Heroism is vastly overrated.
Even after being with Sir Michael for less than six months, I had already seen him do a lot of stupid things. But this was arguably - actually, no. This was THE single stupidest thing I had ever seen him do.
If he had stuck up for me, it would be different. That's not to say it wouldn't still be stupid, because unnecessarily putting yourself in harm's way is stupid no matter the circumstances. But at least if he had taken the flogging for me, he could argue that ensuring he had a squire would make this half-assed quest of his easier in the long run. But Willard? Really, Noble Sir, really? Willard was no one to us. He didn't matter. And, quite frankly, he had a tendency of pissing me the hell off.
Not that any of this mattered to Michael, I reminded myself cynically. No, he was a knight errant, doer of all things heroic. Even if it almost cost him his life.
The boat lurched suddenly, and I was thrown onto my left side. Scrambling back into a sitting position, I let out a pent up breath I hadn't even realized I had been holding when I saw that Michael was still fast asleep in his bunk-hammock thing. I inched closer to him, wondering if it would be time to apply more salve to his mutilated back.
Even in the pale moonlight spilling through the portholes, I could see that Michael was smiling ever so slightly in his sleep. This irritated me irrationally; I was trying to be mad at him, dammit. But being mad was hard when I was just thrilled - perhaps a little more thrilled than I would have liked - that he was going to be okay.
Slowly, I took the hem of Sir Michael's shirt in my fingers and lifted is up, revealing the torn flesh below. Just the mere sight of it sickened me and made me want to yell at him for being so incredibly stupid.
What on earth had he been doing?
Did he even stop to think about how scared I was?
About how badly I was shaking?
No. All that had mattered to him was his thrice-damned heroism. Which, as I hope I've made perfectly clear, is vastly overrated.
Once I was confident that I hadn't woken him up, I began applying the mixture Cracker had given me onto my employer's back. This was the tricky part: doing it with enough force that the medicine was actually rubbed in so it could take its affect, but gently enough so as not to rouse Michael. Not helping the situation was the constant rocking of the boat. Or how unsteady I seemed to become when I was this close to the older male before me.
Shit. No. It was...the cold. I was cold.
Either way, I managed to apply the salve and not disturb Michael. My body was yelling at me to try and get some sleep, and yet I remained rooted to my spot on the ship's deck at Michael's bed - bunk? - side.
Which was also stupid.
And I reminded myself of that fact many times.
I reminded myself that Michael was stupid and annoying and naive and he thought he was some sort of fucking knight and the only reason I was even with him is because I was unredeemed but I would be making a break for it as soon as possible because Michael was stupid and I was stupid for sitting on this stupid floor next to him acting like some stupid nurse just because he was stupid enough to get himself flogged for standing up for Willard who, I noted bitterly, was also stupid.
But the stupidest of all was how...happy I felt, despite my angry train of thought.
It was stupid of me to enjoy being in such close proximity to Michael.
It was stupid that I was smiling at the way I could hear tiny exhalations of his breath if I listened close enough.
It was stupid to bring my still-shaking hand up to Michael's hair and run my fingers through it, as if I was petting a small cat.
A really, really adorable cat.
But the stupidest of all was letting my mind wander. Letting my mind wander to Sir Michael, what he might possibly be dreaming about, and hoping beyond hope that it was me.
Sir Michael was obviously starting to rub off on me, and it was stupid for that to make me as happy as it did.