Chapter 15 #2
“But you will kill yourself trying to fight, wounded as you are!” She faced him fully now, placing the pots and bandages down on the table beside the bed and glaring down at him where he sat.
“And then you will be giving Hugh exactly what he desires, which would accomplish a great deal of nothing, wouldn’t you say? ”
“I will be giving Hugh exactly what he deserves during the next week of tourney games, do not fear, lady.”
Damien’s voice sent a chill up her spine, and she realized that she was thankful she would never need to face him on the field of battle.
She met his gaze, watching the intensity of it sharpen, if such was possible, even as an apparent wave of pain went through him, noticeable only by the slight catch she discerned in his breathing.
“As for my wounds,” he continued, raising his brow, “you have yet to examine them to know how severe they may be. With the exception of this rib and the need for a few stitches, I’d warrant there is little to worry over.”
“We shall see.” She pursed her lips, shaking her head at his stubbornness. “Come, then, and let us get on with it.”
First she cleaned the gash above his eye with a tincture of thyme oil and water, and though she knew it stung, he made nary a sound; he did not react, even, when she pressed bruised cloves onto his cut lip, both to cleanse it and to deaden the hurt.
Even more so than the thyme oil, clove burned on open cuts; she knew it from experience.
It was so painful that the last time she had needed to use some on her own cracked lips this past winter, it had made her eyes water for ten minutes. But he didn’t even flinch.
Appreciative of his self-control, Alissende gestured for him to hold out his right arm—the one opposite the side he seemed to be favoring—to help him in disrobing.
Easing him from his tunic, shirt, and breeches proved less difficult than she had thought it would be.
Of course she suspected that had more to do with his stoic acceptance of pain than with any finesse on her part.
She saw the tightness of his lips and heard the catch in his breathing again whenever he was forced to move in a particularly uncomfortable manner.
Soon he was unclothed completely but for the undergarment of his braies, and she saw once again the array of scars that were the awful reminders of his ordeal with the Inquisition, layered over with several fresh bruises and at least one other cut across his ribs.
What she had not been privy to see before, however, was the sight of those that continued down from his torso, under his braies, visible again below, along his legs.
Her eyes stung as she was forced to bite at the inside of her cheek to keep herself from becoming emotional rather than tending to him in the calm, methodical manner that she knew would be best.
“I am sorry to upset you, Alissende,” he said quietly, and she glanced to him, realizing that he had been watching her to gauge her reaction.
“I am not upset in the way that you think. Truly.”
She’d managed to speak, but even she realized how hoarse her voice had sounded.
He would have further reason to think her a liar, just as he had when they’d stood before the king and she’d affirmed the reason for their marriage as one of love.
It was just as well, she supposed. Better than him guessing the truth—that what she had said then hadn’t been a lie at all for her.
“I had hoped to avoid the need for you to see the rest of it.” He gave a tight-sounding laugh.
“The contrast is great, I know, between the man I was before and what I am now. At least with these covered, it is easier for me to hide from myself…and from you.” He shifted his gaze to hers, where she sat next to him on the bed, and she saw pained humor competing with the deep sense of shame apparent in his eyes.
“I would be glad if you would work quickly, lady, so that you need not be burdened with the sight for longer than is necessary.”
She paused, letting the fullness of what he had just said sink in before she decided that she could not let it pass.
To speak with him of her thoughts on this would require that she expose a portion of her heart, perhaps, and that was always dangerous where Damien was concerned.
But she realized that she could go no further without setting him straight on this point.
“You speak often of this different man you have become, Damien,” she answered quietly at last, “and yet I must tell you that these outward changes—the scars of those many hurts that were inflicted upon you—mean naught to me in the way you think they do. When I look upon them I feel no revulsion or pity, even. Nay, I feel only anger over what you were made to endure. Do you not know that?”
She blinked, forcing herself to keep her gaze steady upon him while she shared the rest of this difficult truth.
