Page 12 of Taken By the Soldier
I’m feverish and hungry for more.
I curse her injuries, wishing I didn’t have to wait until tomorrow to have her. Yes, tomorrow would be the soonest possible time. Her hands and knees would likely be healed by then, and she would be well-rested and properly fed.
Just one day.
I don’t wish to postpone our wedding night beyond that—it’s important we consummate our marriage and make it one hundred percent official in the eyes of man and God.
Above all, I want to leave no doubt in her mind that she belongs to me.
“Well, milady, I’m sorry I couldn’t wine you, dine you, buy you presents, and send you pretty flowers for months like you American women prefer, but maybe this will earn me a little redemption in your eyes.” Before she can respond, I sweep her up in my arms, open the door, and carry her inside. She pushes against my chest and wiggles around, but my strength overcomes her protests.
“Oh, you just carried me over the threshold!” she exclaims in a theatrical voice, batting her eyelashes dramatically. “Be still my heart! All is forgiven. Kidnap me and force me to marry you again, would you, please?”
I shoot her a glare as I move through the darkness to the living room. After flicking on a light, I place her on the couch and tuck her beneath a thick blanket. Uncertainty shines in her eyes as she peers up at me, her bravado from seconds ago fading.
I won’t hurt you, I want to say.I will be a good husband to you.
But the words stick in my throat, and I stand up, needing to put some space between us before I start babbling like a love-struck idiot. I tell myself it’s only her spirit, her beauty, and the fact that I haven’t been with a woman since before the war that’s affected me so.
“Don’t move,” I say. “I’ll make you some tea to help you sleep.”
I venture to the kitchen, all the while keeping an ear out for the sound of footsteps. If she tries to run off right now, she won’t get far. Her deep exhaustion is evident in the circles rimming her eyes and her slow movements, but I don’t wish for any harm to come to her. I fix a cup of chamomile tea and add a painkiller and a mild sedative, wanting to ensure she gets a good night’s sleep. I return to find her on the couch, still tucked under the blanket.
Good girl. The words rest on the tip of my tongue.
“Drink this.” I edge onto the couch beside her, only for her to glare at the mug with suspicion.
“Actually… can I just have a glass of water?”
I scowl at her. “You’ve had a difficult day, and this will help you relax. I put something for pain in it, too, as well as something to help you sleep. I’m assuming you’ve got a killer headache.”
She sighs, then reluctantly accepts the mug. Her hands tremble, and she regards me for a while, appearing deep in thought. The question that comes out of her mouth next takes me by surprise, though it shouldn’t. She’s been rather blunt with me so far.
“Are you planning to fuck me after I drink this?” she asks, her voice hard. “After I’m too tired to fight back?”
Bracing an arm on the top of the couch, I lean down, encroaching on her space even more. “Do you want me to fuck you, princess?”
“No. Of course not.” She concentrates on the tea, refusing to meet my gaze.
I place a hand on her stomach, rubbing my palm in a slow circle. “I won’t touch you tonight, Judith. You’re still recovering from your injuries. I’ll admit I can be a bastard on occasion, but I’m not as cruel as you might think.”
Her lower lip quivers, and she quickly moves to sip the tea, obviously trying to conceal her emotions. I almost wish for her to break down sobbing. Just to give me a good reason to gather her up in my arms and rock her gently.
She tries to shove the half-empty mug into my hands.
“Drink more,” I say, continuing to rub circles on her stomach. I like that she’s accepting my touch, and I look forward to sleeping next to her tonight. Whether I fuck her tonight or not, there will be no empty spaces between us in the bed.
A dreamy look descends upon her after she finishes the tea. The sedative is working fast. “Thank you,” she says, then emits a soft sigh.
I deposit the empty mug in the kitchen and return with buttered toast. Her eyes are closed, and her breathing is deep, but I manage to rouse her enough to get her to eat every last bite. I didn’t expect her to fall asleep so quickly, even with the sedative, given how long she’d slept in the truck.
As I wonder how long she’s gone without a real meal, I decide to make her a big breakfast tomorrow morning. She’s definitely underweight; the outline of her ribs can be seen through her fitted shirt.
Her curls tickle my chin as I pick her up. I carry her upstairs and place her down on the king-size bed. It will not seem so large and empty tonight, not with her by my side. She doesn’t resist as I undress her, seeming to drift on a plane between sleep and wakefulness.
I apply new bandages to her palms and knees, noting that the wounds have nearly healed already. After dressing her in one of my clean undershirts, I tuck her into the bed. I hurry to brush my teeth and take a quick shower. Then I crawl into bed, wearing nothing but my underwear, and draw her close, wrapping her in my arms and holding her tight, the urge to protect her rising to the surface.
She’s the spoils of war, and she belongs to me.
