Page 102 of A Thief to Die For

Breaking into a jog, I run to catch up.

She reaches the edge of the creek, and I’m silent as she washes her hands. Then she removes her hair tie, unwinds her braid and shakes the dust from her hair.

I should get an award for turning my head away.

‘My bandages are wet from the rain,’ she says, dumping her weapons and jacket on the bank. ‘They’ll need to come off, and I should go for a swim – to keep the wounds clean.’

I wince at the sweet temptation to help her. But assisting Marian in any state of undress is not a good idea. ‘Do you …’ My eyes close. ‘Need help?’

She doesn’t answer at first. ‘I can handle it.’

I inhale. Good.

Except I’m also disappointed. Which leads to guilt – because you’re married and connected to someone else, you halfwit.

She pauses, and I realise she’s waiting for me to not just turn my head.

‘Right,’ I mutter, and face the other way. Unfortunately, the gentle noise of moving water doesn’t mute the sounds of her clothes hitting the ground.

She hisses as she wades into the water and comes up sputtering after she dunks her head.

I smile, remembering exactly how cold it was. ‘A little chilly?’ I call out.

‘S-s-o cold.’ Her teeth chatter.

I chuckle. ‘Watch out for that current. You don’t want me to have to come and get you.’

‘Yeah, that would be … bad.’

My nostrils flare at the thinly veiled taunt.

This is torture.

After another minute, she makes her way back to the shore. But there’s a sudden splash.

‘Marian?’ I shout and wait. With a curse, I spin and find her gone. I run right into the creek, and the waist-deep water immediately slams into me, trying to sweep me away.

Her head emerges sputtering, further down the stream.

‘You okay?’ I ask when I reach her, holding on to her arm.

Her eyes widen at seeing me, as she coughs and pushes hair out of her eyes.

‘Slippery,’ I tease, with a grin.

‘Yes. And c-cold. So, I’m going to stand up now.’ Her head is barely out of the water despite it only being a few feet deep. In my peripheral vision, I catch a glimpse of her white skin.

I whip around and walk back to the bank, boots sloshing with every step. She follows not far behind me and dresses.

I’m so distracted, a vagabond army could be staging an ambush in front of me and I doubt I’d notice. ‘Do you have more bandages?’

‘I do. They’re in my pocket.’ She grunts like she’s pulling on a boot. ‘I just need to …’ She doesn’t finish.

‘What?’

‘Nothing. I’ll figure it out.’

She needs help wrapping her back. But getting any closer to her, being the one to care for her, it’d be cruel to both of us. Not to mention my resolve to be a good and honourable husband to Agatha is already hanging by a thread.