Once Upon a Romance 02 - As The Last Petal Falls (6 page)

Teeth nipped at his arm, scratching the skin even through the heavy layers of wool he wore for warmth. Fain whirled and spotted Grey Tip, snarling muzzle low to the ground, legs poised to spring. Fain planted his heels firmly into the packed snow and snarled back. With a ferocious growl, the wolf leader launched himself through the air faster than Fain’s eyes could track. The force of the collision threw him to the ground, with a great, furry head looming over him.

Grey Tip let out a short, amused bark while Fain tried to catch his breath, and then the wolf raced to join the rest of the pack, who were all tangled up in a raucous fray. A smaller female broke free from the giant wrestling match and headed back towards Fain. The shaggy canine closed on him, her red, wet mouth steaming in the cold air, and Fain gave himself up for lost. There was nothing he could do as a heavy paw held him down and a long, pink tongue set about thoroughly cleaning his face.

“Get off, Little Mother!” He’d christened this wolf based on her disturbing habit of treating him like a barely weaned cub. “I promise my face is clean.” The she-wolf backed off and sat on her haunches, lolling her tongue out at him. The two of them watched as the rest of the pack finished their romping. Fain never lasted long in the game he called wrestle-tag, but he played anyway. It was part of being a pack member.

When Grey Tip was done play-biting the muzzle of his final challenger, he let out a howl. The wolves dashed for the forest line, yipping at one another as they went. Fain watched in envy. They would run for the joy of it until the ever-increasing storm sent them to seek their rest in the sheltered places of the forest. When the last of them had disappeared Fain turned and slogged back to the keep walls, gritting his teeth as he was waved back through.

As the gate ground shut behind him, he sighed. Sometimes he wished he had never moved into this keep. Then he could still be out in the dark, with the wolves.

Day was breaking outside, though no sunlight penetrated the whirling snow. Instead of the wan light of dawn, tiny flakes worked their way through the chinks in the old wooden shutters. Fain was once more lying beside his fireplace, wishing that his bed were unoccupied—or, rather, that the occupant was some sweet, biddable, lovely young miss instead of a contentious, sharp-tongued, spoiled brat. He could have woken someone else to watch over her and sought out an empty bed, but truthfully he doubted he could sleep. He couldn’t still his thoughts long enough, couldn’t calm himself. He resolutely tried to turn his mind from the problem of the lass, but she began to murmur and roll over in the bed. He sighed in frustration. It seemed she refused to be ignore d.

His thoughts were interrupted by the door opening. Connelly moved into the room on light feet and went immediately to the edge of the bed. He pressed his hands to her brow, then frowned and checked her pulse. Then he turned a sharp eye on Fain.

“An’ how long has the little lassie been fevered, MacTíre?”

“What?”

“Her skin sweats an’ her pulse races, dinna ye ken?”

Fain shook his head. “She was resting easily when I lay down, and she only began tossing in the last few minutes. I thought she was dreaming.”

Connelly grumbled a bit, but nodded. “Aye, it can come on that way, betimes. Come lend a hand, man, she needs ta be cooled.”

Fain stood without bothering to don his shirt and came over to the bed, while Connelly threw the covers back. The lass began shivering, but the gnarled man ignored it and grabbed his belt knife. “Hold her still, I dinna want ta accidentally give her a slice.” Fain did as he was told, and Connelly carefully began cutting through the upper sleeve of the fine riding habit, and then down through the bodice, until the jacket could be peeled back without disturbing her injured arm.

“Sit her up and hold her careful—mind ye watch that arm, now—and I’ll get it off her other side.” Fain gathered the lass gently against his chest while Connelly suited actions to words. She shivered in his arms, though her skin was hot enough to warm his chest against the chill in the air. The lady whimpered once when the jacket came off her back, leaving nothing between it and the cold air but her thin woolen blouse and delicate undergarments, but other than that she was quiet. Her body shook and shuddered in the throes of the fever, and Fain began to worry.

“Shouldn’t this be waking her?”

“’Tween the fever an’ the medicine? Na y, likely she’ll sleep a while longer. ’Tis a blessing if she doesna wake, all the shakin’ would pain her arm somethin’ dreadful. Likely ’twas exposure that made the lass feverish. We’ll set her ta rights, dinna fear.” As he spoke, Connelly continued stripping the lass from her jacket, and then split the blouse up the back and peeled that off as well. The knife made quick work of the lacings on her stays and the thin silk of her chemise, and just like that Fain was holding a half-naked woman in his arms. He held her as modestly as he could, covering her chest with his own, hiding it from his eyes; but that just left her breasts pressed firmly against his own bare skin, the smooth skin searing with the heat of the fever. It had been a very long time since Fain had held a woman, and right at this moment he couldn’t think of a woman he’d
ever
seen that was as beautiful as this one. He bit back a groan and resolutely focused on Connelly—there was nothing remotely arousing about the little man, and that helped Fain fight back his awareness of the lass he held.

“What possesses women ta put so many wee buttons on one garment, eh? Lay her down so I can pull this off.” Fain was following the instructions without really paying attention to Connelly’s words, but they filtered through his consciousness right at the moment that Connelly pulled wide the waistband on the divided riding skirt.

Fain closed his eyes and wrenched his body around. Then he walked over to the far wall and leaned his forehead against it. He could hear the medic behind him, divesting the lass of her clothes, but he concentrated on the feel of the stonework against his face: the gritty surface, the chilled rock.

Connelly cleared his throat and Fain turned to see that he had drawn the bedsheet up, hiding her glorious body. He felt Connelly place a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Yer a good man, MacTíre. There’s many a fell a would stare while I did what had ta be done.”

