The Lion of Venice

Chapter Four - Rescued

"Your wounds. I cannot lay on you, I'm afraid."

Isabella stretched out her hands to the long wounds coming out from under the captain's torn shirt, but his hand stopped her. "No, Isabella, this is not a sight for a lady."

"I'm not easily impressed, Captain. Let me take off your shirt, please. I will give your wounds a little relief."

Isabella gently undid his shirt, and for a moment her eyes lingered on the wounds. Dark strips of dried blood streaked on the captain's chest.

She could feel his eyes upon her, his tense muscles, and the way he stiffened in pain. She even had the impression he was ready to hold her in case she fainted.

She said nothing but tore off a long strip of her shift and gently wrapped it around his chest with selfless dedication, as if his chest were the relic of a saint.

Captain Loredan gasped and reclined his head back, his neck veins thickened and strained. He stifled a cry of suffering.

His wounds were fresh and must be tremendously painful. But Isabella's touch was gentle.

It was a matter of honor that she not hurt him.

The Venetian took Isabella's hand and held it in his. His eyes burned like lava. He suffered, poor man, everything in his body ached, but he was alive and strong. A wounded immortal. His eyes sparked with unsaid promises.

What promises? To take her home? To protect her? To reciprocate her care? Of course, it could not be possible, not after everything he had done for her. And despite their quarreling, she was grateful. Isabella lowered her lashes. She didn't like the way he looked at her.

Loredan brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. A strange thrill, warm and strong, darted in her belly. She quivered.

"Thank you, Isabella. I'll not forget."

Isabella withdrew her hand. She looked at him, his tense features tight, his hair dirty and disheveled.

He was sweaty, exhausted, wounded, yet his eyes burned and his whole being exuded strength. Not even for a moment had the captain looked like a broken man, even in the moment Isabella had thought him about to surrender to the overwhelming number and superiority of their enemies.

In her eyes, having survived such human ferocity it made him a pagan god. The man was truly a lion.

"You must rest now." She ran her fingertips over his cheek. "I will watch over you."

"You do not have to, Princess. I'm fine. Come here, or you'll freeze to death."

In his arms, again? Was he jesting? "I'll stay here, thank you."

"I am a man of the sea. I know what we can expect tonight. Heed my advice."

Isabella could not deny it would be easy to ​​spend the night in his arms. There was nothing bad in it, after all, given the circumstances. Oh my, was she becoming one of those frivolous courtesans she so often saw in Rome? She was a bride-to-be, for heaven's sake!

"Still there, Your Highness? Do I have to implore you not to be silly?" The captain stretched out his arms in welcome.

"Swear to me that you'll ruin me, Captain Loredan."

"Brando." He said his own name in a velvety, deep voice, as if it were an invitation, an ode to seduction. That scared Isabella so much, still...

He welcomed her in his warm embrace. Yes, she was freezing, no need to deny it. Resting her head on his chest, she could hear his heartbeat. No regular pounding, the man's heart hammered.