“Was it necessary to cause you so much pain? I don’t think I like that man.”
One corner of Valten’s mouth went up, but she wasn’t sure if it was a half smile or a grimace. “He had to reset the bone. If he didn’t, it wouldn’t grow back correctly.”
That nasty Ruexner. This was all his fault. And to think he was her cousin!
“I’m so sorry,” Gisela said, caressing his arm. “Can I get you something? I wish you could lie down.”
“I am well.” Valten’s voice sounded gruff and irritable, but when he spoke again, his voice was softer, and he turned his head to look at her. “It is nothing, liebchen. I’ve had broken bones before.”
Her heart missed a beat at his calling her liebchen again.
“You wouldn’t want to marry a man with a crooked hand, would you?” There was a teasing light in his gray-green eyes.
A burst of honesty made her whisper, “I would want to marry you no matter what your hand looked like.”
The teasing glint in Valten’s eyes turned more serious, and he focused on her lips. She was about to lean forward and kiss him when Bartel came back into the room. He was carrying a bucket in one hand and some sticks and bandages in the other.
Valten reached for her hand again with his uninjured one and squeezed it, as if he knew what was coming wouldn’t be pleasant.
Gisela squeezed back and held her breath as Bartel carefully took Valten’s broken hand and placed the sticks on either side then wrapped a long strip of cloth around it a few times before tying it tightly in place.
“Now put your hand in this water—you will have to sit on the floor.”
Valten got down on the floor beside her bench, where he could lean his back against the wall. Bartel placed the bucket beside him and Valten dipped his hand in. The only evidence of his pain was his closed eyes, the tightness in his jaw where a muscle flexed whenever he clenched his teeth, and the creases of tension in his forehead.
“I wish I had some snow or ice,” Bartel said, “but the cold water will do almost as well. Leave it in until I come back.” And he left the room again.
Gisela scooted back on her bench until she was leaning against the wall beside Valten. She drew his good hand up to her lips. After discreetly kissing his knuckles, she held his hand in her lap and compared his massive fingers to hers. Many scars — some long, some short, some mere dots — covered his skin. But she thought his hand beautiful. His nails were clean and short, his hand wide and calloused, and she caressed his fingers, wishing she could take away the pain in his other hand.
Valten was looking at her like he wanted to kiss her. But alas, he couldn’t reach her lips sitting on the floor, and he was fairly immobile, with his hand in the bucket.
“Are you sure you want to marry me?” She wasn’t sure what made her ask him.
He looked a bit confused. “Why would you ask?”
Do I dare say it? “You haven’t said you love me. It may be silly, but I want you to marry me because you love me, not out of a sense of duty or propriety.” She tried to look teasing and flippant, but she watched his face for his reaction.
A look came over his features — confusion or hurt, she wasn’t sure. “Haven’t I shown you I love you by my actions, by coming to rescue you? By kissing you and telling you that you were beautiful? Did I deal with you in any way that made you think I didn’t love you?”
The tears that she couldn’t seem to get rid of lately came rushing in. Her bottom lip trembled, and she clamped down on it with her teeth. She wasn’t sure what she felt — anger, embarrassment, pain. Was it so terrible that she wanted him to say the words? Perhaps her stepmother’s evil treatment had made it difficult for her to believe that anyone could love her. But hadn’t Valten shown her that he did love her? He’d risked his life to save her multiple times. What could be more loving than that? She felt guilty for demanding that he say it. And yet, she still wanted him to.
She let go of his hand and turned away as a tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away with her fist, wondering if he would decide he didn’t want to marry someone so teary-eyed and bothersome.
I am a dim-witted oaf. He had no sense when it came to talking to Gisela and telling her what she wanted to hear. And now he had made her cry by making her feel bad for wanting him to say he loved her. “You are right,” he said. She didn’t turn her head to look at him.
Of course she would wonder if he loved her. When she’d confessed in the church tower that she loved him, he hadn’t told her he loved her in return. He’d been too intent on kissing her. He’d asked her to marry him, but he hadn’t said he loved her.
“I should have told you I loved you. I’m sorry.”