Read Online To Tempt a Knight by Gerri Russell - Free Book Online

the very scars she talked about.
    He reached for her hand. His fingers curled around hers, held fast. “Siobhan,” he said softly. “It’s not weakness to be afraid. Someone else can treat my wounds.”
    She ran her tongue along her lower lip and swallowed hard, then slowly lifted her chin. “Nay, I can do this. Please, let me help you.”
    He nodded and released her hand.
    Mustering all her inner resources, she searched his torso for the deepest cuts.
    Brother Kenneth returned a moment later with a mug of ale. He and Simon assisted William to sit up and helped him drink. The tangy scent of the strong spirit lingered in the chamber.
    While they helped William lie back down, Siobhan tore the cloth Brother Kenneth had brought into tourniquets. Some of the strips she folded, and when the men moved back from William’s body, she set the folded linen atop the worst of his wounds before she tied strips of fabric around his arm, his upper chest, his shoulder. With a sigh, she sat back. That would help forestall the worst of the bleeding while she sewed each wound.
    Brother Bernard patted Siobhan’s shoulder. “We willleave William in your care, my dear. Brother Patrick will be just outside the door should you need anything. Brother Simon, might I have a word?”
    Brother Simon hesitated. “I think I should stay—”
    “I’ll be fine,” William reassured his friend, his voice steady and calm as the effects of the ale set in.
    Simon’s gaze lingered on Siobhan for a moment before he turned and left the room. A shiver coursed through her. Did the man not trust her with his friend? She pushed the thought away, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. Siobhan picked up the needle, wishing she had spent more time at her embroidery frame. The needle took only a moment to thread. She ran the metal through the hot flame before she set to work sewing the worst of his wounds.
    The room suddenly seemed too warm, the air too thick, as she tugged from one side of his rent flesh to the other. Bent so close to him, she could perceive the tightening of his muscles, the increased rhythm of his breathing. As she sewed his shoulder, she turned toward him, realizing how close his face was. How close his lips were.
    He looked at her intently through dark lashes, as if to read her thoughts by studying her features. She drew a sharp breath, suddenly aware that she was breathing too fast, as though she’d been running. It wasn’t fear that moved through her now, but something else.
    Siobhan sat back, forcing her attention on the wound on his chest. Her stitches were even and steady. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the gentle duet of their breathing.
    She stared at him, and her breath caught. In that moment she saw past the blood and grime still covering his face to the true handsomeness there. Golden hair framed his face, a face that held no brutality and menace, but determination.
    It was the kind of face a woman couldn’t help but stare at in awe and with desire. Before she could think about what she did, she brushed a lock of hair from his eyes. Her hand strayed to the strong, straight line of his cheekbone and down to the cleft of his chin. “I’m so sorry to bring you pain,” she whispered.
    A faint smile came to his lips and a curious light filled his eyes. He brought his hand up to cup her cheek. “I hardly felt a thing.” He let her go with a slight caress along her jawline.
    Siobhan curled her fingers against the light flutter that took flight in her stomach. To be the focus of such a look was not something she was used to. She returned his smile with a nervous one of her own. “That’s stretching the truth, even for a monk.”
    The light faded from his eyes. “Monks are not without sin. We have failings, just as everyone else. Besides, I am a lay monk.”
    “What is that?”
    “A monk who gives more of his time to manual labor, or in the case of the Templars, to battle. We spend our lives in the