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‘Yes, I believe you did.’
‘You’re cut?’
‘It does feel that way. I appear to have grasped the blade before I was able to get to your hand.’
She gasped. He stepped further away.
‘Rhys—we must get a light. You’re bleeding.’
‘I’ll attend to it. You go back to your room.’
‘I’ll summon help.’ She turned to run, but he captured her arm with his right hand, grip warm and tight.
‘Shh... I. Will. Attend to it.’
‘But, Rhys... Are you hurting? We must—’ He must not be hurt. He could not be hurt. Her breaths gasped from her.
‘Bellona. The servants. I do not want talk, but really I should look at it. There is a light in my chamber.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed. She slipped from his grip and caught the fabric of his sleeve, pulling him in the direction of his room. ‘Quick.’
Inside the room, the stain on his white sleeve looked like nothing more than a shadow until he stopped by the lamp.
Blood dripped from the hilt of the knife.
Red. She gasped. Death. She could hear the screams of the women of her homeland. She could have done to Rhys what the man who’d killed her uncle did.
Her knees weakened, but she did not fall. He put the knife on the bedside table and opened his hand. The skin parted where his palm had slid down the blade.
‘You cannot die.’ She appraised his body, looking for damage. ‘You cannot.’
‘I am not planning to.’ He pushed the skin together and held it. ‘Bring me a flannel. I need to stop the bleeding.’
She rushed to get the cloth and took the fingers of his hurt hand in hers, and he moved his free hand aside while she pressed the cloth against the wound.
‘You must remove the blood from yourself as well,’ he said. ‘You look as if you have been in a fight. Are you cut?’
She noted the red splotches on her arm for the first time. Her own fingers showed red. She examined her arms and hands. ‘No.’
‘I’m thankful.’ He shut his eyes briefly and shook his head. ‘I’m thankful I am the one that felt the blade and not both of us. That would be hard to explain.’
‘It should be stitched,’ she said, bending over his hand. ‘I will do it. I know I can.’
He took a step away. ‘Damned if I let you near me with a needle. I’ve seen your embroidery.’
‘I will be slow.’
‘Bellona.’ His eyes widened. ‘We have a physician. I have been bled before and I survived. It is merely releasing some of the humours. I do not like it, however. Your method is a bit painful.’
‘I will take care of you.’ She moved to the washstand and splashed water from the ewer into the basin. She swept her hands through to remove the red. The water turned a bloody tinge, but no cuts showed on her own skin. She turned back. His eyes were on her and his gaze didn’t move as she watched him.
She took a cloth, her hands dripping water, and rushed to his side. ‘I’ll care for it. Sit. Sit on the bed.’
Keeping his hand clasped over the cut, he held his elbows wide, still standing. ‘Would you undo my cravat and the buttons on my waistcoat? I’d prefer not to get more bloodstains on the fabric...’
She wiped her hands dry, tossed the cloth to the bed and stepped closer. With a quick tug, she slipped the knot free. Then a swift snap.
The force of her pull on his neckcloth jerked him sideways.
‘Damnation, woman. Do not break my neck.’
‘Pardon. I did not realise it was wrapped around so many times.’
‘You almost snapped my head from my body. You do wish to kill me,’ he muttered, then leaned forward again. ‘So unwrap it or merely slip it free by pulling gently at the sides and front.’
She finished her task, surprised at how comfortable she was this close to him. To be alone with him was quite different from anyone else.
She folded the cravat and put it on the bed.
Reaching up, she slipped the delicate buttons of his waistcoat free, moving back so he could raise his hands as she finished.
At the last one, she stopped, looking up into the dark eyes as she undid the final clasp.
‘Are you...’ she asked, ‘in pain?’
The lightest nod.
When she turned, her eyes locked on his hand. She sucked in air through her nostrils.
‘You look a bit rattled,’ he said. ‘Do not have the vapours.’
‘Your Grace. Please. Sit.’
He looked at her. ‘Bellona, I believe you can call me Rhys now.’
She paused. ‘I am sorry I hurt you.’
‘I know. I believe you.’ He held his hands clasped a bit more and stepped away. ‘What I don’t understand is the knife. I thought your weapons were taken.’
