Page 59 of Bride of the Wicked Laird
“And I was asleep while ye and Mildred tended me.” Her body tingled at the thought of his hands on her while she slept.
“Now and again ye smiled, and mumbled a word or two. Ye whispered me name, calling tae me. But ye didnae stay awake fer more than a heartbeat or two. The ordeal has left ye tired.”
She put a hand on his arm, letting out a gasp at the feel of cloth binding him from his shoulder to his elbow.
“Ye’ve been wounded, me laird.” She looked in horror at his arm. “Was that on me account? Did ye fight with the MacKinnon fer me release and get wounded by wi’ his sword?”
He clasped his hand over hers as her fingers explored the bandage. “Aye. Maxwell came tae me aid. It was a close-run thing, lass. MacKinnon was taking ye tae sea. Had many more minutes passed, he’d have had ye away.”
She shuddered. “I must attend tae yer arm.”
“’Tis nae need. Broderick has seen tae it.”
She studied the bandage. Then she looked up, catching his blue eyes on her and her heart jumped like a skittle. “If he’s left the salve wi’ ye, I would like tae care fer the wound ye took on me behalf. “
He took a small jar from the table near the bed. “If ye insist.”
After rolling up his sleeve, taking great care as she did so, she unwound the linen strip covering the wound. The cut was long, but not deep. A failing slash from MacKinnon’s claymore.
She shuddered.Laird Everard risked his life fer me.
“Can ye take off yer shirt so I can more easily see tae yer arm?”
He shook his head, “I dinnae take off me shirt fer any living soul.” Something flashed in his eyes that caused her to wonder what he might be hiding beneath his shirt.
“That is of nae moment” she said, hiding her curiosity. “I can see tae yer arm if ye can but push up yer sleeve.”
He wound the offending sleeve up past his elbow.
After pouring water from the jug into the bowl on the table she looked around. “Is there a clean cloth?”
He got up and hunted around, finding a fresh cloth which he handed to her.
She wet the cloth and dabbed his wound. Some blood was still seeping from it and he winced as she wiped that away and cleaned the cut. Once she’d dried it, she smoothed on the salve and bound it again.
He watched intently as she worked. “Ye’re a good deal gentler and neater than Broderick.”
“Mayhap Broderick doesnae share me concern fer ye. I was careful nae tae cause ye more pain.”
He took her hand and laid a kiss on her palm. “Ye have a healer’s touch, Davina, I thank ye fer attending tae me wound.”
She looked deep into his eyes and smiled at what she saw there, a ripple of pleasure coursing through her. There was no doubt in her mind, that her touch had fired his blood just as his touch on her hand had done to her.
“That wound demonstrates, in yer flesh and the blood ye shed, how great is yer care fer me. How could I nae wish tae dae all I can tae heal ye?”
He was close enough now for her to smell his peaty mix of whisky and leather, she could feel his breath in her hair, and all but hear the beating of his heart. She reached a hand again to roll down the sleeve of his shirt, allowing her fingers to brush his arm, toying with the fine hairs on his arm, and feeling the strong, muscled flesh beneath his skin.
Then, heart pounding and every scrap of her body shouldering, ready to burst into flames, she glanced up again to meet his gaze, her heart stammering. His chest rose and fell as he breathed deeply in and released the breath, their eyes locked. Inside she was hot, melted gold replacing the blood in her veins.
She willed him to lean in and kiss her.
Her heart hammered against her ribcage, but still he didn’t move, holding her pinned in his gaze. The air between them thickened with longing as Everard’s eyes changed from clear blue to the dark of indigo
She could not bear it a moment longer. Letting slip a tiny moan, she reached up and seized his shoulders, winding her armsaround his neck and straining up to reach his lips with hers. Not caring a fig that her night shift was unlaced and falling off one shoulder she swayed against him. He groaned and bent his head, crushing her mouth against his. Her lips parted, her tongue searching greedily for his.
All the sparks that had already been dancing through her blood suddenly came together, igniting a blazing fire that was like a fever. The only thing that could quench the fire was his mouth, his touch, his caresses. Yet the more she felt his touch, the higher rose the flames of her passion. She was mad for it all, as he pressed her close.
She felt his heart thumping solidly in time with hers as the sweet, thrilling sensation of her breasts crushed against the roughness of his chest washed over her, possessing her. The delicate nubs puckered and hardened under the thin fabric of her shift, her throat constricted, robbing her breath
