Read Online Boyett-Compo, Charlotte - Wyndmaster 1 by The Wyndmaster's Lady (Samhain) - Free Book Online Page A

big pulls on the whiskey bottle, then,
    milord,” Celeste advised Sierran. “I’m good at embroidery but I’ve never sewn flesh before.”
    Sierran winced. “Aye, well, I’ve never had my flesh sewn before. It’ll be a first for us both.”
    “Don’t hurt all that bad,” Mac reported, fishing the soap out of his pocket. “Stings a bit.” He handed the
    soap to Celeste, who took one of the cloths and dipped it in the water.
    When she had the cloth soapy, she tucked her lips between her teeth and looked at Sierran. “I need to
    cleanse your wounds, milord.”
    He nodded, bracing himself for the pain he knew would come. “Do what you have to,” he said. "I'm all
    yours."
    Sierran was grateful her touch was softer than he would have imagined possible, as gentle as down
    touching the cuts. The warm water felt good, though the soap stung his lacerated flesh. He watched her
    face and could see her concentration as she moved from one wound to the next—taking her time to
    thoroughly cleanse away the dried blood. Her pearly white teeth were clenched upon her bottom lip as
    she worked. Though it seemed to take forever for her to work her way down his chest to his belly and he
    was sweating profusely by the time she asked quietly for the needle and thread, he was reluctant for her
    to stop touching him.
    “I see four cuts that need suturing,” she told him. “When that’s done, I’ll look to your arms.”
    “How ’bout his back?” Vargas asked.
    Celeste turned her head to look at the soldier with shock. “My father made cuts on his back, as well?”
    “Nay, milady,” Vargas said with a shake of his head. “Them cuts came from the cat-o-nine when he was
    lashed at Wardsgate Prison.”
    Sierran saw the young woman’s face pale and as she slowly turned her eyes back to him, he could see
    moisture gathering in their lovely blue depths. His attention went to her lips to see them quiver.
    “I am so sorry,” she whispered.
    "It's all right." He felt the need to say to take the pain from her eyes.
    “I’ll see to your back, too, then,” she said before clamping her mouth tightly shut.
    The suturing was an agony he could ill afford and Sierran had to struggle not to groan as the needle
    wove in and out of his tender flesh—made even more so by the vicious cuts. He twisted the sheet in his
    fists, dug his heels into the bunk’s mattress, and kept his eyes locked on the ceiling beam overhead.
    “I’m almost finished,” he heard her say.
    “I’m still here,” he managed to respond. “Where did you learn to sew up a man’s wounds?”
    Celeste looked away from the last suture to glance at him and when she did, his gaze jerked from the
    ceiling to hers. They stared at one another for a second or two then away. “I have never sewn a man’s
    wounds before but I have completed quite a few tapestries and samplers. The stitching isn’t that different
    although there is more pull with human flesh than with fabric.”
    “Oh,” he said. “Right.”
    “Give him the bottle, Vargas,” she said as she cut the thread on the last stitch then gently ran the palm of
    her hand under Sierran’s neck to lift his head once more.
    Vargas extended the whiskey to Sierran. “It’s good stuff, Commander,” he commented.
    Burning a way down his throat, the whiskey was righteous as Mac was fond of saying. It was potent but
    he knew it would take more than a slug or two to put him in a mellow mood and at least half of it to blot
    out the pain burning on his chest and arms.
    “What else do you need, milord?” she asked him when he lowered the bottle.
    “A real bath,” he said with a sigh as he handed the bottle back to Vargas. “I fairly reek.”
    Celeste turned to Vargas and arched a brow in query.
    Vargas blushed. “Aye, milady,” he said with a sigh. “I can bathe him if he wants me to.” He squared his
    shoulders. “Is that what you want, Commander?”
    “I’d rather she does it but I’ll settle for you,”