“I need you to understand something once and for all, Damien. My feelings for you have never been tied to your appearance. I will not deny that I have always thought you a handsome man, but that has not changed. I continue to find you very attractive, as I am sure you have noticed when we are alone of the evening in our bed.”
She picked up the pot of liniment and a roll of bandage then, setting her jaw as she finished, “That is all I intend to say on the matter, Damien, but I wished you to be clear upon that point, if upon naught else.”
He was staring at her as if she’d sprouted feathers from the top of her head, though he remained silent in the face of her declaration. Surprisingly so, for someone who had never seemed to have difficulty voicing his opinion about anything before.
A bit uneasy at having shared such personal feelings with the very man who was the subject of them, Alissende tried to avoid meeting his gaze, though she felt his on her, warm and steady.
Instead, she concentrated on dressing his remaining injuries, applying poultices to the bruises on his legs, stitching the cut on his ribs and wrapping it tightly with a bandage around his middle, after first placing another poultice-soaked pad atop the wound for protection.
He grunted once, when she pulled a bit too hard on the dressing as she tightened it, but other than that, she noticed precious little reaction from him in the minutes after she stopped speaking…
Until she helped ease him to his back, once all the bandaging was done, and she happened to glance down, toward his waist. Then she perceived a reaction all right, only it wasn’t one in words. Nay, this was an entirely physical, very male response to her recent ministrations.
Alissende felt her cheeks heat with that seemingly ever-present blush as she struggled to look anywhere but at the stiff and enormous swelling that pushed up from beneath his braies.
Damien had not allowed much in the way of her touch upon him these past few days, concentrating the time of their sensual interludes on his reexploration of her body.
But she enjoyed this aspect of him. Ah, yes, she enjoyed it well.
She would never forget her shock and amazement that first time, when as an innocent virgin she had seen this tangible and very impressive proof of his desire for her.
The yearning to touch him there right now nearly overwhelmed her, but she resisted, thinking that perhaps such an action might not be the most tactful or understanding one to take, considering that he was likely still in a good bit of pain from the effects of his wounds.
Desperate to resolve the problem in some way, she reached for the linen sheet and threw it over him up to his waist, preparing to stand and move away, to put away her pots of salve and tinctures.
His strangled laugh made her go still, and she snapped her gaze to him again, feeling more than a little belligerent and ready to put him in his place, if such was needed.
His eyes twinkled in response to her glare, and she almost let loose a sharp comment, until she glanced down once more at her handiwork with the sheet. And then she saw that it wasn’t her he was laughing at, at all.
The effect of the sheet over the rigid, protruding length of his erection appeared ludicrous, to say the least. The cloth meant to conceal him had done naught except to create the illusion of something that looked like a miniature tent, with fabric draped over a massive center pole.
“There’s no covering him, methinks,” Damien commented wryly. “As always, he seems to have a mind of his own where you are concerned.”
“Oh, I…I suppose I could—that is, I—”
Alissende’s cheeks felt like they might ignite to flames as she stuttered and tried to keep herself from dissolving into a fit of choked giggles.
“There is only one help for it,” Damien sighed, still with that humorous lilt in his voice.
But keeping his gaze locked to her face, he raised his brow and tilted his head slightly in concession as he added, “Well, perhaps two or three. But I assure you that the first is infinitely more enjoyable than the others.”
Alissende had caught her breath by this point, and she boldly offered, “I believe I know of the first to which you refer, but pray tell, what are the others?”
“An icy bath, for one.” Damien’s face was expressionless, all but for that glint of fire in his eyes.
“That might prove difficult, however, as chilled water is in short supply in midsummer, not to mention the fact that it is rather messy to use upon an invalid. It soaks the mattress along with the man, you see.”
She arched her brow back at him, finding that she was rather enjoying this. “You are an invalid now, are you?”
“Aye, lady. I find my injuries have rendered me motionless.” The heat in his eyes flared again, and the edge of his mouth curved up wickedly. “I am completely at your mercy.”