Page 35 of The Unwilling Bride
She forgot about Kiernan when her uncle detainedher with a hand on her arm. “If he dies,” Lord Carrell said with quiet urgency, “the king may decide to give you to one of his French relatives.”
That was not a fate she cared to contemplate. “I’ll tend to Merrick’s wound as best I can, Uncle. Fortunately, Sir Henry says it’s not serious. Now I had better get on my way,” she finished as she continued to the stairs leading to the bedchambers.
“Good luck, my lady!” Henry called out, saluting her with his wine goblet. “You’ll need it!”
If they were expecting her to come running back, upset and in tears because Merrick wouldn’t admit her to his presence, they should have been here when Lord William was in his foulest humors, calling her terrible names, throwing anything he could lay his hands on at her—including his chamber pot.
Yet in spite of her determination to do her duty, once outside the door to Merrick’s chamber, Constance hesitated. What if he was like his father in his injured rage?
If he was, the sooner she found out, the better.
Taking a deep breath, she rapped smartly on the door.
“Who is it?” Merrick demanded from the other side.
“Constance. I’ve come to see to your wound.”
The door flew open. A half-naked Merrick stood there, his hair a mess, his eyes blazing, the long cut in his right arm still dripping blood. “I don’t need any help,” he growled.
At least he didn’t shout. “I don’t care,” she said withequally determined calm. “I’m going to sew up that wound before you bleed to death.”
“I’ve had worse wounds and tended them myself,” he said, starting to close the door.
She stuck her foot in the opening. “You’re handy with a needle and thread?”
Glancing down at her foot, he frowned, but he stopped trying to close the door. “It will heal without it.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not,” she said as she pushed through the door and into the room.
The last time she had been in this chamber, she’d been ensuring that all was in readiness for Merrick’s arrival—the linens clean; the feather bed plump with goose down and the curtains surrounding the large bed free of dust; the thick carpet that had cost more than most tinners earned in two years, even avoiding the tax, shaken and replaced; the silver ewer and basin ready on the stand near the window; the thick beeswax candle on the table beside the bed; and the brazier prepared in the corner.
As she set her basket on the wash table, she took in the bloody water in the basin, the stained shirt in a heap on the floor, the spilled wine on the side table that he must have tried to pour, and the ragged strips of torn linen. She ignored the huge curtained bed.
“How did you do that?” she asked, nodding at the strips. “With your teeth?”
“I told you, I can tend to my wound myself.”
She started to drag a chair beside the wash table.“I’m not leaving here until I’ve done my best to help you. You can’t sew that wound up yourself, so you’d best sit down and let me get at it.”
“The cut’s not that deep.”
She put her hands on her hips. “I suppose you don’t want the ointment I brought, which stops the bleeding, speeds healing and takes away pain, either. Just how stubborn a man are you?”
After a long moment of mutual glaring, he finally—much to her relief—threw himself into the chair and held out his arm. “I give you leave to touch me.”
Such arrogance!
His dark-eyed gaze mocked her. “You told me I must have your leave to touch you, so I think it’s only fair that you require my leave to touch me.”
Her lip curled with scorn as she took hold of his hand and held his arm still while she examined the cut. Mercifully, it wasn’t deep. The use of his hand and arm should be unaffected. “Talek keeps his spear sharp, I see. That’s good.”
“Good? The man could have killed me.”
“A ragged-edged wound is worse than a clean-edged one,” she replied. She lifted her eyes to his face, noting that he was a little pale. “But then, if you’ve tended to your wounds yourself, you’d know that.”
“Constance?” Biting her lip, Beatrice stood on the threshold of the bedchamber, an ewer in her hands and more clean linen hanging over her arm.
“Ah, excellent,” Constance said, moving briskly totake the ewer and linen from her cousin, who didn’t stir a step as she stared at Merrick.
