Page 77 of Laird of Flint
“Ye’d do that?”
“Of course,” he scoffed.
“But how will ye stay awake?”
“I can do without the medicine.”
“But your hand…”
He shrugged. “I’ve been hurt worse in battle.”
“Ye have?” She couldn’t imagine. She’d seen a few men who’d been hurt worse. They’d died shortly afterwards.
“Aye.” Then a glimmer of mischief entered his gaze. “I’d show you the scar. But ’tis in a spot not meant for innocent eyes.”
Her face grew instantly hot, and she looked shyly away. But she couldn’t help wondering exactly where he’d been wounded and if he was still whole.
“Eat another oatcake,” he suggested. “It might dilute the effects of the opium.”
That was a good idea. She would eat another oatcake. Then she would lie down on her pallet. With any luck, she would drift immediately off to sleep.
Under no circumstances would she do what Hew had. Blurt out her secrets. Confess her sins. Share her dreams. Or bare her heart.
Not today, but soon, Hew was going to break his vow of chastity.
He could feel it.
His head throbbed. His hand burned. His forearms sizzled with pain. But the desire flowing through him overpowered all earthly discomforts, like a soothing balm for his heart.
Many made the mistake of thinking Hew was a cuckolding rake, trysting with women for the sport and thrill of it.
But it was never so. Never had he lain with a woman he didn’t love, heart and soul.
Trysting was but the culmination of the fierce and powerful love that came before. A union born of passion and devotion. A heavenly merging of bodies that echoed the merging of spirits. It simply happened more swiftly for Hew than for others.
Even now, his affection for Carenza was growing rapidly out of his control. Every glance, every smile, every touch she bestowed upon him took root in his heart, spreading through his veins like an intoxicating elixir.
How then could he resist her?
And if she felt the same way about him…
He sighed. He’d be lucky to last another sennight.
Carenza swallowed down the last of her oatcake and met his gaze. Realizing he’d been staring at her, he averted his eyes, but not before the image of her licking a drop of honey from her finger was imprinted on his brain.
“I think I should lie down,” she decided.
Hew thought so as well. In this bed. Next to him. Naked.
“That’s probably best,” was what he said.
She tucked herself modestly into her own pallet and pulled the coverlet up to her chin.
Without warning, intense pain pressed down on him like an ocean wave breaking over his head. Pain far worse and demanding than the discomfort of his burns.
It wasn’t from his accident.
It was from the medicine.
