Page 110 of The Silversmith

“I didn’t think I’d have you on your knees so many times in one day,” I quietly teased. “Such a mighty warrior bowing before a feeble queen.”

He stilled with his hands on the back of my legs.

“You have no idea how easily you put me on my knees.” He stroked the bare skin of my calves—up to the sensitive space behind my knees and back down. “You are a dream.” He lifted his right hand to cup my cheek. He traced his finger from the curve of my jaw to my lips, parting them with his thumb. “There’s not a chance I’ll make it to heaven, but I pray the gods are gracious to send me to a place where I can see you. Just you.” He wound his fingers in my hair. “Because if I can’t spend eternity looking at you, I’d rather my soul cease to exist. You are,” he breathed, “the single most breathtaking thing in this world.”

My brow crinkled in confusion at how he could whisper such longings to me when I knew his heart still belonged to his wife. Yet I whispered past the ache in my chest, through the tightening of my throat, “All those sweet words, and you still won’t kiss me?”

He shook his head, eyes filled with regret. “I told you why.”

Yes. Because he wouldn’t stop. That wasn’t a good enough reason for me. A very poor reason, actually. But if it was good enough for him, I had to respect his wishes. At least, I had to try.

So I lowered his hands from my face and avoided the rejection I inflicted upon him by doing so. I diverted my attention to the mirror behind him and regretted it. Before, I had been too focused on him to see how much blood covered my face, arms, hair, and neck. Blood from the man I’d killed.

Red. So much red.

“I need a bath.” My voice dropped, low and cold. “To get it off.” Even breaths transformed into frantic pants. I pointed at myself in the mirror. “I need a bath.”

He glanced at the cast-iron tub in the corner, then back at me. “You can’t submerge your wound, not when it’s so fresh.”

“I—I don’t care. I need to get him—the blood—off of me—”

He turned, stood, and strode over to the corner of the cabin to swipe a sponge off a small table beside the tub. Then, he dragged a bucket over to the bath and filled it with water. “Undress.” He opened the drawer of a small wardrobe and tossed me four clean towels. “Put two of these down, cover yourself with the others, and lie down.”

“What?” I gulped.

“Take off your clothes, Ella, and lie down.”

“What?” I choked. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to get his blood off of you.” He reached for a bar of soap from a stool beside the tub and tossed it into the bucket. “Tell me when you’re covered.”

“I… I can do it myself if it’s too much—”

“You are injured, and I will help you.”

He started a fire in the hearth behind the tub. As soon as the flames roared, delectable warmth filled the cabin. I stared at the towels in my hand and sighed. This was probably going to hurt in more ways than one.

When I lifted my arms to remove the black sweater, stabbing twinges rippled up and down my side then throbbed in waves. I cursed under my breath.

“Are you alright?” Still with his back to me, he removed his jacket, rolled the sleeves of his black shirt up to his elbow, and reached up to rub the back of his neck.

“Yes,” I hissed through the pain, and peeled the sweater the rest of the way over my head. “Yes, it just… hurts.”

Somehow—slowly and carefully—I managed to strip off my pants and undergarments without falling to the ground. While I undressed, he took the sponge and washed his own face, arms, and hands so all traces of blood on him were gone.

The towels were ivory and smelled clean. Odd for a cabin this far out in the woods, but given Damond’s fine taste, I wasn’t too surprised.

“I’m covered.”

He turned but kept his eyes trained down as he dragged the bucket, now full of water, to the bed’s edge and knelt before me.

I shifted where I sat, causing the towel to shift down my left breast, not far enough to expose anything.

“Do not drop that towel.” His voice was clipped, his jaw clenched. “To…” He cleared his throat. “To keep the wound dry.”

Yes, to keep the wound dry. My core tightened, well aware I was completely naked beneath this towel. He motioned for me to lay down.

“Wait.” Warmth flooded my cheeks like rivers of shame. Letting him see me in only his shirt while swimming was one thing. I had been covered. And sitting here beneath towels, I was still fully shielded besides my shoulders and knees. But laying down would expose almost everything else. The rest of me… I was afraid to disappoint him. “I don’t know what I look like to a man naked.” Or in this case, almost naked.