Callum 

I stretched my arms, shook out my legs, and relaxed for a moment, having shed forty pounds of metal. 

Uniquely forged to fit me and my fighting style, my armor was the best that could be bought in Eribas. Made by a master with the skill to weave metal for lightness and strength, it was also beautiful. Intricate etchings decorated the larger plates and helm. Illustrations of the Truehorn Duchy and the great horned stag of our crest. It made me proud to wear it.

Unfortunately, no amount of weaving could turn full battle armor into something comfortable to wear for all the hours of the day.

I ached everywhere, and I felt the sharp shock in my ankle when the girl had misstepped. These were her aches. Her injuries entangled to become my pain. Distractions out of my control.  

I could not afford to have someone out of my reach who could so thoroughly pull my focus. It was a weakness, and weakness must be cut out or overcome.

Until the entanglement could be broken, this girl remained my problem. 

She shivered like a lamb despite being only a few feet from the roaring fire. She hadn’t moved since I’d placed her there. Did she always act timid as a statue? The maid said she did everything the Earl asked of her, but she hadn’t undressed.

“We should know each other's names first. Would that be alright?” I waited until she gave a little nod in response. “I am Duke Callum Truehorn, commander of the Scarlet Blade Knights.” 

“Keziah. Lady Keziah Verbodine.” 

Keziah. Pretty and unusual. It suited her. I tried not to think about Verbodine attached to her name.  

“You can call me, Your Grace, if you like sticking to stuffy titles,” I said, moving towards her. “But seeing how we will be in each other’s company for the foreseeable future, I think we can drop the formalities.” 

She nodded, docile. Her cheeks flush with a pretty pink. 

“Would you call me Callum and allow me to call you Keziah?” 

“Yes.” 

I smiled or tried to. Comforting smiles were not my forte. She did not seem particularly comforted by me. When I moved closer she flinched back. It was only natural, I tried to kill her only a couple of hours ago. That would be difficult to overcome. 

One step at a time to build trust, right? 

“Do you need help removing your dress?” 

“No.” 

I waited, expecting her to react, but she didn’t move. Her knuckles turned whiter than the dress from the tight clenching of her hands. 

“I promise I will be quick,” I added, trying to calm her. 

“No. I will not be removing my dress.” She spoke softly, and her shoulders tensed until they practically touched her ears. 

“But it's going to be in the way. It would be easier to remove–” 

“I will not do…that with you!” This time she spoke with determination. She turned to face me and glared with all the wild challenge of a predator. A wolf hiding behind the docile appearance of a sheep.  

That? 

“Oh, frazzling fray!!!” I cursed, running a resigned hand down my face. I had run six steps ahead and forgot to start with step one. I was a stranger to her. I couldn’t treat her like one of my knights; give an order and expect to see it followed through. 

So much for starting with trust and a good second impression. 

I got down on my knees. It was hard to make a blundering tall oaf like myself seem small, apologetic, and nonthreatening.  

“I am doing everything backward and upside down,” I said. “I do not want to touch you without your permission, and I do not want to…besmirch your honor.” 

Loom and shears, that sounded awful. 

Keziah remained silent, looking down at me with no trust. At least, her shoulders had come down a bit, and color returned to her knuckles. The tension remained, but she no longer looked like she was preparing to fight for her life. 

“You are under my care, and you are injured. I would like to tend to you myself. My healer is with my wounded men.” I couldn’t, in good conscience, pull her away from them to see to a prisoner, no matter how pretty her green eyes were. “You hurt your ankle, didn’t you? May I look at it?” 

A quiet moment slipped by before she gave her permission with another nod. She lifted the hem of her dress a few inches and held out her foot. 

“Thank you.” 

I gently lifted it higher with my palm behind her heel for support as I removed the too-big-for-her shoe. Swollen and bruised, her ankle would take weeks to heal without a weaver. I would have to ask Liola to see to it as soon as she recovered from today’s work.  

“Cold will be good for it.” With my free hand, I dipped a strip of muslin cloth into the basin of cool water and wrapped it around her ankle, tying it tight. It wouldn’t stay cold for long. I would have to call someone to fetch some ice.  

I held on too long after I finished, but I couldn’t stop thinking about her cute, crooked third toe. It looked like it had been stubbed on a piece of furniture some time ago. It was endearing. A small imperfection. Maybe, if we got to know each other well enough, it could be one of those stories you share.  

I blew a slow on the damp cloth and she shivered. The tremor passed through her to my fingers resting against the quick-beating pulse in her foot. 

Our eyes met and I wondered if she could feel what I did through the strange bond. 

The new heights of emotions I could barely name flooded through me and changed minute by minute. Did a normal person feel so much all the time? It made me a stranger in my own body.  

I lowered her foot to the floor. My fingertips grazed along the arch as I pulled away, wanting the contact to last.  

“Is that alright, not too tight?” I asked in a voice gone so low and deep I hardly recognized it as my own. 

She nodded. 

“I would like to look at your shoulder and back as well,” I spoke tentatively. I didn’t want to break the tender moment with a request that would shut her down again or make her fear me. “If you will trust me for a moment. I could better tell the extent of your injury if I see it. May I untie your dress? You can keep something on your…um…your front.” 

I had never blushed in my life. So why were my cheeks flaring hot when my back was to the fire?  

She bit her lower lip, and I could see her thoughts ticking away through the way her gaze searched mine. With a tiny nod, she untied the bridal belt of many threads with fumbling fingers and tossed it to the far corner.   

I moved behind her to hide the smile that, for once, came naturally to me. If the way she treated the belt was any indication, the marriage had not been something she desired. It settled a knot in my throat I hadn’t known was there. 

The bridal gown fastened together down the back with a hundred tiny pearl buttons. I fumbled with my large fingers to pull the small loops to unfasten it. After only managing to pop loose three, I feared the act of undressing her would take the whole night. 

“Are you attached to this dress, Keziah?” I asked, pulling a small dagger from my boot. 

“No…”  

“Stay still.”  

I placed the tip below the lowest button and sliced the blade up. The tiny pearls popped off, spilling on the floor at my feet with the same sound as the raindrops hitting the window sill. I placed the small dagger on the table and pulled the dress away from her back while she clutched it to her chest.

“I’m going to remove the corset now. If you will permit me.” 

I waited, until she spoke her ascent, “Yes.” 

The corset proved much easier to untie. Once it was unbound she yanked it off and tossed it on the floor near the belt. 

Did women enjoy removing their corsets, much like men removing their armor? It may not weigh as much, but the binding looked unpleasant. 

“And the shift?” I asked. 

There was hesitance, but she nodded.  

I kept an unhurried pace as I meticulously untied the final knot. A thrill passed through me each time my knuckles grazed her skin. I held the sleeves out for her to pull her arms through. Her right shoulder was developing a bruise, but it moved fine. I felt a dull ache in my shoulder as she pulled it out of the sleeve. Remi knew how to cause pain without lasting injury, but it would be dismal sore tomorrow. 

She held tight to the dress, keeping her front covered while I lowered the shift to inspect her back. Her skin was more beautiful than the pearls had been. Smooth as the satin of her dress, my fingers grazed a trail from her shoulder down the small ridges of her spine.  

But all thoughts of cool rain and beauty melted before the fiery rage that took me when I found the nearly identical cylindrical bruises in fresh, deep blues and purples striped across her sides. 

I would kill whoever had done this.