Page 22 of Once Upon a Reckless Rogue

“What? Are you all right?”

“You really are an angel.”

“Did you get into the wine when my back was turned?”

“No, it’s just that with the sun behind you…”

“We do not have time for this. We must keep going so that we can make camp somewhere safe before it gets dark. If your legs are weakening, you must tell me and rest in the cart. You must promise me.”

“Promesa,” he said with a grin. She rolled her eyes and walked towards the cart. He used the tree as leverage to gain his feet and walked after her. They had until sometime around nine-thirty before the night descended. That was hours and hours away. He glanced at his shoes and decided he could not wait until the next village, so he called out to her, “Elena, I need something to stuff my shoes with.”

Looking back over her shoulder and down at his feet, she nodded. She went to the cart and rummaged around in their supplies. “I only have these bandages. I will cut some for you. You should have said earlier.”

“I didn’t think it would be an issue.”

“Come,” she said and whipped out a wicked little knife, cutting some bandage with it. “We should get you some boots.”

“These will be fine,” he replied as he stuffed the toe of one shoe with the bandage she gave him. “Thank you.”

“It is nothing.”

He stuffed the other shoe. “I meant for staying with me.” And he meant it. He realized how weak he still was and how he would likely have pushed himself too far.

“You will come to find, Tomas, that I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. Entender?”

“Oh, I believe you.” He slipped his shoes back on and wiggled his toes. Much better.

“Good, because arguing with you is exhausting.”

“I agree. Though I do love how your eyes flash green fire at me when you are mad.”

“You are ridiculous. I will lead the donkey for a while, so I don’t kill you with my fire eyes.”

He laughed for a good, long minute.

*

Elena expected to have made better progress, but she had an old donkey and an injured Englishman to take into account. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw that he was looking out over the cliffs to the sea. Daydreaming of his precious England? Why should she care if he was?

This journey was not just about getting him home but finding a home for herself. She was hoping to start over in her mother’s village. Perhaps even find out more about the woman who had given birth to her. They say there are two sides to every story, but did she really want to know? Would it tarnish her memories of her father to know the other side?

The donkey hee-hawed and she saw an old man and a young boy, who was holding his hand as if injured, walking down the road.

“Buenas tardes,” she greeted them. “What has happened to your arm?”

The boy looked at his grandfather before saying, “I was tending the sheep when a scorpion stung me.” The boy grimaced in pain.

“It does look very red. You must go down to the water and hold your hand in the cold water for a while. Until the stinging feeling is gone. ¿Entiendes lo que digo? Your hand may be red and swollen for a few days, but you are in no danger.”

“Gracias. I heard there was a healer in the next town. That is where we were headed.”

“The healer is no longer there. Do as I instruct and then you can return home.”

The old man took her hand in his. “How can I repay you?”

“There is no need. I am happy to help.” She ruffled the boy’s hair. “Keep your hand submerged for at least twenty minutes.”

“Gracias, señora,” he said before following his grandfather back the way they came.