A Man of Value Read Online Free PDF Page A

him. She flushed, and he felt a wave of heat roll over him.
    It was clearer to him from the moans, movements and shadows, that he wasn’t dead. His angel was a woman. Her hair was completely covered, her body concealed by what he now saw was a grey habit, stained with what he hoped wasn’t his blood. Why could he not take his eyes off her? His twitching fingers itched to reach up and remove her wimple. Was her hair brown or blonde? A nun. He was excited by a nun. He felt ashamed.
    Forgive me, Lord.
    But she’d said her name was Agneta, not Sister Agneta. He’d somehow been delivered into the care of a woman whose face alone drew him like a lodestone. But she’d spoken of a blow to the head. Perhaps that was his problem. He licked his lips and she scurried off, returning a few moments later, a tankard clasped in her delicate hands.
    She steadied his head, and held the tankard to his lips. “Drink. Your body needs liquid.” Her hand on the back of his neck was indeed cold and he shivered. He drank, tentatively at first then greedily when he tasted ale.
    The effort exhausted him, but she was the one shaking. He looked over the lip of the tankard to catch a glimpse of her eyes. They were downcast, but definitely green, or perhaps brown?
    “Thank you, Agneta,” he rasped, wiping his hand across his mouth. “That was good—Sister.”
    She laid his head back down and he closed his eyes.
    Agneta wasn’t sure if she should have untied him? Was it too soon? He seemed calmer.
    His voice sounded like the deep, low drumming of a moorland grouse, calling its mate. But her attraction fled quickly when she heard the brogue of the barbaric Scots.
    “What’s your name?” she’d whispered, flustered by the feel of his eyes on her as he drank. His hair had felt silky beneath her hand, but her cold fingers had been a shock to him. Looking around furtively to make sure none of the lay workers were still in the infirmary, she wondered how they would react, if he proved to be a Scot? How would she react? Would she still want to heal him? The nuns taught that God loves everyone. Could she feel love and compassion for a Scot? Aware of the answer, she hunched her shoulders.
    She’d asked him a simple question, why didn’t he answer? He opened his eyes and reached up to his forehead, as if to find his name there. He touched the newly forming scar at his temple. She reached to stay his hand and explained in a whisper that he had a wound. “It’s healing, but you’ll open it if you rub it.”
    As she touched him, a wave of heat surged through her and she snatched her hand away. The blanket tented near his groin, and she averted her eyes quickly, but not before his face reddened as his eyes dropped, and his hands went to the bulge in the blanket. She retreated back to the stool, knocking it over.
    He now knows he’s naked.
    “I am—my name is—I don’t seem to recall—my name,” he stammered. “Perhaps it’s because I’m tired. Every bone in my body feels like it’s broken. Where am I?”
    “You’re in the infirmary of the Abbey being built near Alnwick. We brought you here after we found you wounded, on the battlefield.”
    “I was in a battle?”
    How could he not remember being in a battle? If only she could forget her terrible memories.
    “Yes. You were badly hurt. Besides the blow to the head and the wound on your face, you have a gash in your thigh, the damaged ribs and several deep bruises. You became feverish after lying on the muddy ground for hours before we found you.”
    “And you’ve nursed me?” he whispered.
    “Yes,” she murmured, keeping her eyes on where she supposed his feet were under the blanket.
    There was an uneasy silence. Then he asked her, “Who won the battle?”
    “The Earl of Northumbria. He defeated the cursed Scots and killed their King, Malcolm Canmore, and his son. Perhaps we’re finally rid of their attacks.”
    He became pensive and she could see he was trying to put the pieces