The Dragon Healer

by Bianca D'Arc

  The innkeeper returned rolling a wheelbarrow filled with potted plants. Sure enough, Brodie recognized the distinctive, puffy stalks of the burnjelly plant from his travels in the south. He took one of the plants as the healer did the same and began snapping off some of the outer stalks and preparing the jelly inside for use.

  “You’ve done this before?” the healer asked in her quiet way.

  “I have seen it done,” Brodie confirmed. “I can help. I realize you’re going to need to use a lot of your supply on Phelan, but I can pay you.”

  “When there is need, there is no charge,” the healer repeated the oft-heard motto of her Temple. Still, Brodie knew many healers made small amounts of money selling medicines in the towns they visited. It was never much, but it probably provided for the occasional creature comfort.

  “A noble sentiment. Nevertheless, I will compensate you for the plants. I know how rare they are in these climes.”

  “I’ll let you in on a little secret,” she whispered with a mischievous expression, leaning toward him.

  She smelled of lavender and lilies and warm woman. A heady combination that made him want to lean closer and breathe deeply. She was a gorgeous creature and now that Phelan was resting more comfortably, Brodie saw again what he’d seen when he first beheld her. This healer was a beauty with a gentle touch and an attractive scent. He wanted to kiss her, but he knew that would be entirely inappropriate at the moment. Still, if the opportunity presented itself later, he wouldn’t be shy. He wanted to see if she tasted as sweet as she smelled.

  “If we only use the outer stalks,” she went on, oblivious to his carnal thoughts, “the plant will survive to grow more in time. Even trimmed as these will be when we are done, I can earn a few pennies with them from the villagers to pay for my room and board.” She smiled and leaned back, snapping another of the outer stalks off her plant and cutting it open. “So you see, I will not be out much from helping your friend. To be honest, I am honored to assist a dragon and knight of the realm.”

  “You honor us with your skill and willingness to help, healer,” Brodie replied politely. “I’m Sir Broderick, but my friends call me Brodie. What’s your name?”

  “Silla,” she replied softly, almost shyly.

  He wondered how a lovely, attractive and obviously skilled woman had ended up in such a lonely occupation, but he would not pry. Not yet. Soon though, he vowed to know all her secrets.

  “You are lovely, Silla.” Brodie wondered where the restraint he usually practiced in his words had suddenly gone. He hadn’t meant to blurt out his thoughts like that, but she seemed to be blushing in the dim light of the torch-lit courtyard.

  No coy court games for this beauty. No, she was more genuine and unpracticed in her responses. Shy. Beautiful, soft-spoken and shy. Brodie never would have expected it of an obviously successful journeyman healer. To be on the road by one’s self took a strong character and usually meant the traveling healers were much surer of themselves and somehow…brasher. But this woman could still blush.

  Brodie found himself enchanted by the puzzle of her.

  Chapter Two

  Silla was flattered and somewhat uncomfortable with the knight’s attention. She didn’t know how to reply to his words. Few men had ever made such dramatic statements to her. Most saw her as a healer first, woman second. If at all.

  She busied herself with preparing the plant stalks she would need to treat the dragon. Reaching into her satchel, she retrieved one of a set of small bowls she often used to mix herbs. It would do as a vessel to hold the jelly as she worked. She began scraping the jelly out of the cut stalks into the bowl. The knight followed suit, bending close to her as she worked.

  He was so tall. And younger than she was, if she didn’t miss her guess. His dark curls made her fingers itch to touch them and see if they were as soft as they looked. He had brown hair kissed with streaks of gold, cut short in the warrior fashion, but curly in the most attractive way. It was windblown from his flight here, no doubt, and soot covered his clothes and made a stripe across one cheek.

  He smiled at her, a question in his eyes. “Is there something on my face?”

  Drat. She’d been caught staring.

  “Yes.” She was forced to explain her fascination with his handsome features. “Soot, I believe,” she answered quietly.

