Chapter 15
“Ella!”
The guard assigned to Brice burst through the door of the bedchamber, broadsword in his hand. When the guard saw no immediate danger, the broadsword dipped. “My lord?”
“Where is Ella?” Brice had awakened all alone, with a powerful thirst, a shoulder that felt like someone was stabbing him with a hot poker, and no Ella.
“Ella, my lord?”
“Eleanor,” he bit out between clenched teeth.
“Ah.” The guard’s eyes darted around the room.
“Where is she?” Brice said slowly. He was in quite a bit of pain, and he wanted Ella.
“I believe she’s in the great hall, my lord.”
“Why is she in the great hall?” She was probably hungry.
She’d spent the night with him, sitting in that chair—the empty chair.
He knew because he’d been unable to sleep, so he’d watched her sleep.
Eventually she’d given in to the need, her head dropping to the mattress, her cheek pressed against it.
He’d held her hand all night long and watched her.
If he hadn’t been so bloody wounded, he would have lifted her onto the bed and curled his big body around her wee ’un and held her tight throughout the night.
Since he couldn’t do that, he’d held her hand and watched over her, waiting for the nightmares that never came.
Her voice was just as beautiful as he had imagined it to be. He hadn’t even minded the clipped English that was so different from his own, because her voice had a songlike ring to it.
Though he’d wanted to hear her talk all night long, she’d fallen asleep far too soon for his liking.
He wanted her story as well, but he knew he wasn’t in the right mind to take it all in.
She didn’t seem eager to tell it, either.
But he would know how she came to be in the Highlands before the sun fell tonight, or he would shake it out of her.
No, he wouldn’t. He could never do that to her.
He realized the guard was still standing in the middle of his bedchamber, looking at anything but him. “Tell Lady Eleanor that I wish to speak with her when she is finished eating.”
It seemed to Brice that the guard gulped audibly, but he nodded. “Yes, my lord.” Quickly he backed out of the room and shut the door behind him.
It seemed an interminably long time later that she came to him. “It’s about time,” he grumbled. “The meal ended ages ago.”
She sat on the chair and fluffed out her skirts. Brice squinted at her gown. It was an unusual gown, but he couldn’t put his finger on why.
“Did you bellow for me, my lord?”
“Brice.”
“Did you bellow for me, Brice?”
“I’m thirsty.”
She raised a brow, and he knew he was acting like a child. He didn’t understand why. He’d been injured before, and he’d never acted this way, but when he awoke and she was gone, he’d become…agitated.
She handed his mug to him. He looked at her for a moment before taking it from her and raising his head to drink.
“Better?” she asked when he was finished.
He nodded and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“How do you feel this morning?”
“Like hell. Where were ye?”
“In the great hall. Do you want to try to sit up?”
“Yes. The meal ended long ago. What were ye doing in the great hall?”
She stood to help him move to a sitting position. He could feel the stitches pull.
“I’ll have to change your bandages,” she said as she adjusted the pillow behind him.
He sighed as he leaned back and closed his eyes against the wave of pain. “What were ye doing in the great hall?”
“Eating.” She began unwrapping the bandage. “I need honey.”
“Honey? Did ye no’ eat enough at supper?”
“Your humor astounds me. Honey stops the wound from becoming putrid.”
He’d never heard of such a thing. “Why’d it take ye so long to come up here?”
“Sit up.”
He pushed himself up, groaning as he did so. “Damnation,” he breathed. “Did ye leave a dagger in the wound?”
“I can give you something for the pain.”
“Nay. It makes my head fuzzy. What were ye doing in the great hall?” Eleanor Hirst was not a good liar. There was something she wasn’t telling him, and he would have it before the day was over.
She lifted the padding and he tried to crick his neck to see the wound, but all he saw was the top of her head, and all he could smell was her floral scent.
She was leaning against his arm, her breasts pressed against him, and all other thoughts fled his pain-wracked mind except the warm pressure of her soft breasts.
He groaned for an entirely different reason than she probably thought.
There was a different pain now, centered between his legs, and throbbing far more than his shoulder.
He shifted to hide his growing erection.
Although she was facing him, he didn’t want her to see the bedclothes tented like that.
If he had two good arms, he would wrap them around her and kiss her speechless.
Instead he lay there like a helpless babe, his cock hurting so badly he had to breathe through clenched teeth.
“I know I’m hurting you,” she murmured as she studied his wound.
He grunted.
“But the bandage needs to be changed frequently.”
He tilted his head back against the pillow and blew out a breath. “Can ye hurry?”
She pulled back to sit on the edge of the bed. Brice clenched his hands together. She pulled her gaze from the wound to look at him and drew in a small breath. Quickly she tried to push away from the bed, but he grabbed her wrist to keep her there. “Ella, I want to kiss ye.”
“Brice, I don’t think—”
He didn’t give her time to finish, because he didn’t want to hear what she was thinking. More than likely it had something to do with kissing not being a good idea, and he thought it was a very good idea.
Her lips were soft and tentative, her body stiff beneath his hand.
But he persisted, being gentle when he wanted to be fierce.
Soon her body folded in to his and she leaned in to him.
She brushed against his wound and he hissed in a breath, but when she tried to pull away, he held her in place.
“No,” he said simply, and she stopped moving.
She pressed her lips more firmly against his. He swept his tongue into her mouth, causing her to gasp. Tentatively she did the same and he groaned. His body was on fire, his cock so tight with wanting that he feared it would split.
Eventually Ella pulled away and he let her go. It was either that or roll her over and push his cock into her, and even through his pain and his fogged brain, he knew that wasn’t a good idea.
She pressed the back of her hand against her lips. “Brice—”
He released her arm. “Go get the honey.” His voice was rough with need.
She nodded and stood on what appeared to be shaky legs. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, needing a moment to himself. The feelings flowing through him had little to do with the need to have sex with this woman and a lot to do with the need to keep her near him forever.
He heard the door open and then close quietly behind her, and still he kept his eyes closed, trying to stem his feelings.
Lady Eleanor Hirst, Countess of Glendale, was not to be trifled with no matter how much he wanted her. She would return to England, and he would be left alone up here in the Highlands, where he was needed.
It was too eerily like his wife, Alisa, who had hoped to one day travel to England and meet someone of nobility.
If Alisa had met Eleanor, she would have been awestruck.
An actual English countess who had attended the balls Alisa had dreamed of attending.
Alisa, Brice knew, would have picked Eleanor’s brain on everything from fashion to the latest gossip.
One thing was certain: Eleanor would leave just like Alisa did. And that was as it should be.