“I do no’ ken where my man is—attending Father, presumably, since we share him. Or on guard.”
“Och, I know naught o’ men’s clothing.”
He leaned toward her. “Time ye learned, then.”
And he drank down the draught in one go.
****
Men’s clothing proved far simpler than women’s, but that did not lighten the task Annista undertook. As it emerged—and as she’d been able to attest in the middle of the night—her husband wore very little. And that little had to come off before he could dress for the day, a procedure complicated by his wound.
She meant to turn her back. Indeed, and she did. They had made promises, after all—one of which she’d broken the previous night—not to touch. Which, so she figured, included not touching with her eyes either.
She’d turned her back and gone to fetch the requested garments from his clothes press when a small sound had her swinging around.
Her husband had drawn his nightshift off over his head, a procedure that must have caused considerable pain. He sat on the edge of the bed.
Naked.
When she spun, he pooled the shed garment in his lap.
But she was not looking at that. For a stain of red bloomed at the bandages covering his chest.
Once more, she flew to him. Arrested her fingers just before they reached the bandaging.
“Ye’re bleeding.”
“I do no’ think so, not now.”
“Then, when?” Her eyes fastened to his. “Last night? When I—lay upon ye? Why did ye no’ say?”
One corner of his mouth quirked upward in a wry smile. His eyes still held hers, and though he did not speak, she thought she glimpsed—in those smoke-gray windows—what thoughts were in his mind. Those moments, when she lay atop him had been desirable. Too delicious. He’d not wanted to end them.
Color stained her cheeks. She stood near enough to feel his heat and to again catch his scent. To recall in vivid detail the wondrous titillation of lying with him.
By God, she wanted it all again.
But she jerked away from him and took a decided step back.
“Here are your clothes. I will go find your lady mother. I think she needs to recall the physician.”
“Annista—” He spoke her name softly. Longingly? She did not linger to find out but stepped from the chamber before she could again break her promise.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
That day proved a strange one, but then, contemplating it, Annista had to admit each and every day since her arrival at Kallan had been so. She felt like a woman juggling balls—or perhaps sharp knives—and trying to keep them all in the air.
Too much occurred, too swiftly, and there did not seem enough hands to go around.
She needed to be in the stable, and with Bonnie, and helping search, and standing guard. A part of her—a strong, insistent part—wanted to be with Alan, to keep him in her sight as a means of reassurance.
A need she did not completely understand.
How had he become so important to her, this man she’d been forced against her will to wed? Ah, sweet Jesu, she did not understand it. Could a few kisses change her feelings so fundamentally?
Granted, she’d always thrown herself into things headlong. Into her ideas, into her beliefs in right and wrong, and justice. Into protecting those she loved—if she could but admit it.
Was that all she felt for Alan now? Because he was hurt, and she had not been able to protect Robena, so she somehow transferred those feelings to him?
