Page 143 of Propriety
Her heart leapt to her throat, already searching for his dagger. “How much?”
Lancelot gave the faintest shake of his head. “Not much. Handful… maybe two.” His eyes opened again, glassy and bloodshot.
“Very well,” she whispered, sliding his dagger out of his discarded belt. “I’ll be quick just-” Her words faltered again. “Please stay awake.”
“Why don’t you,” His face scrunched up, letting out a pained groan. “Give me something to wait for?”
She could have smacked him if he wasn’t falling apart in front of her. “Are you serious?” Gwen scowled. “You were bleeding out in my hands, and you’re trying toflirt?”
“Still me,” he murmured, voice nearly lost to the rasp in his throat. “Still yours.”
She pressed a kiss to his forehead, fast and desperate. “Stay awake,” she whispered one last time before peeling back the tent flap.
The bodies of the men still laid strewn about their small campsite, her stomach lurching at the sight.
Careful not to step in any of the gore that lie around her, she made quick work of finding the willow tree.
It was easy enough to find the tree. Its branches hung low over the path they had taken in. Guinevere slid the knife out of her belt, carefully carving into the bark of the large tree.
She collected the shavings in a small pouch on her hip, her heart still thrashing in her chest.
Have to get back.
Have to get back.
Have to get back.
Someone could have attacked her again, and she would never see it coming. He consumed her every thought.
Quickly cinching the bag, she turned, not bothering to tuck her knife away.
Sliding back through the tent flap, Gwen found herself holding her breath, afraid of what lay on the other side of the canvas.
Her knees nearly buckled with relief. Then the fury hit — hot and wild. “You’re an idiot,” she hissed, collapsing beside him. Lancelot was sitting up, leaning back against the larger pack. “You shouldn’t have moved.”
“Doesn’t hurt too bad,” he said, and his voicedidsound stronger, if only by a little. “I would have slipped back under.” A roguish grin tugged at his mouth, instantly tugging on her heart.
“Besides, you’re more likely to kiss me if I don’t look like I’m laying on my deathbed.” Her brow furrowed as she looked at him. Words caught in her throat.
He was reckless.
Infuriating.
Butgodit was good to hear his voice.
“You shouldn’t have moved,” she repeated as she untied the small pouch from her wrist.
“I didn’t want to miss you,” he rasped, a flicker of mischief through the pain. “Or your adorable excuse for wrath.”
“You should be dead.” She whispered, tears pricking at her eyes now. “There was so much blood, Lance.” She cupped his face, relishing in the way he leaned into her touch. “You were so still, I didn’t think-” Her breathing hitched.
All she could see was his pale frame, the blood covering his chest and his hands. She couldn’t see past the fear of losing him.
It threatened to pull her under.
So instead, she grabbed his face and kissed him.
It wasn’t soft.
