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were sounds of motion as he strode to the shelves, drawing out bread, butter, and a mug of ale. He brought them over to her with an attentive gaze.
    He knelt at her side. “Feeling better?”
    To Mary’s surprise she was ravenous. She could barely wait for him to smear the butter on the bread before she devoured it, washing it down with the occasional draw on the mug. He smiled in appreciation as she tucked the last end of the crust into her mouth.
    He turned to refill her ale. “I’m glad to see you’ve got a healthy appetite.” His eyes drew down to the blanket. “How does your leg feel?”
    She gave her toes an experimental wiggle. Her calf answered with a solid ache, but it was a far cry better than the searing pain of two days ago. “Healing.”
    “Good.”
    He paused for a moment, holding her gaze. “I know the leg was the worst of it, but sometimes in combat we end up with other injuries we don’t notice. If they fester, they can cause serious trouble. You should check yourself over to make sure the leg is the only thing to keep an eye on.”
    She nodded in agreement. “You are right, of course.”
    He moved to the shelves, taking down a fresh dress for her, laying it across the end of the bed. Then he turned, walking to the arrow slit in the western wall, putting his back to her, giving her what privacy he could.
    She pushed the blankets off and, starting with her toes, went carefully up her body. She drew off her dress as she went, glancing up at Erik, but he remained resolutely in place.
    There were scrapes and bruises in a number of locations, but nothing serious beyond her leg wound. The rest would heal quickly and easily. The leg would take longer, and would leave a nasty scar, but the limb would remain fully functional.
    She drew on the new dress, and then looked at her hands. The brown gloves were still in place, almost a part of her, and she hesitated before drawing them off.
    Even after all these years it was still a shock to look at her hands. She had worn these gloves for so long – almost a decade – that the gloves seemed the natural state of her hands, not this twisted, scarred flesh beneath. The burns had been severe, and it was only through God’s grace that the digits remained functional, that she could still wield a sword and manage a knife.
    She turned her hands before her, fascinated by the mangled flesh. That she could have endured that pain …
    Erik’s voice came from across the room. “Everything look all right?”
    Mary glanced up in panic, but he had not turned. He still stared out into the distance, to the keep he had abandoned ten years ago, the family he had left behind.
    She quickly pulled her leather gloves back into place. “Yes, everything is as it should be,” she informed him. “Only the leg needs tending to.”
    She pulled the blanket back over her. “You can turn around now, if you wish,” she added. “I am decent again.”
    He turned, moving over to one of the chairs, sitting on it and picking up a whetting stone. He took the sword from the table and began sharpening its edge with long, steady strokes. Mary could see the slight hitch in his movements, as he tried to do the action with his left hand when clearly he was used to doing it with the right.
    Mary looked down for a moment. “How is your sword hand doing?” she asked quietly. “I am sorry to have wounded you in such a vital place.”
    He shook his head, not pausing in his motions. “You risked your life to come in to get me, when nobody else stirred a finger on my behalf,” he pointed out. “A cut on my hand is a small price to pay.”
    Mary’s gaze moved to his jerkin. The thickness of the bandage bulked it out around his abdomen, and she could see the fabric’s whiteness through the slice in the leather. “And the other wound?”
    “It lets me know it’s there, like an angry wildcat, but I am cautious not to twist it open again. If I can be easy on it for another few days it should start