Page 78 of Desire's Ransom
Chapter 21
Ryland felt the blood drain from his face. There was no way to explain this situation.
But as he continued to stare back at her, he realized Sorcha wasn’t angry. She was amused. She found his predicament entertaining.
He didn’t think that was right either. Shouldn’t she be protecting one of her own?
But before he could scowl at her in disapproval, she came to his rescue.
“Wake up, ye pagan sluggards!” she cried, clapping her hands loudly. “’Tis the Sabbath.”
In the chaos of her shouting and clapping, Ryland was able to extricate himself from Gray without her notice.
She groaned as she slowly rolled onto her back.
Ryland sat up on his elbow. His palm was still warm where it had caressed her flesh. His heart was still pounding. And his loins still ached.
His voice came out as a ragged croak. “Good morn.”
Temair recoiled in pain. Why was he talking so loudly? And why was her mouth so dry?
She’d just been having the most lovely dream. But Sorcha’s shrill announcement had shredded it. Now her head was throbbing, and she couldn’t even remember what she’d been dreaming.
“Morn,” she whispered back. Even that hurt.
“Too much ale?” he murmured.
She nodded. She didn’t dare open her eyes. Even through her lids, the brightness of the sun was blinding.
Bloody hell. Why had she drunk so much? She knew better.
One of the hounds licked her face, and she pulled away with a disgusted sneer.
“Nay,” Ryland hissed. With a snap of his fingers, the dog retreated.
She rose up on her elbows and tried to clear the fog from her brain. What had happened last night?
She remembered two English knights had come to supper. Then she remembered why she’d refilled her cup so many times. The knights had been talking about Temair being a murderer.
Had she said anything? Had she revealed any secrets? It had been a long time since she’d gotten that drunk.
Ryland asked her softly, “Would you like water?”
She nodded. Her mouth felt as dry as dust. And something was poking at the back of her brain, trying to remind her of something she’d said or done that she shouldn’t have.
What was it?
She could hear the other woodkerns coming slowly to life with yawns and muttering. The fire started to crackle. The sparrows chirped in the yews—little piercing chirps that drilled into her aching temples.
“Here.” Ryland returned, placing the cup into her hands.
She sipped at it until she felt restored enough to pry open her eyes. “Thank ye.”
He was watching her expectantly.
“What?” she asked.
He shook his head and lowered his gaze. “Nothing.”
