by Sakwa, Kim
The bathwater once hot had cooled considerably. He scrubbed his body thrice, his hair more as he rubbed his hands harshly into his scalp. He even shaved. He did everything he could to remain in the tub, when all he wanted was to climb into his bed. With her.
She ruled him already.
Donning a pair of drawstring trews, he left his sanctuary and returned to his quarters. The scene was unchanged. His mother’s gentle hand stroked a pale face, Isabelle’s supreme glow was barely held in check, and Anna, sewing basket at her feet, worked upon some garment with deft fingers.
Isabelle led him to a chair by the fire where he sat obediently, drinking the wine she’d placed in his hand. Then he cleared the plate she’d set upon his lap. Sustenance. He’d been long without it. So long it seemed to addle his brain. Too late, he realized he’d been given a potion as well. They had better have made a large dose of it, for if not, he would kill them.
He raised a brow as he looked at his mother’s profile, willing her to turn. She did, and damn if she didn’t look smug.
“By what right do you think to drug me?” he snarled in accusation.
“I know not of what you speak,” Lady Madelyn professed with false conviction.
“You lie, Mother,” he bit out reproachfully. “And you do it badly.”
“Greylen, drug is such a strong word.” She scoffed, hurrying on when he glared. “You’ve not slept for days. Think you could do so now?”
“You mean now that you’ve all but guaranteed it,” he qualified. “Or now that she lies in my bed?”
“I meant now that she lies in your bed. I know exactly the dose I administered, and you will sleep, no doubt.”
“Gavin,” Greylen bellowed from the chair. He knew his first-in-command stood just outside the chamber, and he quickly appeared in the doorway. “It seems Lady Madelyn has seen I receive a proper rest this night. Know you anything of this?”
Gavin’s slight tick and barely suppressed smile nerved Greylen to no end, but he took his words that followed as truth.
“Nay, I was not taken into her confidence.”
“Keep our guard. Have Duncan check with the border patrols and report to you before he retires.”
Having his orders, Gavin dismissed himself, his shoulders shaking with what Greylen assumed must be merriment. The treacherous trio followed moments later.
Greylen made no move once the door was closed; truthfully, he wasn’t sure that he could.
He was beyond exhausted. ’Twas the fourth day he’d greeted with no sleep, a day of physical depletion and emotional turmoil. His barely checked adrenaline would have provided another sleepless night. Yet his mother spared him such a fate.
No longer angered and feeling something that must be calm, he moved the chair to his bedside. Bandages did nothing to diminish the woman’s looks. Good God, she was beautiful.
He remembered every inch of her skin as if it were branded into his soul, from his meticulous inspection on the shore, and as he held her on the journey back to the keep. Then as he watched her wounds tended. He’d made no comment when Anna gasped at her slender frame. No contrary rejoinder when she implied malnourishment. This woman had a body that bespoke training, sleek muscles atop fine bone structure. ’Twas perfection, and somehow, he knew that she had made it so, as sure as he knew that discipline drove her.
How long had she struggled in the water?
Had she known defeat was in sight?
Did it trouble her as much as him?
He’d not known a day of defeat until the infernal sunshine greeted him that morn, until he watched her struggle end, until she sank beneath the water’s surface.
He vowed now—he would never know it again.
That same conviction forced him to admit his pretense of detachment was swiftly fading. With each tremor that ran through her body, each murmur that came from her lips, his anger of the day—the fury she would not, in fact, come—gave way.
It continued until he stood from the chair, pulled aside the bedcovers, and lay beside her. Then he gathered her in his arms and experienced what he never had before.
Contentment.
Soft hair beneath his chin, warm breath upon his chest, and her slender form within his hands.
By God ’twas worth the wait.
The dream was always the same.
Gwen pressed deeper into the warm embrace, sighing as strong arms tightened around her. She rubbed her face in the crook of his neck, running her hand over the solid mass of back and shoulders until her fingers tangled in thick, soft hair. Large powerful hands followed her movements, pressing her closer as he cupped the back of her head and gently tilted her face.
She never felt his hesitation before. Tonight she did. She tugged on his hair, a silent demand to be kissed. Then he covered her lips, completely sealing them within his own. A deep sound rumbled through his chest.
This dream was different.
She felt the warmth of his lips and the pressure of his hands, the texture of his hair and the heat of skin. She heard sounds given and returned.
It seemed so real.
His thumb coaxed her chin, and her lips parted as he moved between them. He spent an eternity simply joining their mouths…in every possible way. His tongue, reverent at first, was slow to explore, then became wholly demanding.
She gave in to him completely. In truth, she kissed him back with everything she had. They shared an urgency—taking satisfaction as they’d never been able to before.
She traced her fingers over his face—his broad forehead, straight nose, high cheekbones, his smooth, strong chin—and she pulled him even closer.
My God, it had never felt so good.
She made a sound as he pulled back, a whimper he hushed with slow, passionate kisses over her forehead and cheeks. Then he covered her lips again before tucking her within the crook of his neck. “Sleep, love,” he urged in a murmur. “The morn’s but an hour away.”
