“Those who dare speak to me directly, call me Sin.”
She nodded. “Cyn? Short for Cynric?”
“Nay.” He recovered his stoicism as he remembered who and what he was. “S-I-N. As in conceived, born in, and am currently living happily in.”
He felt her hand tremble for the first time.
“You like to frighten people, don’t you?” she asked.
“Aye.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
To his surprise, she laughed. It was a wondrous, musical sound that came from deep within her. Sin stared at her, entranced by the way her face softened.
She was a beauty. And right then he wanted desperately to taste those lips. To feel her breath mingling with his own as he claimed her. To allow Henry to see them wed so that he could enjoy her for the rest of his life.
He froze at the thought.
Nay, he would never allow himself such comfort. Even though she touched him gently now, she would curse and fear him as all others did if she truly knew the truth of him and what lay in his past.
It was not for him to feel comfort or solace. He had crushed and banished that delusion long ago.
She opened up his other bandage, and gasped as she saw the blood that had already soaked the cloth.
“I am so sorry for this. I never meant for you to be hurt.”
He cocked a chiding brow at her. “Might I point out, milady, that when one picks up a sword in offense or defense, it can pretty much be determined that someone will get hurt.”
That rose blush returned to her cheeks as she reached for her needle. “This needs to be stitched.”
“It will heal on its own.”
“It will leave a scar.”
Sin looked down at the multitude of scars marring his bare chest and arms. “Think you, it matters?”
Callie looked up at his words. Even now she couldn’t read the emotions buried there in those deep, dark eyes. What agony he must have suffered to be able to shield himself so completely.
Normally, she could read even the most careful of souls. But this man was a complete enigma to her.
“It will matter to me.” She wondered why it was so. Yet it was.
As gently as she could, she made four short, tiny stitches in his arm. It amazed her that he didn’t cry out or tense. It was almost as if he didn’t even feel what she was doing, but then given the severity of some of his larger scars, she could deduce he had been hurt so much that this tiny wound meant nothing to him.
But it meant a great deal to her conscience, for she had never been one to cause pain in others. Though her father had been a mighty warrior, her mother had been a healer, and it was her mother’s love of life she subscribed to.
She cut a fresh bandage from the linen and wrapped it over her stitchery.
Lord Sin remained silent as she worked and yet she could feel his eyes on her. Searching.
There was something different about this man, though she couldn’t say what. And it wasn’t just the fact he seemed to delight in making people fear him.
He’s the devil’s own, Aelfa’s voice whispered in her ear. They say he has murdered over one hundred people just for the pleasure of it, and killed thousands more in battle. When he was first brought to court, he was wearing the robes of a heathen and spoke in tongues no one knew.
They say he sold his soul to the devil to make him invincible.