  “A hazard of working with dragons.” He chuckled and surprised her by leaning closer, offering his cheek. “Could you?” he asked with seeming innocence, but he had a devilish smile on his face.

  Silla decided to take up his challenge. Daring greatly, she took a clean cloth from her satchel and wiped at the gray mark along his cheek. The rasp of his beard stubble made her insides quiver and she damned the layer of cloth between her fingers and his skin. She wanted to feel the heat of his body, the bristles on his cheek.

  It was irrational. She hadn’t ever wanted another man since the dissolution of her disastrous marriage. She thought she’d been forever cured of the yearnings she’d once known as a younger woman. Yearnings that had been demolished and replaced by the repulsion she’d learned in her painful marriage bed.

  But this knight…he was different. He made her feel things she hadn’t dreamed of in too many years to count. He reawakened something in her that wanted to know more. Other women seemed to enjoy bedding their mates. Many talked to her, in the course of her duties as a healer, about the intimacies of the bedroom. She’d come to realize that not all husbands were oafish brutes. Some were tender and loving with their wives. Some lovers were also overly playful and got into mischief that required her services to heal.

  She knew all this with an academic sort of viewpoint, but she’d never imagined she would want to know the touch of a man again. Not until meeting this amazing, alarming, disarming knight.

  The soot on his cheek was long gone, but the moment held. Their gazes locked and his head dipped lower, closer to hers.

  A clang out in the yard made her jump and the moment was broken. She looked over to see the innkeeper ushering the last of the townsfolk into his common room. There were many who had joined in the bucket brigade to help the dragon. They were all now enjoying a drink. She had heard Brodie—Sir Broderick, she reminded herself sternly—make the offer of a round of drinks on him by way of thanks as the last of the buckets was emptied.

  Silla looked down at her hands and saw there was enough jelly in the bowl to at least begin treating the dragon’s burns. The sooner they got the jelly on the wound, the sooner the burns would start to heal.

  She moved away from the disturbing knight and closer, once again, to the dragon.

  “There is another bowl like this one, in the first pocket of my satchel,” she said without meeting Brodie’s eyes. Blast! She had to remember to think of him as Sir Broderick. Brodie was much too familiar for a knight of the realm. “If you could continue preparing the jelly, sir, I will begin treatment.”

  She heard a sigh and then movement behind her as the knight reached into her pack, which was lying on the ground. She observed him finding the second bowl out of the corner of her eye as she scooped a handful of the jelly out of her bowl and began dabbing it gently on the dragon’s wounds.

  She began to hum a healing chant as she worked, using light strokes on the dragon’s raw flesh, making certain every last inch of the damaged areas were covered. She ran out of jelly quickly, but Brodie—Sir Broderick—proved an excellent assistant, handing her a full bowl when hers emptied. They repeated the dance quite a few times before all the dragon’s burns were treated.

  When she turned back to the area he’d been working in, she found all her potted plants well pruned with the growing centers intact. The plants would live to grow new stalks. He had been listening. She smiled in satisfaction. A man who really listened was a rare and wondrous thing in her experience.

  “That should do for now.” She rubbed the excess burnjelly off her hands with a small square of cloth. “We should leave the wounds open to the air tonig
ht. Do you think he can sleep in this position? If he rolls and gets dirt in the open wounds, it would be bad.” She looked over at the dragon’s head, surprised to find his eyes open and his head turned to look at her. “Well, hello there, Sir Dragon. I hope you are feeling better than when you came in.” She bowed low, holding the dragon’s gaze. Everyone who was sent into Draconia by the Temple was given instruction on how to deal with dragons should they cross paths with one. There was a certain etiquette to be followed.

  “I feel much better. Thank you, healer. I will sleep now and not move from this position. I am comfortable enough.”

