Sharon Schulze - L'eau Clair Chronicles 03 by Heart of the Dragon

then fell, writhing together, on the other side of the clearing.
    Lily couldn’t tell which man had the upper hand, and since her wrists were still bound, there was little she could do to help the Dragon. Then she remembered Swen’s knife.
    When he unsheathed his sword and stepped close to her, he’d flipped the dagger aside. He hadn’t had a chance to pick it up; it must still be on the ground. Keeping an eye on the struggling men, she scuffled around the fire on her knees until she found the knife.
    She grabbed it, then somehow propped it between her feet and held it tight while she rubbed the bindings against the blade. Thank God ‘twas sharp, she thought as she felt the rope give. Though her hands felt numb, she shoved her skirts out of the way, snatched up the knife and headed for the men.
    Both were bloodied and dirt-smeared. She reached them just as the Dragon punched Swen in the face twice, in rapid succession. The Viking’s eyes rolled back and he slumped to the ground.
    Ian flopped to the dirt beside him, breathing heavily through his mouth. Blood trickled from a cut above his left eye, and his lower lip looked bruised and swollen.
    His movements clumsy, he untied a pouch from his belt and tried to open it.
    “Let me,” Lily offered, dropping to her knees beside him.
    “There’s rope in it.” His voice sounded odd, no doubt muffled by his split lip.
    She held the bag up to the light and peered inside until she located the cord. He took it and flipped Swen onto his stomach.
    “Don’t want to leave him to die,” he said as he wrapped the rope around Swen’s wrists, then secured it.
    “But we cannot bring him with us, either.” He hoisted Swen up onto his shoulder an amazing feat—and carted him over to a clump of bushes. She followed, wondering what he intended to do with the Viking.
    He looped Swen’s arms about the branches, then took the pouch from her, pulled out a thick leather strap and used it to bind Swen’s legs loosely around the base of the
    ID
    bushes.
    “He’ll be able to free himself, but not for a while.
    It will give us time to get away.”
    Moving without his usual grace, the Dragon took her by the arm and led her back to her seat near the fire. He searched through one of Swen’s packs and pulled out a small flask, uncorked it, and sniffed the contents. His face relaxed into a smile, surprising her.
    As fleeting as the smile was, it transformed his face.
    He looked almost carefree—and even more handsome, if that was possible–despite the blood smeared on his chin and forehead. Lily reached out and dabbed at his face with the trailing cuff of her sleeve.
    He remained motionless until she’d finished, then nodded his thanks.
    “Have you eaten?” he asked.
    Content to watch him, she settled back against the saddle and sighed.
    “Aye. I had saved half the meal they brought me last night. It was plenty. Swen has food in the other pack, if you’re hungry.”
    He shook his head.
    “No, I’ve eaten.” He brought the flask.
    “But this is an unexpected boon.” He brought the bottle to his lips and drank deeply of the contents.
    “Usquebaugh.” She sent him a questioning look.
    “The Irish make it. I’m not certain exactly what it is, but it’s powerful. Makes ale and wine seem like water.” He took another swallow before replacing the stopper.
    “Too much will make a man feel sick unto death, but a little warms the blood and takes the pain away.”
    He started to put it back into the pack, then hesitated.
    “Do you want some?”
    “Why not?” What harm could it do? It certainly seemed to please him.
    He knelt beside her and handed her the flask, his fingers brushing against hers and lingering, so it seemed. Although she hadn’t drunk yet, heat streaked up her arm and through her blood. Her fingers shaking, she uncorked the bottle and, raising it to her lips, took a sip.
    “Jesu,” she gasped, as liquid fire burned all the way to her stomach.
    Ian