Gabe winced and nodded.
Sophie hurried to his bag, which contained the roll of bandages he had used to wrap her arm. When she got back, Walther was helping Gabe remove his shirt.
Sophie tried not to look at his naked chest — not that she hadn’t seen a man’s torso before. The men servants often stripped down to their waists when they were working outside during the summer months. She’d always thought it was disgusting. But somehow, it was different with Gabe — not disgusting at all.
Forcing herself to concentrate on her task, Sophie knelt beside him and started wrapping the bandage around his shoulder so that the cloth covered the entry wound in front and the exit wound in back. She wrapped it over his shoulder and under his arm several times. Then she tied it securely in place.
“Thank you,” he whispered. She looked into his eyes. His face was mere inches from hers.
“You’re welcome,” she whispered back. “I’ll go get you some water.” Sophie jumped up, but then realized he was sitting there without a shirt, and the night air was cool. She retrieved his shirt from the ground and pulled it over his head. She helped him put his right hand through the sleeve, then moved to his other side, noting the way his shoulder muscles bulged and rippled with his every movement. Pulling her mind, and her eyes, away from his bare shoulders, she tugged the shirt over his injured shoulder, letting the sleeve dangle. Gabe groaned. “Sorry.” She pulled the shirt the rest of the way down.
He must be in terrible pain. Instead of complaining, he whispered, “Danke.”
“Bitte.” His lips were so close … but she shouldn’t be looking at his lips. She jumped up again and ran back to his saddlebag, grabbing a cup she knew he stored there, then hurried to the river. Making sure to get the water upstream from where their attacker had fallen in, Sophie hurried back with the full cup.
Walther helped Gabe to his feet, careful not to jostle his left arm, which was pressed against his side under his shirt.
“Here’s your water.”
Gabe took it from her hand and drank. His throat bobbed three times, she noted in fascination, as he swallowed. His chest filled out his shirt in a very appealing way, and she recalled how he had looked without it.
Stop being ridiculous, she scolded herself, taking the cup from him. The man had nearly been killed protecting her — she still could hardly believe what he had done — and she shouldn’t be ogling him. She was behaving like Darla, who ogled every man under fifty who still had most of his teeth.
“We’ll be back, Sophie,” Walther said, as he and Gabe walked away, heading to the trees.
Sophie busied herself with building a fire. Unless Walther had brought supplies, they would all have to sleep on the ground. She picked up Gabe’s crossbow, checked to make sure it was loaded, and set it down where she planned to sleep. If danger lurked, she would be ready.
When the two men came back, the three of them sat around the fire and ate. Walther shared some bread, which he toasted over the fire, and some nuts, apples, and strips of dried venison. Sophie’s eyes stayed on Gabe nearly the whole meal. She watched how much he ate — which was very little — how he moved, and when he flinched or winced, and she felt wretched about the sacrifice he had made for her. Thinking about it stirred up something inside of her she was terrified to examine.
She got him more water when they finished eating, then he curled up next to the fire.
Walther patted Sophie’s head as if she were a small child. “Don’t you worry about him, Sophie. He’s young and strong. He’ll be fine. I’ll keep watch and let you both get some sleep, and he’ll be as good as new in a few days … or weeks.” He scratched his head as he turned away, then mumbled, “If he doesn’t catch the fever and the wound doesn’t putrify.”
Sophie felt the blood drain from her face. Putrify? Fever? When she was younger, a fellow servant had had a deep gash that had become horribly infected. He’d burned with fever for several days, his knee oozing foul-smelling pus. And then he’d died.
God, please protect Gabe. Please don’t let him die.
She lifted the wooden cross that hung around her neck and held it against her lips while she silently prayed.
After pleading with God to heal Gabe, Sophie walked over and sat beside him. “Are you cold? I can ask Walther if he has another blanket.”
Walther came up beside her and handed her a blanket. “Take mine,” he said gruffly. “I don’t need it.”
She spread it over Gabe before sitting by him again.
“You need to lie down and sleep too, Sophie,” Gabe said. “You take the blanket.”
“I’ll sleep over there on the ground. I’m not cold.”
Walther was back again, hovering over them. “We’ll all stay close tonight. Sophie, you share the blanket with Gabe. He’s a duke’s son, isn’t he? Petra said he was.”