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The Best Medicine
Roland’s pain began to lessen as the days dragged by. He hated being confined to his bed, but complied because it was Adelina who insisted.
He acknowledged he wasn’t an ideal patient. Indeed, he often sounded like a whining child to his own ears. Adelina never censured his impatience, and her conviction he would fully recover never wavered.
When he complained about the bandages immobilizing his arm and shoulder, she cheerfully reminded him they were necessary if he wanted to regain the full use of his arm. The possibility he might never wield a sword again lay like a lead ball in his belly.
When he finally admitted his deepest fear, she climbed into the bed and held him. “You will always be a warrior, Roland. It’s who you are. There are other weapons just as effective as a sword.”
He fell asleep with his head cradled against her breasts, wondering what he’d been so worried about.
Becket and their parents came to visit regularly. They attributed his progress to Adelina’s constant care. “Had she not forced you to eat,” his mother opined, “a fever would surely have taken hold.”
They said nothing about the fact she spent her nights in his chamber, but he knew her comforting presence beside him in bed had seen him over the worst.
He even enjoyed having her bathe him, though his shaft insisted on proving his injury hadn’t affected its ability to respond to her touch in the slightest. “Wait until I have my arm back,” he teased.
“I can’t wait,” she whispered, clearly enjoying cleansing his body as much as he.
A sennight after their return to Montbryce, she deemed him well enough to agree to his suggestion she bestow a kiss on his swollen manhood.
As he’d hoped, a kiss proved not to be enough for her. He dug his heels into the mattress, gasping as she licked and suckled. His one good hand made itself useful under her skirts, and they brought each other to completion. “This is the best medicine,” he rasped.
* * *
Adelina agreed with Roland that sexual congress was keeping up his spirits and aiding in his recovery. She admitted inwardly it was soothing the turmoil in her heart as well.
Inspired by the conviction they should marry as soon as possible, she suggested as much to Marguerite. It was clear Becket and his wife couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Smoldering glances between the two led Adelina to believe Marguerite would be a good ally in convincing the comte and comtesse their son was sufficiently recovered to take on the role of husband.
For several days, she was disappointed when Roland’s parents visited but made no mention of a wedding.
Ten days after their return to Montbryce, she enlisted Becket’s help. Together, they assisted Roland to stand beside the bed.
“My legs feel weak,” he reluctantly admitted, leaning on his brother.
“It’s understandable,” Becket replied. “Just take it slowly.”
Adelina had forgotten how tall Roland was. Though he’d lost weight and his hair was disheveled, he was still a beautiful man. Her heart ached for the love she bore him. “It’s good to see you out of bed,” she said softly.
“Indeed,” his father declared.
Adelina hadn’t seen him and his wife enter. “He’s doing well,” she said.
“Another week, Roland?” his mother asked. “Then, a wedding. You need to marry this young woman before she gets tired of tending an invalid.”
Roland’s grin stole Adelina’s breath away. “I’ll be well enough,” he replied, his blue gaze locked with hers.
* * *
The next day, Roland insisted Becket help him walk around his bedchamber.
“I see you’ve waited until Adelina is gone for a few minutes,” his brother accused.
Roland clenched his jaw, already feeling the torn shoulder muscles objecting to his body being upright. “I’m going to walk to my wedding if it kills me,” he replied.
They’d completed one tour of the chamber when Adelina returned and swooped at them like an avenging angel.
Sweating profusely, Roland was only too glad to obey her order to get back in bed.
Becket quickly retreated when she began scolding him, though he winked at his brother as he left.
“I have to walk,” Roland said weakly.
“All in good time,” she retorted. “The physician plans to remove the bandages on the morrow, so then we’ll see how you fare.”
“You’re bossy,” he complained.
“And you love it,” she replied, bestowing a tempting kiss on his lips.
