A Perfect Hero (9 page)

He looked at her as if she’d gone daft. “Perci
val is the finest mount a man could ever have,” he declared. “But ...he must be fed.”

Groaning, he sought to rise. Julianna pressed him back to the bed. “You needn’t worry! I’ll do it.”

“You will?”
“I will,” she said firmly. “I promise.”
Her assurance appeared to satisfy him. Within

seconds he was asleep.

Pulling the covers up, Julianna shook her head. The unexpected makings of a smile tugged at her lips. Here he was, hurt and wounded, and he was concerned about his
horse
.

How very like a man.

Six

ane lay still and quiet throughout the day. Julianna could have sworn he moved not a single whit. Anxious, she surveyed him. Count
less times she bent her head to his lips, as if to re
assure herself that he still lived.

While he slept, she tidied the cottage. Her gown was quite ruined, the bodice filthy and stained with crimson splotches from tending Dane. She tossed it into the fire, along with the bloody rags, and quickly donned another.

Toward evening, she let herself out of the cot
tage. Dane had not been lying when he’d told her they were in the midst of the forest. Overhead the sky was a serene, dusky blue. There was a stream nearby; the muted gurgle of water reached her ears.

It was going to be up to her, she realized, to at
tend to their needs—their essentials were food, water, and warmth. It was spring, and while the days were warm, the nights were cold. She’d have to keep the fire going, she decided. If she let it die out, she was half-afraid she’d never get another started. She was rather ashamed to admit that never in her life had she started one herself, from tinder and kindling.

There was a stack of wood just outside the door, so she carried in enough wood to last through the night and into the next morning. She found Percival in a small building attached to the cottage. Half of it had been transformed into sev
eral stalls. Her eyes widened as she laid eyes on the towering black stallion. She approached cau
tiously, stopping a few feet away.

He was a beautiful animal. He watched her with attentive scrutiny, his eyes large and expres
sive, his ears pricked forward. His coat was like black gloss, shiny and sleek, gleaming in the eve
ning light. He stood with quivering skin, his sleek, powerful muscles bunched.

Julianna had the sensation of being weighed and measured, and hoped she passed judgment. Slowly lifting a hand, she ran her nails gently down the sleek lines of his neck. His skin quiv
ered beneath her hand. Julianna could feel his power beneath her touch, but he displayed no hint of aggression.

“My, but you’re a big fellow, aren’t you? Just like your master.” He snorted and gave a proud shake of his head. She continued to stroke him, talking to him in low, soothing tones, letting him acquaint himself with her scent and presence.

Before long, the animal bumped his nose be
neath her free hand. Soon he did it again.

Julianna chuckled. “What, are you looking for a lump of sugar? I’m sorry, Percival, but I’m afraid I’ve nothing for you today.”

Looking over, she saw a door near the outside wall. In the small room within, she found what she was looking for—a bag of feed. Seizing the bucket next to it, she filled it to the brim. With no more hesitation, she let herself inside the stall, for she sensed that the mighty animal had accepted her—at least she hoped he had!

He nickered as she poured the feed into a bucket. Patting his neck, she withdrew, picking up another that was half-full of water. Across the clearing, she discovered what she was after— a well.

Filling the pail from Percival’s stall with cool, clear water, she saw that Maximilian had wan
dered outside as well. He and Percival stood nose to nose, huge black beast to tiny black beast. The sight made her smile. Clearly the pair were al
ready well acquainted with each other.

Her smile slipped. An odd little ache speared
her heart. She was perilously near to tears... again! Memory surfaced, unbidden. She felt hor
rible about pretending to be ill. Deceit was not in her nature. What was it Dane had said before she shot him?

I was worried about you, kitten.

Had he been? Had he really? And afterward, when she had returned inside...A piercing shaft of guilt rent her breast. It wasn’t himself he’d been concerned about, but her. What kind of man was he? she wondered. And why did she even care? What little she knew of him had little to commend him. He was an outlaw, a robber.

Yet everything inside told her he was not a man without heart, a man without a soul.

As she was not a woman without conscience.

Biting her lip, she glanced at Percival, slurping thirstily from the bucket. She could leave. She
should
leave. She now had the
means
to leave. She had only to ride away, to leave him and be free.

But she no longer had the will. She could not abandon Dane. She simply could not.

Maximilian was sidling around her feet. Sud
denly he bounded toward the door of the cottage, which stood ajar. He stopped, gazing back at her with huge, slanted eyes. As if he were waiting . . .

Throughout the night Dane alternated between burning hot and shaking chills. Once he woke and stared at her through searing, golden eyes. Julianna had the unsettling sensation he saw right through her, as if she weren’t even there. She chafed at her helplessness, their isolation. She had no medicine. All she could do was keep the wound clean, and wait.

