A Knight's Persuasion by Catherine Kean

her in any manner . . . Nay .
    Halting before his grazing horse, Edouard eased Juliana into Kaine’s waiting arms. Edouard mounted his steed, then, with his friend pushing her from below, pulled her up onto the saddle in front of him. He shifted her legs so she sat across his lap, settled the second blanket over her, then slid one arm around her body to draw her against him.
    When he took up the reins, her wet head shifted into the crook between his head and shoulder. Edouard paid no heed to the water dripping down his neckline; he’d change his damp garments and dry off once she was in the healer’s care.
    The faint puff of her breath tickled his skin. How intimate their posture must look from below—as though they were lovers. A notion he’d dispel if anyone made the assumption. He might resent his betrothal to Nara, but being an honorable man, he’d never abandon his commitment to her.
    A long-ago memory of Juliana standing before him by the well, her tresses aglow with sunlight, flitted through his mind. How vibrant she’d looked that day. What he would give to see even a glimmer of that spirited woman now.
    Find that strength of will, Juliana. Fight to open your eyes. Fight to live .
    Edouard glanced down at Kaine, preparing to climb up onto his mount. Hope lit his friend’s eyes. “Did she stir?”
    “Nay.”
    Kaine’s mouth flattened. He nodded once before he gathered up the reins and swung onto his horse’s back.
    With the men-at-arms close behind, Edouard spurred his mount in the direction of the village. With each sway of his horse, Juliana rocked against him. Did the motion of the horse cause her pain? He hoped not.
    Thatch-roofed cottages, some surrounded by wooden fences, came into view along the roadside. Closer to the village outskirts, hoofbeats, growing louder by the moment, reached them. Narrowing his eyes against the sun’s brightness, Edouard looked to the approaching rider: his man-at-arms that Kaine had sent to find the healer.
    When the man drew near, Edouard called, “What did you learn?”
    “The healer’s cottage is on the opposite side of the village, milord. According to the merchant I spoke to, though, she is not there.”
    “Why not?” Frustration turned Edouard’s voice to a growl.
    Disquiet flickered in the rider’s eyes. “She is at Waddesford Keep and has been for the past sennight. Apparently, she went to help Lady Ferchante give birth and has not returned.”
    Edouard’s gaze again slid down to Juliana. A gut feeling told him the healer’s situation and Juliana’s were connected. How, exactly, he didn’t yet know.
    As though attuned to the flow of his thoughts, the rider added, “She has folk in the village who depend upon her herbs and ointments to ease their ailments. She has never abandoned their care before.”
    “Then we must find out what is delaying her.”
    The village gates loomed ahead. Edouard rode through them into the main street, shaded by stone buildings and filled with townsfolk, animals, and rumbling carts. He blinked against the churned-up dust, even as worry and impatience chafed at him. So many unanswered questions.
    The barest change in Juliana’s breath against his neck, the faint shifting of her weight, snapped Edouard’s gaze back to her face.
    Her eyes were open.
     

Chapter Seven
     
     
    Sounds and smells rushed into the darkness filling her thoughts. Her groggy mind struggled to identify them, even as an onslaught of pain forced her consciousness up, up, into the brightness, like a bubble soaring up from the bottom of a river to pop on the surface.
    Her eyes opened. A blur of colors careened before her. She blinked, and as her perceptions slowly focused, she recognized the sweet scent of horse, the metallic tinkle of metal, and the brush of cloth against her cheek.
    “Juliana.”
    The voice rumbled beneath her ear. A man’s voice, reassuring as it spoke the woman’s name. A glimmer of insight skated at the farthest edge of her