  The great head turned and settled on the dragon’s front leg, his eyes closing. Silla was still shocked immobile by the sound of the dragon’s booming voice inside her head. Never had she imagined such a thing, but there could be no doubt. It was the dragon who had spoken to her, silently, in her mind.

  Silla shook her head as she gathered her supplies and put them in the wheelbarrow with the now much smaller plants. She passed the knight as she did so, knowing she had many chores to see to before she could rest this night.

  “Your companion will require further treatments,” Silla told the man. “I will prepare the jelly tonight and apply it at first light, if that is all right with you, sir.” She kept busy while she talked to him, mentally taking stock of what she needed to do before going to sleep and the subsequent dawn.

  A hand on her forearm stopped her when she would have lifted the handles of the wheelbarrow. She looked up to meet the gaze of Sir Broderick. Brodie.

  She was caught in his gaze. He was closer than she had imagined. Closer and far handsomer than any man had a right to be. She felt breathless again at his proximity.

  “Allow me,” he said in a quiet voice as he lifted the wheelbarrow and waited. It struck her that he was waiting for her to direct him.

  “You’re very kind, sir.” She knew she was blushing as she led the way toward where her cart was parked next to the stables. There was a water pump nearby and an empty trough that would serve her purposes. She had to clean the implements of her trade and prepare them for tomorrow before she could seek her bed.

  Much to her surprise, Sir Broderick did not leave after delivering the laden wheelbarrow. He had placed it alongside her cart so she could move the now-bare plants into the covered storage area with the rest of her stock. At the same time, she removed four plants that still had all their stalks and put them into the wheelbarrow with the two empty bowls they had used before, plus two more bowls she retrieved from the back of her cart.

  Brodie—make that Sir Broderick—stayed by her side and picked up the wheelbarrow once again when she moved toward the empty trough. She got there first and began pumping water into the basin. She didn’t need much. Just enough to wash her implements and her hands.

  She realized then that Sir Broderick’s hands were probably still covered in the slimy jelly.

  “If you want to wash your hands first, I’ll pump the water for you,” she offered.

  He looked like he wanted to argue the point, but gave in after a moment’s consideration. “I would be much obliged.”

  Brodie—no, she must think of him as Sir Broderick, lest she slip and become far too familiar—moved close, washing his hands briskly. He was so large, and so near. He had been through battle, injury and his dragon’s pain today and he still seemed so strong and vital. Because the pump was small and the space limited, she couldn’t help but stand very close indeed to his tall, muscular form. Even in the flickering light from the lanterns all around the inn’s yard, she could clearly see the masculine lines of his angular jaw, straight nose and strong chin. He was really too handsome for his own good. For her good too.

  She tried to avert her gaze downward, but that brought her focus to his thickly muscled arms, rippling as he moved. She lowered her gaze even more and was caught by the sight of his strong thighs, encased in black leather that followed his form so faithfully. Her mouth went dry at the sight.

  Then she noticed the tear in the soft hide of his pants. And the blood.

  “You’re injured,” she whispered, shocked he hadn’t been limping or even once complained of the discomfort he must be in. She could readily see the angry red gash along his right thigh. It looked deep and very painful. She had seen such wounds before. She knew what they did to a normal man. That this brave knight was still standing and acting as if nothing was wrong, was a testament to his fortitude.

  “It’s just a scratch,” he replied, glancing down at his thigh and shaking his head. His nonchalant attitude amazed her.

  “That is more than a scratch, my lord.” Normally she would not have argued the point, but perhaps, she admitted within her restless mind, she wanted to prolong this encounter. She didn’t want to leave his presence yet. His wound was a fantastic excuse for her to spend just a few more minutes with him.

  “I will wash it when I get to my room.” He shrugged, as if it were of little importance. “Let me help you get set for the morning first. I want to help in whatever way I can, since you are being so kind and generous aiding Phelan.”

