The Raven's Revenge Read Online Free PDF Page A

Nicholas shook his head to clear the fuzziness, but that only aggravated the pounding ache and did nothing to fill-in the gap in his memory.
    “You should not have moved. You are bleeding again.” She struggled to rise, but he did not let her. Trapped beneath him, she looked very frightened, and felt…well, nicely rounded, and soft. Like a woman.
    “I have no more of the tincture,” she said. He must have looked at her stupidly because she added, with an edge of impatience, “It was in the bottle.”
    The soothing aroma of lavender filled his senses, reminding him of the angel in his dream.
    “Let me up,” she demanded. “Please?”
    Nicholas had never been one to disappoint a lady if he could help it, and he disliked terrorizing innocents no matter their religious persuasion. Moreover, he realized if he did not lie down, he would soon fall down. Although she might cushion his descent, he did not think she would care for the impact.
    He rolled off her, jarring both his injured arm and head. Wincing, he lifted a hand to his forehead and discovered it bound by a band of cloth. A turban? How could that be?
    The woman scrambled to her feet and brushed herself off with just the hint of a sniff. Her white apron was covered in blood—his blood, he realized—as were the hands she gripped together. Her lips were drawn into a severe line. Eyebrows perched above disapproving eyes frowned down at him.
    He felt like a small child about to be dressed down by a stern nursemaid. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh. His head throbbed, his arm ached, and he was very tired.
    “I would like to finish,” she said.
    He grunted assent, not having a clear idea of what she meant but not wishing to gainsay her in any event.
    “First, you must agree to cause no further insult to my person.”
    This time Nicholas grunted twice for good measure.
    “Furthermore—“
    Nicholas opened his eyes and groaned. “I dislike the word ‘furthermore’. Nothing agreeable ever follows.”
    She ignored him. “Furthermore, I have no wish to tend to one so foolhardy as to cause himself additional injury.”
    Nicholas grimaced. Foolhardy. That was the crux of it.
    “In other words,” she continued with emphasis, “you must behave.”
    Nicholas had the urge to laugh but did not want to wound her dignity, or cause his head to ache further. “Yes, good K-Katherine,” he said, pronouncing her name exactly as she had and in the solemnest tone he could muster. “I would rejoice should you be so kind as to continue your ministrations despite the offense I have perpetrated against your person—an inexcusable lapse to be sure.” He raised his good arm to doff his hat and realized the tightness around his head was not a hat or a turban but a bandage. Whatever had happened to make his head pound must have also addled his brain. Why else would he make such a silly speech to a Puritan lass who clearly had no appreciation for the courtly arts? It had not even raised the hint of a smile.
    She looked away for what seemed to be a very long time. Then, as if she’d made up her mind, she let out a slow sigh and knelt beside him. Her blood-covered fingers trembled as they took up a cloth and dipped it in a basin of water. Avoiding his gaze, she began to dab at his arm. His wound throbbed like blazes, but her touch was feather-light, her motions soothing.
    He closed his eyes. All at once, he realized the oddness of their situation. Did she know who he was?
    He cracked an eye open. “What are you doing here?”
    “Cleaning your wound.”
    “This I know. But why?”
    Her fingers tightened on his arm as she gazed off, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. On another woman, he would have thought the gesture flirtatious, a calculated effort to draw his attention to her mouth, but he could tell she was unaware of it.
    Her voice, when she finally answered, was almost too quiet for him to hear. “If I had left you to die, I would be as wicked as he who tried to kill