“Nice,” Alan admitted as his eyes slid shut, “to ha’ someone tak’ my part.”
“We maun, perhaps, tak’ each other’s part, since there seems no one else willing to do so.”
Did he truly hear her say that? Or was it an imagining as he floated off to sleep? Mayhap just wishful thinking again.
****
When Alan awoke once more, his mind was clearer. Awareness returned even before he opened his eyes. He remembered all of it, the encounter with Evan and what had come after—Annista, lying beside him.
He’d had dreams, distracting ones that seemed to have involved repeated encounters with his brother. The past? The future? Who could tell?
When he opened his eyes, his surprise flared, for Annista remained beside him.
She slept, slumped toward him on the bed. He could hear her breathing softly in the quiet room and the sound affected him on a deep level. Roused a spate of tenderness.
Did this woman require tenderness?
Doubtful. Would she welcome it from him? Equally doubtful. Yet—she looked so young and vulnerable while asleep. And he could not deny what he felt.
The room had slid into shadow so he could see her but dimly, the only light being the fire that burned well down. Beyond the window lay only darkness. Night?
He hurt, as he discovered when he tried to move. Whatever draught the physician might have given him had clearly worn off. His face had swollen and the wound in his ribs screamed at him. He must look a right mess.
Did he care? Nay, for Annista lay beside him, and she was beautiful. Odd that he’d not thought so at once upon meeting her, for it was true.
He inspected her slowly by the doubtful light. Dress torn and soiled. Hands not overly clean. Hair tumbled and wild.
Lips two perfect buds waiting to be kissed. Cheeks pale and delicate. Bosom—
Nay, do not think on that. Only—she looked to have the most perfect breasts.
Her hand lay on the coverlet not far from his. He moved his fingers the required distance and cradled hers.
She stirred, mumbled something. A tiny frown marked her brows.
She does not welcome my touch. Even in her sleep she counts the promise we made.
But then her hand twisted beneath his, and she clutched his fingers. Hard. Like a woman who meant never to let go.
Alan lay breathless, a man transfixed.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alan groaned and gave a half-gasp when the physician—who had returned early that morning—peeled the bandages away from his wound. Annista, watching carefully from the side of the bed, wondered why she lingered to observe the distressing and, to be sure, horrific spectacle.
Why she’d remained with Alan all night.
To protect him, her heart insisted. In case his demon of a brother came back.
And could she?
Och, aye, she could. If that redheaded sea serpent showed his face anywhere near Alan or Bonnie, she would attack him at once. Put a swift end to his miserable life.
Just as she’d promised her mother.
Whether Alan needed her protection was another matter. A big man, he, and well grown though at the moment sorely battered.
Did she fear for him, truly? If so, why? He was none of her worry. Just because he was her husband—
