To be sure, he’d scarce noticed any pain while she lay atop him with her tongue deep inside his mouth. Who would have thought? He’d been hard as iron—had she been able to tell?—and would have made love to her right then. And likely torn his wound right open.
Worth it, no doubt. She’d been hot and willing in his arms. Eager.
His wife.
Was she untouched? Bound to be, despite her wild nature, a lass from a high house and good family as she was. Unbreeched but not loathe—
She was his wife. Bartered through his father’s scheming, aye, for political reasons. But his wife all the same.
There would, therefore, be naught wrong in it.
An heir would be expected.
That thought made his head swim. He wanted to give Annista his child as he’d rarely wanted anything.
But the succession—like Kallan itself—was not his to further. It never had been. And as for Annista—
Well, he’d already violated his promise not to touch, had he not?
She’d kissed him. Ah, God, she had! He relived it again, how she’d pressed her plump, warm lips to his, tasting the draught—most of which had spilled on the coverlet.
Tasting him. Liking what she tasted.
Through the connecting door, left ajar, he heard the two women in the far chamber stir and speak to one another. Annista’s voice and then Bonnie’s.
The little maid would soon recover. She’d suffered a terrible fright, aye, but the worst had not happened.
Would Annista come and check on him? Find out if, perhaps, he had perished in the hours without her?
Much as he wanted Annista to appear in the open doorway—and he lay with his gaze trained upon it, willing her to do so—she did not. Instead, his outer chamber door rattled and opened. He stiffened, realizing belatedly he was still on guard against Evan—or should be.
One of the undermaids—Bessie—slipped in. She glanced at him before going to sweep out the hearth and lay a new fire.
“All quiet, Bessie?” he asked.
“Aye, Master Alan.”
The efficient lass had the fire going in an instant and slipped out again. Mother would be next, Alan supposed, coming to fuss over him.
It was not Mother he wanted fussing over him.
He could hear the two women moving about and speaking softly in the next room. He supposed he should stir, but something in the gloom and dash of rain on the windows kept him where he was.
Evan would be out there somewhere in that rain.
Served him right and proper.
But—would the foul weather sober him up? Or send him home to wreak more havoc?
Before Alan could decide, Annista appeared at the connecting doorway. Fully dressed she was, to his disappointment, her hair bundled with some haste, shoes on her feet.
He remembered her feet last night, bare beneath the hem of her night rail as she came to him. Ah, God, what was he to do with these feelings?
“How d’ye feel this morning?” she asked as politely as if she’d never been held fast in his arms.
He tried to move and grimaced. That brought her to him swiftly, a look of concern on her face.
Did she care? Did she, truly?