Gwen burrowed against him, silent tears wetting her cheeks—oppressive longing crushing her from the inside out.
She’d never heard the sound of his voice.
It would haunt her forever.
It took Gwen thirty seconds to realize something was wrong. Very wrong. Besides the fog filling her head, it was completely dark. She couldn’t open her eyes.
Those were the thoughts that occurred within the first ten seconds.
In the next ten, she became aware of the fact she was one giant bruise, some areas more severe than others. Those were the wrong seconds.
The very wrong were the last ten.
That was when she felt warmth beneath her cheek, breath upon her head, and large hands spanning her back. Holding her with both tenderness and possession. Sure she was fully conscious but affected by an adverse reaction to her IV, she reached for the nurse’s call button. The arms around her tightened, accompanied by a calming whisper.
It was so reassuring, this touch and sound, that she snuggled deeper into the embrace. Indulging in sensations completely foreign to her, she felt safe and protected.
Then she felt panic. My God, she felt fear.
She pushed away with all her strength, scrambling for the edge of the bed, each move hurting more than the last. Each breath she tried desperately to take wasn’t quite deep enough. Those same large hands covered her shoulders, gentle on top of her thick bandages.
Then everything came back at once.
Losing control of the truck. The mudslide as she plunged into the ocean. The explosion of the airbags. Pushing through the window. Jagged glass tearing her skin. Fighting to swim to shore. Wave after relentless wave. Defeat.
“Who…?” Gwen tried to catch her breath. Her hands moved forward and stopped against his chest. Smooth, warm skin. Hard muscles beneath her palms and fingers. He was a brick wall—an enormous brick wall. Terrifie
d by the sheer size of the giant who sat in front of her on her bed, in her bed, she pushed back.
“Cease.”
That one word, spoken with gentle authority, shocked her. Cease? Who said cease? And who said it like that? A voice so deep, a timbre so rich. It seemed familiar but… “Who”—she took a short breath—“are…” Larger gasps followed.
“Breathe,” he demanded in the same tone. “In…out…” He continued his litany, but Gwen couldn’t seem to follow. “Good God, not again.” It sounded like a curse and a sigh. Then strong lips covered her open mouth. Warm and determined, he stole her breath.
Then he gave it back.
Calm. Steady. Even.
The hands that covered her shoulders moved. One palmed her head, long fingers holding her steady until her breathing matched his own. The other splayed her chest, directly over her heart, as if willing the erratic beat to slow.
It beat the hell out of a paper bag.
He pulled back. But his mouth drew upon her lips, ending his unconventional first aid with what could only be a kiss.
He did not release her. Her head remained in the palm of his hand, her back supported by the circle of his arm, his other hand still covered her chest.
Greylen couldn’t have let go if his life depended on it. Too many emotions and not one of them in check. He’d slept as never before. That ache he was so used to was gone.
He awoke as always, in that hour before dawn, but ’twas the first time he had not to reach out. No pain greeted him, no emptiness. Instead he held her closer and kissed her. He felt her sorrow afterward and asked her of its cause, yet she’d succumbed to sleep. Her steady, even breaths, warm upon his chest, lulled him to a light slumber. He’d felt her stir when she first awoke, then sensed her panic.
Anyone else he would have soothed with words. But for some reason he knew she would not have listened. That same awareness told him now that she was bracing for a fight.
He wanted to kiss her again. Instead, he brushed his fingers across her face. Errant wisps, freed from the braid fashioned the night before, swept back once again.
“If you’re done being my human respirator, I’d like to see my chart.”
Greylen smiled—riled was a very becoming state for this woman. “And just how did you plan on seeing this chart?” he asked her.
She obviously heard the amusement in his voice, but her now relaxed facial expression warred with her ridiculous attempts to push him away. “Listen, mister—”
“You will call me Greylen.”
“I will call the authorities.”
“I am the authority,” Greylen warned, then held back a laugh. She smirked.
“I don’t want to hurt you, but if you don’t let go of me—” She gasped. “I felt that. A chuckle, you repressed a chuckle.”
This time he did laugh. “Good God, woman, but I swear I did. You think to hurt me?”
“I’ll kick your ass so fast you won’t know what hit you,” she snapped. “Now let me go and get the goddamn attending in here. Now.”
Her demand made him tighten his hold. “I’ve no idea who this goddamn attending is you seek, but I can assure you, you’re in no condition to kick anything…let alone my ass.” He spoke with authority. His face an inch from hers. He watched as she started to feel the bed around her. “Tell me what you search for,” he demanded, following the motions of her hands.
“The call button,” she whispered, what little fight she had seeming to fade.
“What purpose would it serve?” he asked.
“Greylen.” A near shout interrupted them. Isabelle sounded the admonishment, stepping into the room. “You’re scaring her half to death.”
Greylen turned to his sister, but he did not let go. He was, in fact, sorry that Isabelle had entered the room at all. He couldn’t seem to help himself but riling this woman could be sport. She inflamed him. And he enjoyed it.
“Scaring her?” Greylen argued. “She threatened to kick my—” He shook his head instead. “You’d not believe me.”