“There’s many a fellow that’s a lecherous beast. Anyway,
you
don’t seem to be unduly affected.”

Connelly gave a small chuckle. “When ye’ve tended t’ as many bodies as I have, they tend ta stop affectin’ ye, uncommonly lovely or not.”

Fain gave a great sigh and then faced the little medic. “So, what do we do now?”

“Put the kettle on an’ fetch me a basin with cold water an’ a rag. I need ta wipe the lassie down, an’ get some herbs in her belly.”

Fain complied, concentrating on each task as he did it without thinking beyond the moment. As he stoked the fire, Connelly rummaged through his medicinal herbs and began tying together a sachet. Once the water was hanging over the fire on the swinging arm, Fain fetched the basin and rag from the kitchen. The tea was steeping by the time he returned, and Connelly was ready to use the cool water.

“Ye can watch the herbs. When the water turns the color of a tanned hide, take them out, an’ set the mug in more cold water, so ’twill cool faster.” Fain guessed that Connelly was giving him a task to keep him occupied while the lass was wiped down, and for that he was grateful. He tried his best to focus, although he couldn’t stop his mind from imagining the rag running over her skin, little drops of water running down in the valley between her breasts, pooling in the small depression of her navel… By the time the herbs were ready to remove, he had driven himself half mad imagining it, but he had kept his eyes firmly on the tea. He heard the sheet being drawn upwards again, and then Connelly handed him the bowl of cool water to rest the warm mug in.

“Set it in the window, Fain, then come seat yerself.”

He left the tea cooling on the ledge, and then both men settled themselves gingerly on the foot of the bed.

“Tell me, then, who is she?” So Fain related, for the second time, the story the lass was claiming, as well as his conversation with Baines. “An’ ye canna believe her?”

“It seems far more likely she’s here to find me and report back. For all I know she’s a trained assassin.”

“For all ye ken, the lassie is just who she says she is, an’ yer mistrust is leadin’ ye astray.”

“I can’t risk it, Connelly. Maybe if it were only me, I would take my chances and believe her. But I hold all your lives in my hands. How could I live with myself if I trusted her, and she brought an army to our doorstep?”

“’tis a heavy burden you carry, MacTíre. Just dinna let yer fears blind ye. If Baines returns with no evidence refutin’ her claim, give a thought ta trustin’ the lass.” He stood and moved as if to go.

“Where are you going?”

“Back ta my bed, ye daft man.”

“You can’t leave me here with her!”

“Oh? Scared o’ the lass with a broken arm?”

“I don’t know what to do with her.”

“When she wakes, make her drink the tea; ’twill help keep the fever from risin’ so high. Give her the other tea as well, the one for her arm. Dinna let her get too cold, an’ if she gets more than pleasin’ly warm send a lad for me. Besides that, yer guess is as good as mine, man.”

Fain gave the gnarled man, who was grinning broadly, a hard look. “You’d leave a naked, injured woman alone with a man who can barely keep his eyes off her?”

Connelly laughed as he slipped out the door. “Ye should trust yerself more, man. After all, ’tis yer hands that matter.”

Vivienne woke up feeling fuzzy headed. The low throb in her arm reminded her of the break, and the rest of her still felt damp. At least she was warm. She tried to find a more comfortable position, burrowing into the bottom sheet and letting the top one drift down over one shoulder. Then she heard a man take a swift breath.

“Don’t do that, please.”

Vivienne’s eyes flew open. Apparently that insufferably rude oaf was still here. Incensed, she sat up in the bed, heedless of her exhaustion, and addressed herself to the buffoon lounging before the fire.

“And what, pray tell, is bothering you now? Have I offended you by breathing too loudly? Do my sleepy sighs indicate a deplorable lack of sensitivity to the plight of the common man? Does the way in which I stretch show how little I regard the feelings of others? Would—” She cut off abruptly, as MacTíre gave a pained sound and lunged forward, yanking the sheet up from where it was puddled around her waist.

“Don’t wiggle the sheet down,” he growled.

Vivienne checked the sharp retort that came to her lips. Don’t wiggle the sheet down? What was wrong? Admittedly the sheet was very nubbly; she could feel the pilling against her—

She gasped and clasped the sheet tighter to her front with her left arm, where the texture reinforced what she had just learned.

She was completely naked.

“Where are my clothes?” It came out more as a gasp than anything else, but MacTíre understood her.

“You were feverish in the night, and Connelly said it was too high. He undressed you and wiped you down. He also left this for you to drink when you woke up.” With that, he rose and fetched a mug, which he thrust at her from arm’s length. “It’s supposed to keep the fever from climbing too high again.”

Vivienne wouldn’t take it. She couldn’t seem to unlock her good arm enough to reach for the mug, not when it was all that was keeping the sheet in place.

“And were you here? I mean, while Connelly was… tending to me?”

“I was in charge of steeping the tea. It was very complicated. I had to give all my attention to it.” He spoke firmly, and she felt he was trying to reassure her, but the faint blush showing beneath his woodsman’s tan let her know that he had seen more than he was claiming. For some reason the blush made her feel better. At least he wasn’t gloating. Or leering. Or totally calm.

Total calm would have been the worst reaction. That would have meant that he’d seen her, and thought she wasn’t worth getting riled up about. As it was, she rather liked that she’d affected him enough to embarrass him. In fact, she was sufficiently pleased that her limbs were once more under her control, and she carefully tucked the sheet under her arms to hold it in place, then reached her left hand forward for the tea. She couldn’t quite make it and still hold the sheet, so she leaned forward in the bed, trying to bridge the gap.