rose. She licked her lips, glossing them. Rohan clenched his hand tighter over her. She winced but made no sound.
    “Sir knight, I am unable to work with just one hand.”
    Rohan moved back, releasing her.
    He stood, and with his right hand on his sword, Rohan watched her rip a strip of fabric from the hem of her shift and work it through and around his layers of clothing before securing it around Manhku’s thigh just above the wound. She twisted the fabric taut, then grabbed the dagger from her belt. Before it was free of the sheath, Rohan’s warrior instinct took hold of him. He slapped the weapon from her hand. Isabel yipped and shrank back from him. She turned murderous eyes up at him. Rohan snatched the dagger from the ground. The maid immediately collected herself, retracting her claws to white-knuckled fists at her side. She stood, throwing back her shoulders. As she did, the soft scent of heather swirled around his nose. She held out her hand, palm up, for the weapon. “Foolish knight! To save him, I must form a tourniquet. Give me the knife.”
    Their eyes clashed. And for the second time that day, something about this woman’s warrior spirit moved him. He had invaded her home, taken her people, humiliated her in front of them, and here she was spitting hellfire for the return of her dagger to save his man. His eyes narrowed. Was she a witch? Or was he blinded by her beauty?
    Rohan snorted at the notion. There was only one woman on this earth who held any of his affection. And she was dead.
    Rohan tossed the dagger hilt over point in his hand. Once. Twice. Thrice. His gaze raked over her face, settling on her heather-colored eyes that flashed angrily at him. He flipped the dagger one last time, grabbing it by the tip of the blade before presenting it to her handle first. His other hand moved to the hilt of his broadsword. The maid ignored his threat, turning her back to him, and bent to her chore.
    She twisted the strip of cloth tighter, wrapping the ends around the dagger and tying them to form a tourniquet. She stood, wiping her hands on her tunic. “Take him into the hall. Have one of your men pull a pallet from the eaves and place it before the great hearth.”
    The knights hurried to obey. When Rohan assisted her to rise with a hand to her elbow, she flung his arm away. “I require nothing from you, Norman.” Isabel strode as quickly as she could from the harassing knight without looking as if she were fleeing him.
    Once the ebony giant was settled in front of the newly rekindled fire in the great hearth, Isabel bent to his side, checking the binding. Lifting her gaze to Rohan, she scowled. “I will need another blade, this one heated to a red glow.”
    She held his hard glare. A shiver kicked and bucked to run across her skin, but she refused to allow it freedom. When he continued to stare at her, unanswering, she threw her hands up. “A blade or he dies.”
    “Nay.”
    She shook her head. “Then I cannot help him, sir.” She had made a motion to move past the willful knight when his arm shot out and he stopped her. His grip, though firm, neither hurt nor soothed. She looked up into his eyes. His helmet shielded most of his face, but