She tried to jerk upright and got halfway there before pain knocked her flat again, a groan wrenching its way out of her. Every torn muscle and abused joint had stiffened while she slept, and now . . .

Oh, dear god.

Olivia’s face came into view above her, the woman’s expression as unreadable as ever. She peered down at Gwen, scanning her features and then raising an eyebrow. “Best let me tend to your injuries, Sir Gawain. Or else your first big win will be your last.”

Gwen managed to roll onto the side opposite the sore ribs, get an elbow under her, and lever herself up into a sitting position. Olivia had a nondescript leather satchel with her, along with a basin of water.

“It’s just bruises,” Gwen said, starting to shrug and thinking better of it.

Olivia ignored this attempt to forestall her, setting the basin down on Gwen’s bedside table and then gesturing to Gwen herself. “Strip,” she commanded.

Gwen felt her cheeks reddening. “Really, I don’t think—”

Olivia’s eyes narrowed. “Do you truly want to fight me on this? As of today, you’re undefeated. Do you want to ruin your record?”

Gwen swallowed and began pulling off her dress.

Once she was down to her undergarments, Olivia had her pull the back of her shift over her head and sit down. Gwen sat, clutching the fabric to her front, and let the other woman examine her. Olivia gave only a soft intake of breath, but from her the sound might as well have been a shout of dismay.

Gwen felt herself stiffen. “Is it that bad?”

Olivia ran expert fingers over Gwen’s shoulder, then slid them down along the shoulder blade to the ribs. Gwen hissed, instinctively twitching away, muscles tightening in reaction.

Olivia let her hands fall away. “The shoulder’s been partially dislocated. You’re going to have to let me pop it back into place, and we’re going to have to strap it up well next time you ride, and cross our fingers you can avoid getting hit. The ribs are bruised, but not broken, I think, and once your shoulder’s right, they shouldn’t hurt so much.”

Gwen eyed the woman apprehensively. “Pop it back into place?” she echoed.

Olivia’s eyes narrowed again, and this time, Gwen spied a hint of humor in them. “Don’t tell me you’re scared, Sir Knight.”

Gwen rolled her eyes upward, gathered the fabric of the shift against her chest, and nodded at Olivia to get it over with. Olivia waited until there was a particularly loud round of laughter and exclamations from the suite of rooms beyond Gwen’s door, braced her knee against Gwen’s body, and wrenched at her arm.