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“Now, I’m going to change the bandage. How much longer will you have to have the thick pad there?”
She was naked from her waist to her toes. He’d even pulled off her cotton socks and shoes. She wished . . . no, she wasn’t about to wish for anything like that.
She felt his warm hand rest for a moment on the top of her thigh. “Now I see how you have tied this knot.” He worked it loose, then let the narrow binding cloth fall loose to her sides. Slowly, very carefully, he raised the thick white linen pad. It lifted up easily.
There were only six stitches. They weren’t badly done, but that damned black thread looked obscene against her white flesh. There was a lot more white flesh on her flat belly. His breathing hitched. He hadn’t forgotten. He supposed he’d only suspended his memory of the way her flesh warmed when he touched her, the smoothness of her, the way her muscles tightened when he had caressed her with his mouth. He shuddered.
“When can the stitches be cut out?” His voice sounded odd, as if he were in pain.
“In two or three days. What is wrong with you, Severin?”
“Nothing really, but you are naked and I am trying to concentrate on your wound. Perhaps it is a bit difficult, Hastings.”
“Try.”
“The flesh is healthy-looking. Have you any medicine for me to rub on it?”
“Aye, over there, atop the chest. The small jar on the left.”
He lifted the lid and sniffed it. “What is it?”
“That is Saint-John’s-wort mixed with different salves into a cream. The Healer gave it to me. I have been rubbing the wound with it since we returned to Oxborough. The Healer said it would prevent scarring. It also makes my skin very soft.”
“Your skin was already soft. Why did you not ask me to do it for you?”
“I don’t want to lie here naked, Severin. You might forget the black thread in my side.”
He grunted at that.
“I wouldn’t be able to fight you for fear of tearing the wound open.”
“You mean you would lie there like a sacrifice and not try to kick me loose from my manhood?”
“I would have to.”
He said nothing to that. He watched her close her eyes when he touched her with the cool, white cream. He felt her ease, for his touch was light.
“I hate to see the thread in your body. It brings back that night.”
At last he was preparing to yell at her. How long could a man keep his bile swallowed, particularly a man of Severin’s passions? “You will now tell me that I am a fool and threaten me and—”
“Hush.” He was thorough, she would give him that. More than thorough. She had never stroked her own fingers over the wound to such pleasant effect.
“I do not need a bandage.”
His fingers stilled. “You are certain?”
“Aye, I looked at the wound this morning.”
He flattened his palm over her belly. His hand was large, nearly spanning her. He said mildly, “If I threatened to beat you now, you would not believe me.”
“No. You would do nothing to harm your babe.”
He cursed. She said nothing, just looked at him. He was still staring down at her. She didn’t like this at all. She was naked and he was touching her and looking at her and she knew that she should draw away from him, but she didn’t.
Trist was lying flat on her chest. Surely Trist was heavy enough to hold her down for a few moments longer.
Severin raised his hand and pulled down her clothes. He lay a blanket over her, pulling it to her waist. He said nothing. There was a line of sweat on his brow.
