Page 62 of Lord of Loyalty

The faintness threatened to take her again. But as Will reached to catch her, she saw a gout of blood course down his arm, staining the sleeve of his doublet.

“Oh, Will, your arm!”

“Your apron, Wife.” Cartwright took the garment and covered the dead man’s face. “You may send for a surgeon after all, but to aid the living, not the dead. I’ll seek a constable, so we may all be exonerated of wrongdoing. Now, take Sir William and his lady to our private parlor, and see they receive succor while waiting for the surgeon.”

Not sure how long they’d have to wait, Isobel kept Will talking, mainly to reassure herself his wound wasn’t serious, and he wasn’t likely to faint from loss of blood before the surgeon arrived.

“Does it hurt very much?”

“Hardly at all—I have better things to think about than pain.” He gazed deep into her eyes.

Flushing, she turned away. He was looking at her just as he had that night in the parlor—only then, he’d had the excuse of drunkenness.

He kissed her, a gentle salute on the cheek, then kissed her again, all over her face, her mouth, her neck, as if he couldn’t quite believe she were real. Even when a servant brought a costrel of wine and a cold pigeon pie, he didn’t stop, shamelessly caressing her with his lips.

“I want to wipe away all foul memories,” he said as soon as the wench was gone.

“I’m sorry I didn’t take your advice, didn’t protect myself properly.” She ran a hand over the tawny gold of his hair, thinking it one of the most precious things she’d ever seen. “I need no further illustration of the folly of pride and stubbornness.”

“Hush, sweeting. It is I who must take the blame. For was it not my knife that broke the lock on the garden door in the first place? I should have reminded you of it, not stormed away in high dudgeon. How much less you would have suffered had I insisted you return to my protection until Pike was apprehended.”

She pushed a lock of his hair behind his ear. What a thrill it was to be able to touch him like this, and to appreciate him—showing him with her hands how greatly she valued him.

“Ah, but then, you would have dented my pride, and my freedom would still have been curtailed.” And he would still have had the problem of Paulina Mathieson’s jealousy hanging over his head.

“Perchance we’re both at fault, but have each now learned our lesson. We shall call a truce, and be friends again. What think you?”

His wicked grin as he stared down at her melted Isobel’s heart. He must have seen something in her eyes, for the smile immediately faded, and he brought his mouth hard against hers. She gave herself up to his passion, savoring every last searing drop of his desire, kissing him back as if each taste might be her last. She must look such a fright—no hair to speak of, her shift smelling of dirty rushes and close confinement, her fingernails chewed to the quick with anxiety.

Yet none of this mattered to this extraordinary man. Would it not be heaven to be loved by him? She’d rather die a thousand times over than see him with any other woman.

He drew away a little, giving her the chance to catch her breath. “You cannot know how relieved I am to have you back—I’ve been driven demented by your loss.”

“Then there can have been little to choose between us. I was subjected to the poppy juice again, and some other soporific they use in the Bethlehem Hospital. I would truly have been driven mad by my treatment had I remained there.”

Will’s breath hissed between his teeth. “You might not have lasted that long if Pike had had his way.” He kissed her again and cupped her face tenderly.

“But you were there to save me. It was more than foolish of me to hit Hubert like that, but the moment he threatened me, you were there—without hesitation, without thought for your own safety. I thank the stars you are the better fighter, else I’d have had your death on my conscience forever.”

He smiled. “I never start a fight I cannot win. Have you not learned that by now?”

Before she could answer, a gentleman bustled in, accompanied by Goodwife Cartwright. He bore a leather bag which rattled—she, a basin of steaming water.

“Here is the surgeon, Sir William,” Goody Cartwright announced. “You had best leave the chamber, Mistress,” she added, turning to Isobel. “You may see things no young lady of quality should see.”

Will shot Isobel a look that made her blush and picture what he looked like with his shirt off. To the surgeon, he said, “I assume you are speaking of the indignities to which you will be subjecting my wound, sir. The lady may decide for herself if she wishes to watch—she has looked on death this day and shown no weakness.”

“May I be of any use?” Isobel asked.

The surgeon shook his head. “Now, no. But later. When you take your husband home, Madam, I’d advise a long soak in the tub before he has his supper. His wound may be dressed again when his flesh is dry.”

The dimples appeared in Will’s cheeks as he winked at her.

“May I secure myself an invitation to spend the night at Marston House, that you may take good care of me, my lady?”

“Indeed.” She would enjoy a bath herself, after the unsanitary places she’d been—she’d remember the stench of the death cart until Kingdom Come. A change of clothes was also essential, and a prettier coif, to cover her shorn scalp. She’d send for Goodwife Cooper to bring Will’s things to him, and have her new maid, Annott, make up a room for him, and clean and mend his torn clothing.

She left the room to wait outside in the bright August sunshine. Turning her back on the activity going on around Hubert’s body, she walked along a pathway edged with neatly trimmed rosemary bushes, enjoying the clean scent given off as her skirts brushed the leaves. The sun’s heat warmed her, as though bringing her back to life, and she thrust aside her memories of what had happened, pondering instead on what was to come.

Most of all, she thought about the man being treated in the Keepers’ residence, who would shortly be joining her at Marston House for the night. Wickedly, she wondered what he’d look like in his bath, his golden hair sleek and dark with water, the candle shadows flickering over his smooth, naked body.

The sudden arrow of desire that lanced through her made her bite her lip in consternation—where on earth had such unladylike conjecture come from? It was none of her business what Will looked like naked—in fact, it was the last thing she should be thinking about right now.

Only… after all she’d been through, she couldn’t help herself. Her fears, her frustrations, all needed an outlet, and she knew Will could help her release her tensions.

So long as he felt the same way about her as she did about him. Why had he not yet spoken any sweet words of love? Was it because Paulina and her father had a hold over him still?