Page 28 of The Pumpkin Bride

He enjoyed her hand cupping his far too much. “No stitches.”

“Jask, they’ll help it close and heal properly.” She slid her warm and steady hand up his forearm, then squeezed. “I promise it’ll be quick.”

It better be, or he’d have to fling himself into Coldpress Lake to cool his blood.

“Do it,” he said.

Marigold nodded, then uncapped the vinegar. “First, I’ll clean the wound. This will sting. Badly. But it discourages corruption.”

He’d survived this long. He refused to let a festering wound take him down.

With great care, she poured a thin stream of sharp-smelling vinegar into the wound. No, that couldn’t be vinegar—she must have placed stinging fire ants on his flesh. He hissed, but his discipline kicked in and he held still.

“Well done, Jask.” She squeezed his forearm. “I’m sure that was terrible. Also, here.”

He took the strip of leather she offered him. “What’s this for?”

“The pain. You bite on it.”

As though this would withstand an orc’s bite.

He tossed it back to her roll. “I’ll be fine.”

“Your choice.” From the surgeon’s roll, she took up a long, curved needle, then guided a shimmering thread through its eye. “You’re lucky I visited the seamstress recently. My intuition told me I might need silk thread for my kit.”

“You’re clairvoyant as well, then.”

“No.” She clipped the end of the thread. “I’m a woman who prepares.”

“And a princess.”

“Princesses aren’t women?” The needle gleamed in the golden morning light as she wiped it with a linen soaked in vinegar. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who put princesses on pedestals, Jask. Pedestals are as much a prison as Dreadmoor.”

“Princesses aren’t surgeons.”

“Do you know all princesses?” She poured vinegar onto her hands, then dried them on clean linen. “But I wouldn’t call myself a surgeon. I dabble.”

“Enough to do this capably, I hope?”

“I excel at everything to which I put my mind. Like palmistry.” She turned his hand slightly to get a better angle on the gash. “The wound bisects your heart line, which is deep and well-defined. That would indicate a deep, true love. Have you found her yet, Jask?”

That question hurt more than the nail had.

Marigold looked up at him. “You don’t need to answer. I’m just making conversation.”

His voice was low. “I did, but I lost her.”

Marigold’s features softened as she maintained eye contact. “I’m sorry. That’s so hard, isn’t it? I’ve also lost my true love.”

Forsaken, more like. He’d been enduringly faithful while she’d opened her heart to someone new. But telling her who he was so plainly would be her death, so he kept the information locked in his chest. The heartache, however, wanted her to taste his pain.

“Devastated you, did it?” Bram snapped.

She raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m no scholar, but it couldn’t have been a deep attachment if you’re marrying another.”

Her gasp scattered the birds from the courtyard. Ah, blood and bones. His chivalry had known better days. Perhaps his loss of control was for the best. Marigold would think him a rough orc, and she’d be more motivated to move on.