  “It is my honor and my duty, milord,” she replied, slightly embarrassed by his praise. “But if it will get you off that leg faster, by all means, let us get down to business. This will not take long. And then I insist on dressing your leg wound. It will not help your dragon if you fall from an infection that could have been easily avoided.”

  He smiled then and her breathing faltered. He was potent at close range. He was incredibly handsome—why couldn’t she stop thinking that?—and seemingly unaware of his effect on a female’s ability to think clearly in his presence. With slightly addled wits, she changed places with him and allowed him to operate the water pump. She cleaned her tools and her hands as quickly as possible, wringing out the small cloths she had used that were not that soiled. She would let them dry overnight. The cloths that were truly dirty, she segregated into a small pile for later attention.

  For the next ten minutes, they worked companionably, cutting the outer stalks off the new batch of plants and preparing the jelly for tomorrow morning. Burnjelly was more potent when it had between twelve and twenty-four hours to set before use. This batch would be even more helpful to the dragon in the morning as long as they were careful to cover it securely overnight.

  They sat on the edge of the half-empty trough, each working silently at first. They worked well together, establishing a rhythm. Brodie—Sir Broderick—was good company and did not balk at work, even while injured. She was more impressed by him the more she was around him.

  “So tell me, how did you come to the Temple?” Brodie asked out of the blue after they had been working for a few minutes.

  She was so surprised by his question, she almost dropped her knife into the trough. Regaining her balance, and her equilibrium somewhat, she thought about how to answer his question. It was a loaded one, to be sure.

  Chapter Three

  “It is a long story and a sad one for the most part,” she said finally, deciding to give him a little bit of the truth. “I was married off young to an old man. When he wanted to be rid of me, he beat me and threw me out into the street. A kind-hearted soul called one of the brothers from our order and he treated me. It was a long recovery and over the time I spent in the Temple gardens, I discovered an affinity for plants. They allowed me to stay on and join the order to train has an apothecary. As you can see, I made it through to journeyman.” She shrugged, gesturing toward her cart.

  “How long have you been on the road?” He seemed to understand more about the way the Temple worked than most people.

  “About five years. I’m almost halfway through my journeyman trial.”

  “You have done very well for yourself.” He gave an approving glance to the cart and her stock of rare plants.

  “You seem much more familiar with the Temple and its ways than most people I come across. How is it you know so much about the order?”

  “We knights mee
t many people on our journeys, but as it happens, someone dear to me is a member of your order.”

  “Truly? Do you think I would know him?”

  Sir Broderick gave her a secretive smile. “Oh, I would bet you know him if you spent any time at all in the Temple gardens. Have you met Brother Osric?”

  “Osric? He is the best of us. The leader of all apothecaries in our order.”

  “He is my brother,” Brodie said in a playful voice, as if sharing some private joke, but she didn’t quite understand. It was becoming increasingly difficult to think of him as Sir Broderick when he was so open and warm. The shortened version of his name fit his friendly manner, and she knew it was a losing battle to keep that more formal distance between them in her mind.

  “That’s not possible. He is probably old enough to be your father,” she said with a scowl of confusion.

  “A benefit of joining my life to a dragon’s.” Sir—make that Brodie—glanced toward the sandy area where the dragon lay sleeping. “I will outlive my baby brother, Osric, by many years. Perhaps a lifetime or two.” He shrugged, but she saw the discomfort of that knowledge sitting restlessly in his eyes, even in the flickering lantern light. “I was chosen by Phelan when I was the age you probably are guessing me to be. In truth, I’ve lived double that time already, even though my body stays as youthful as it was when Phelan gave me just a tiny portion of his magic.”

  “I have never heard of such a thing,” she admitted, allowing some of the awe she felt to be heard in her tone.

  “It is not widely known, though it isn’t a secret, exactly. So few men can be knights, it isn’t something that regular folk seem to concern themselves with.”

  “So you’re really older than me, though you look younger,” she thought out loud. Only after she realized what she had said did the blush start in her cheeks.