She was exhausted, but afraid to sleep, afraid he might need her. By noon the following day, her mind was made up. If he was not better by the next morning, she would ride out. There had to be a village somewhere. A road. A farm nearby. There had to be
something
she could do.

But what if someone realizes he’s the Magpie?
chided a voice in her mind.
What then? How will you feel then?

Like a traitor, she admitted. It made no sense, for she owed him nothing. She had taken care of him as best she was able. Yet she couldn’t explain her strange feelings toward him. It was almost akin to...loyalty. Oh, but it made no sense! And that, too, she didn’t understand.

Yet one thing was abundantly clear. She couldn’t let him die either.

Stirring the fire, her mind made up, she re
sumed her vigil at the bedside. She had drawn a chair close so she could watch him. His brows and the lock of hair on his forehead were very
dark against his skin, which was bleached of color. She brushed at the hair that persisted in springing forward on his forehead, the gesture oddly tender.

“You have to be all right, Dane. You
have
to.”

Almost before she knew what she was about, her hand crept within his where it rested on the blanket; his fingers curled around hers. He seemed to like that—indeed, she could have sworn he rested easier when she touched him. More than once her head drooped, and she jerked herself awake.

It was Maximilian who knew even before she did...he leaped up onto the bed and stretched out beside his master.

It gave her a start to discover Dane’s eyes open wide and focused directly upon her. But this time his regard was clear and steady.

“You’re still here. I thought I dreamed it.”

His voice was hoarse and rusty.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

He shot her a telling look. The golden brown of his eyes was a stark contrast to the bristly shadow of his beard. He looked rather danger
ous, his jaw rough and dark with stubble, but his features were rimmed with fatigue.

His eyes closed. She both saw and heard the uneven breath he took. “How long?” he rasped.

“I beg your pardon?”

His eyes opened. He wet his lips with his tongue. “How long have I been unconscious?”

“Since yesterday morning.”

His gaze traveled to the windows, where day
light cast a mellow glow within the cottage. “The entire day?” He shook his head. “That’s not possible.”

Julianna smiled slightly. “I’m afraid it is.”

Dane said nothing. His gaze had fallen to their hands. Julianna snapped hers back to her lap. She could feel the heat of a blush creeping beneath her skin.

A dark brow hiked upward, but he chose to make no comment. Julianna was heartily grate
ful. Her heart gave an odd little flutter. Vaguely, she wondered what it would be like to feel the hardness of his lips moving over hers...Blast the man! What was it about him that affected her so? She was not in the habit of thinking thusly about any man. And why it should be
this
man, she had no idea . . .

The thought was abruptly cut off when he sat up and pushed the blanket aside.

“What the devil are you doing?”

“What the devil does it look like?” he retorted.

Julianna surged upright. The chair hurtled backward, hitting the planked flooring with a bang. She paid no heed. “You are not to get up,” she admonished sternly. “Do you hear me, sir?”

He was frowning as ferociously as she. “My
dearest Julianna, it’s impossible not to.” With a grimace he swung his feet to the floor. “And un
der the circumstances, don’t you think it’s utterly ridiculous that you persist in calling me ‘sir’? My name is Dane.”

“Very well then. Dane. Now tell me, Dane, where do you think you’re going?”

He muttered an explosive curse.

Her eyes flashed. “There is no need to swear!”

“My dear, there is every need. It is not my in
tention to offend your sensibilities. However, I do not know quite how to say this, other than...given the situation, I’m finding that a man has certain needs.” He paused, gauging her reaction.

“Needs?” Her mouth popped open. Her blue eyes blazed and her spine went stiff. “How can you even be thinking of such things—”

“Not,” he interrupted, “
those
kinds of needs.” He slanted her what he hoped was a suitably meaningful gaze. “I don’t suppose you would be kind enough to leave me alone for a few minutes?”

Julianna stood stock still. “Oh,” she gasped. “Oh!” She gulped, her face burning as she practi
cally flew out the door. She was tempted to tell him to call if he needed her, yet how would that have sounded?

She allowed what was surely a suitably appro
priate amount of time for him to use the chamber
pot, then knocked on the door, still feeling rather foolish.

There was no answer. She listened intently, then knocked again, more loudly this time.

“Dane?” she called.

He made no reply. Worried, she opened the door and peeked inside. He was standing near the table, a marked consternation on his features as he braced himself with one hand. Her embarrass
ment fled, for he was pale as a sheet. He appeared ready to crash to the floor. She thrust a chair be
hind him just as his knees gave way.