other discharges.
“These need to be changed, in any event,” she told him.
He grunted as she untied the knots and removed the old dressing. She frowned at his stomach. The wound was an ugly, jagged crescent that arced around his navel. The edges were tied shut by coarse stitches, threaded either by his comrades in the Order or by the Wojewoda’s doctor.
But, Maria had to admit, as horrid as the wound appeared, itdid not display any of the signs she knew to look for. The flesh showed only some flushing next to the black clotted lips of the scar, no white, no red; and nothing seeped from the wound except a few drops of healthy ruby blood where he had stretched too far against his stitches.
Seeing how well he was actually doing was a balm for her soul, as if God had granted a blessing in compensation for the torment of the prior night. She sighed and touched his hand, their relative stations completely forgotten.
“You have not hurt yourself unduly.”
“Good.”
“God has blessed you with strength.” She turned to look at his face. “Please avoid testing the limits of that blessing.”
“I can try.” He surprised her by squeezing her hand.
She stood still for a moment, then told him, “You need a new dressing on that wound.”
She worked quickly, binding the ugly scar with clean linen. As she worked, Josef’s sheet shifted slightly and she found herself once more beginning to blush. When she was done, she turned her back again so he could rearrange his sheets and his nightshirt. And so she could hide the burning on her cheeks.
“May I ask, what caused that wound?”
Josef stayed silent behind her.
“Sir?” She couldn’t help but look over her shoulder. Josef had already managed to regain his modesty. His expression, however, had gone tense. He glanced at her, then shook his head. “I am not permitted to discuss it.”
She turned around. “You can say nothing?”
“No, I have taken vows—” He stopped and stared into her eyes so intently that she reached up to touch her own face. She winced slightly at the touch. “Forgive me, Maria, but you’re injured yourself.”
She shook her head and turned away. “It’s nothing.”
She was a lowly servant. No one else at Gród Narew had showed any interest in the small abrasion where Lukasz had struck her. No one had any concern for it. Why would
he
be the one to notice it?
Her heart caught a bit when he asked, “Did some man strike you?”
“No,” she said sharply. Too sharply. The false denial hung in the air between them as obvious as the cut on her face.
“Maria, as a member of the Order, it is my duty to protect the innocent—”
“Nothing. It is nothing. I tripped and fell.” She brought him his breakfast and added, “I’m sorry, but I have other duties to perform. May I have your leave?”
“Of course. But are you sure—”
“Thank you, sir.” She turned and left him before the lie became an unbearable weight.
I’m sorry, Josef, but I’ve made vows of my own
.
G od seemed intent on teaching Josef humility. He had worked very hard to conceal the pain he had felt last night, and had used his past as a talisman to keep his thoughts within the bounds of chastity as Maria bent over his half-naked body and tended to his wounds. As she touched him.
But apparently he was not to be permitted to lull himself with such victories. First there had been Maria’s direct challenge. He had not expected the question, though he didn’t know why. Maria had no reason to know the details of his obligations, or what he was permitted and not permitted to talk about.
Still, it had caught him off guard.
As had the realization that someone had struck her. He had been so preoccupied with his own pains and pandering to his ownmodesty that he hadn’t even noticed the mark on her cheek and the growing shadow under her eye. It had been so unexpected that he hadn’t been able to help blurting it out when he had noticed.
She had snapped the
“These need to be changed, in any event,” she told him.
He grunted as she untied the knots and removed the old dressing. She frowned at his stomach. The wound was an ugly, jagged crescent that arced around his navel. The edges were tied shut by coarse stitches, threaded either by his comrades in the Order or by the Wojewoda’s doctor.
But, Maria had to admit, as horrid as the wound appeared, itdid not display any of the signs she knew to look for. The flesh showed only some flushing next to the black clotted lips of the scar, no white, no red; and nothing seeped from the wound except a few drops of healthy ruby blood where he had stretched too far against his stitches.
Seeing how well he was actually doing was a balm for her soul, as if God had granted a blessing in compensation for the torment of the prior night. She sighed and touched his hand, their relative stations completely forgotten.
“You have not hurt yourself unduly.”
“Good.”
“God has blessed you with strength.” She turned to look at his face. “Please avoid testing the limits of that blessing.”
“I can try.” He surprised her by squeezing her hand.
She stood still for a moment, then told him, “You need a new dressing on that wound.”
She worked quickly, binding the ugly scar with clean linen. As she worked, Josef’s sheet shifted slightly and she found herself once more beginning to blush. When she was done, she turned her back again so he could rearrange his sheets and his nightshirt. And so she could hide the burning on her cheeks.
“May I ask, what caused that wound?”
Josef stayed silent behind her.
“Sir?” She couldn’t help but look over her shoulder. Josef had already managed to regain his modesty. His expression, however, had gone tense. He glanced at her, then shook his head. “I am not permitted to discuss it.”
She turned around. “You can say nothing?”
“No, I have taken vows—” He stopped and stared into her eyes so intently that she reached up to touch her own face. She winced slightly at the touch. “Forgive me, Maria, but you’re injured yourself.”
She shook her head and turned away. “It’s nothing.”
She was a lowly servant. No one else at Gród Narew had showed any interest in the small abrasion where Lukasz had struck her. No one had any concern for it. Why would
he
be the one to notice it?
Her heart caught a bit when he asked, “Did some man strike you?”
“No,” she said sharply. Too sharply. The false denial hung in the air between them as obvious as the cut on her face.
“Maria, as a member of the Order, it is my duty to protect the innocent—”
“Nothing. It is nothing. I tripped and fell.” She brought him his breakfast and added, “I’m sorry, but I have other duties to perform. May I have your leave?”
“Of course. But are you sure—”
“Thank you, sir.” She turned and left him before the lie became an unbearable weight.
I’m sorry, Josef, but I’ve made vows of my own
.
G od seemed intent on teaching Josef humility. He had worked very hard to conceal the pain he had felt last night, and had used his past as a talisman to keep his thoughts within the bounds of chastity as Maria bent over his half-naked body and tended to his wounds. As she touched him.
But apparently he was not to be permitted to lull himself with such victories. First there had been Maria’s direct challenge. He had not expected the question, though he didn’t know why. Maria had no reason to know the details of his obligations, or what he was permitted and not permitted to talk about.
Still, it had caught him off guard.
As had the realization that someone had struck her. He had been so preoccupied with his own pains and pandering to his ownmodesty that he hadn’t even noticed the mark on her cheek and the growing shadow under her eye. It had been so unexpected that he hadn’t been able to help blurting it out when he had noticed.
She had snapped the
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