“Herbs to guard against infection, of course. Although I daresay it’s too late and your leg will fall off anyway.”
“Lucky I’ve got a third one then,” he quipped, winking. He couldn’t help it, she made him feel light hearted. Her presence was a wonderful antidote to a bad mood and even when he’d planned to play the invalid and work on her sympathy, his spirits were too lively when she was beside him.
He lay as still as he could—hard indeed for a man with too much energy—while she applied the salve. Then he bent his leg so she could bind a clean cloth around his thigh.
“Stop flexing your muscles,” she remarked wearily. “I can’t tie the bandage if you keep doing that.”
His fist tightened in her hair. “Stay with me a while.”
She strained to look over her shoulder, fighting against the pull of his hand on her hair.
“We are alone this time,” he assured her.
“Good.”
“I thought you liked Thierry.”
She merely looked at him, her lips silent.
“I suppose you cheered to see me brought down by your gallant champion,” he mumbled sulky again at the thought of her favor tied on his friend’s tunic. It matters not. She is just another woman. I can share her with Thierry, as I have done in the past with others. He was only six and twenty. There were a great many more women in the world to have before he was an old man. Guy Deveaux could not allow this weakness to invade his heart. Many warriors, stronger and tougher than this Saxon wench had failed to bring him to his knees. What was so different about her?
“Don’t you remember?” she said.
He thought he remembered her face peering down at him, full of concern and fear, but that could simply be a fantasy, caused by a stout knock upon the head. “Remember what?”
“You held my hand.”
“I did?” Strangely enough he wanted to hold her hand again, to feel her soft warm fingers in his palm. He wanted that as much as he wanted to feel other things and that was rare for him.
A sudden knock at the door preceded Sybilia’s unwanted arrival. He sat up quickly. “Ah there you are, wife. I was just discussing our arrangement with your handmaid. It seems you forgot to mention it to her.”
The woman said nothing. She had no idea what he was talking about, of course. Instead she looked at his hand gripping Deorwynn’s braid and then her furious gaze swung to the sight of his enormous erection. She scowled hard at both items.
Deorwynn finally pulled away, grabbed her bowl, bowed her head and hurried out. He curbed the urge to fly after her and drag her back. Somehow he had to get control of this. Thierry thought she was special to him, but how could that be? She was Saxon, mouthy, defied his orders and claimed to have no fear of punishment. Yes, she was a great and exhausting fuck, but surely that was all. He should have handed her off to Thierry and not made such a display. “Strutting” as his friend had called it.
Tearing his eyes from the door, he suddenly remembered the other woman. She was patrolling the foot of his bed, her hands clasped tightly before her.
“You pay much attention to my handmaid,” she muttered. “Folk noticed this afternoon.”
“What of it?”
“I am your wife, my lord. Am I to be ignored in favor of a penniless serving girl?” She licked her lips and he was reminded of a serpent, hissing its way across the ground toward him. “I doubt my father would be happy if he knew this. He might take back some part of my dowry if he thinks me ill-used.”
“Might he?” he snapped.
Sybilia paled at the harshness of his tone.
He swung his feet to the floor. “Why did you not tell Deorwynn of the arrangement we discussed when we were in bed?”
Two dots of red appeared on her thin cheeks, bringing new life to her otherwise sour expression. He knew very well that she had no idea what he was talking about. Evidently Deorwynn had said nothing to her of his request for an additional bedmate. So the two women were not communicating in complete openness. Interesting. But Sybilia was definitely complicit in the exchange that took place. Had she initiated it, or was it the other one who suggested they swap? He thought of Deorwynn sitting at his side last night, her fingers touching his chest timidly as she talked of never sharing a man she loved.
A man she loved.
Probably just an expression, a turn of phrase. It did not mean she had feelings like that for him. In Deorwynn’s deep brown eyes he was the enemy; whatever her reason for taking his wife’s place in bed that once, love was not it. Yet she had leapt down from the stands when he fell. He was confused by her actions just as much as he was confused by his own.