“I’m sure you misunderstood,” Isabelle said with a regal sweep of her hand. “Mother’s on her way, Greylen. If she thinks you—”
“Ah…excuse me. I need some help here.” The plea was directed toward Isabelle.
Greylen set her straight as she seemed to think she needed protection from him. “You are never to fear me, lass. Do you understand?” He hadn’t meant to bark. He was just accustomed to giving orders.
“Oh, of course I understand, why would I ever fear you?” she quipped.
Seconds later, Isabelle interrupted. “Enough, Greylen.” She made the second admonishment as she reached to pry his hands away from the woman he still held within his grasp. He let her, then watched as Isabelle settled her against the pillows once more. “She’s in no condition for…for whatever you’re about.”
“What I’m about?” he asked his sister incredulously. As if he couldn’t seem to help himself, he took the little tigress on the bed in his arms again, holding her by the shoulders. “What are you about?” he demanded.
“I’ll tell you what I’m about,” the lass returned quickly and with quite a bit of anger to boot. “I’m about five three, long on legs, and short on breasts.” She emphasized cupping herself. “What in the hell are you about?”
Greylen ducked his head to the side, pinching the bridge of his nose so as not to laugh before he looked at her again. When he did glance back, however, he became aware of what now greeted them behind her. If she thought she was riled before, he could only imagine what emotion his words would evoke. “I’m about to introduce you to my mother, sister, and first-in-command,” he informed her, taking note of their expressions.
Isabelle looked vastly amused, a blush now reddening her cheeks. And Gavin wore a grin that reflected his own. His mother, however, appeared shocked. She’d obviously heard the previous comments, or mayhap ’twas distressed at witnessing the display of this woman grabbing her body parts.
This woman pleased him more than she’d ever know.
“Oh God.” The lass sighed. “Just knock me out again, please. I can’t do this. Drugs, just give me drugs, and wake me up when this nightmare is over.”
Greylen took her statement as defeat. His smile vanished as he gently laid her against the pillows. “Are you in pain?” he asked, brushing the hair away from her face again.
“Go away,” she pleaded, swatting her hands in front of her. “Please, just go away.”
“Tell me your name, lass,” Greylen ordered, ignoring her comment.
“Will you leave me alone if I do?”
“Nay, but I’ll remove myself from the bed,” Greylen conceded.
She snorted. “How gallant, you’ll remove yourself from my bed if I tell you my name?”
“Nay, lass,” he whispered. “I’ll remove myself from my bed.”
“What?” She shot upright. Obviously a poor decision, if the way she clutched her head was any indication.
Greylen reached out, pulling her against him. “Enough! You will cease this at once.” He could not endure to watch her suffer. “Mother, for God’s sake, give her something.”
Lady Madelyn came forward instantly. “Greylen, you must release her. I must see to her wounds.” His mother’s tone was softer than usual, sensing his distress at the pain this woman was in.
Reflexively his arms tightened, his chin digging a little deeper into the head he’d snuggly secured beneath it. “You will give her something for her pain, Mother. Now,” he snapped, acting like a wounded animal protecting his young. He’d not release her until he was sure she would suffer no more. And he knew she felt it, too, this woman, for she burrowed against him.
The action sealed her fate, had it not been done already.
Greylen held her head to his chest and placed the cup his mother had handed him to her
lips. She drank it entirely. He knew from experience a bitter taste would linger in her mouth, but she stayed completely still. Knowing the potion would work quickly, he continued to hold her. Short minutes later, he felt her begin to relax. Then she gently tapped his chest with her finger. He leaned in, in answer.
She whispered to him, so only he could hear her, “Greylen?”
His eyes closed, calming now as he heard his name upon her lips and the softness in her tone. Then he bent his head. “Aye,” he whispered back, keeping their conversation as private as possible with three pairs of eyes staring at them from the edge of the bed.
“My name…is Gwendolyn.”
’Twas a surrender. And somehow, he knew surrender did not come easy to her.
Gwendolyn.
She had a name. And a beautiful one. For the first time he could remember, he was beyond words. He knew that if he could speak, his voice would be filled with the same emotion clouding his vision.
’Twas a long minute before he spoke her name. “Gwendolyn, my mother, Lady Madelyn, must see to your wounds. She’s a healer and saw to your care last eve. My sister, Isabelle, is here as well, and, Gavin, my first-in-command. Anna is in the room now, too. She’s served our family for years, and will see that you have anything you need.”
He gently laid her on the bed and watched as his mother brushed the hair back from her forehead. The effects of his mother’s potion obviously were working as Gwendolyn remained still while gentle hands unwound her bandages, cleaned her abrasions, and wrapped them once again.
“Gwendolyn, I must see to the wounds on your eyes,” Lady Madelyn explained, sitting next to her on the bed. “You mustn’t open them; the skin was rubbed raw. I can assure you, ’twill cause great pain if you do.”
Greylen watched Gwendolyn wince as the cool air made contact with the exposed skin, but she remained motionless as his mother applied ointment and covered them once again.
