Page 70 of Firebird
Trajan smiled. “Because if we can contact them without them burning us alive”—he dropped his voice to a whisper—“they could be our allies.”
Julian smiled. “We are of the same mind.”
“We always are. I’ll leave you to rest.” He slipped out of the bedchamber curtain. “Get him strong, Malina. We need to return to Rome.”
I stood and went to the water bowl, dipping a fresh cloth and wringing it before I returned to his bedside. Julian’s gaze rested on mine, a soft smile curling one side of his mouth as I wiped his brow.
“Aren’t you tired of waiting on me?”
“No,” I answered softly and wiped his neck and upper chest.
The clean linen covered his naked body. It had taken Koska and me nearly an hour to wrestle the soiled sheets from underneath his body and replace them with new ones after I’d sutured his wound.
“Let me put on some more salve.”
I lowered the sheet just enough to see the long scar from beneath his naval to his left hip bone. The flesh wasn’t puckered and red as it was the first day. It seemed to be healing well.
“It will leave a nasty scar,” I said while gently adding the salve.
He flinched beneath my touch, then settled. “Will that bother you? If I have an ugly scar?”
Shocked, I snapped, “Why would I care?”
“I don’t know. But”—he cleared his throat nervously—“I wouldn’t want to appear… ugly to you.”
I sat back and stared at him, then laughed. “Oh, my. The great Legatus Julianus is a vain creature.”
He tried to keep from smiling as a flush of red crept into his cheeks. “I am not vain.”
“You are.”
“Only when it comes to you. Your thoughts of my appearance are all that matters,” he added with levity.
He hadn’t tried to touch me. I wished he’d reach for my wrist or hand as he’d done in his fever.
“Well,” I added soothingly, “I think a man with a battle scar is rather attractive.”
He pushed himself up a little. “Do you?”
“Yes,” I added, not knowing why I was inflating his ego. He didn’t need it. “Scars show strength. That you can survive pain and injury. That your body is strong and can take on more.”
“I can take on anything. Except an injury you might give me.”
Walking to the washbowl, I cleaned my hands of the salve. “I have no reason to injure you.”
“You might do it all the same.”
Smiling, I turned to tease him, but his expression was so hard and harsh that I couldn’t say another word. He wasn’t speaking of physical injuries and I couldn’t mock him for it, showing me his vulnerability. It was too serious a conversation that we hadn’t had clearly enough.
“Come,” he beckoned. “Tell me a story of something happy in your life.”
He sensed the too-tight tension as well.
“More stories of my gift?”
“No,” he said solemnly. “Any story of your life that was a happy one.”
Nodding, I walked to his side and thought back to find some good memory to share. It didn’t take long. I settled on a low stool next to his bed.
