Once Upon a Romance 02 - As The Last Petal Falls (7 page)

MacTire made a strangled noise deep in his throat. When she glance up at him to see what was wrong, she noticed his eyes. They were fixed on her backside, which she’d just revealed a great deal of in her effort to reach the tea without exposing her front. MacTíre looked like the sight was causing him some sort of physical pain, and Vivienne enjoyed an entirely unfamiliar surge of satisfaction. The men at home never looked at her like this, probably because they knew her father would hate it, and Vivienne was frankly bored out of her mind by men praising her delicate hands or her well-shaped earlobes.
This
man, no matter how irritating he was, was properly appreciative of her woman’s body.

Still, she should probably remind him that it wasn’t polite to stare.

“Ah, Master MacTíre…?”

He whipped himself around to face the wall, so fast that he almost spilled her tea. She would have giggled, but that didn’t seem very gracious, so she contented herself with smiling broadly behind his back, where he couldn’t see.

“Just… lie down, lass, and let me get you something to wear.” He set the tea down carefully, went to the garderobe, and rummaged through it, all carefully without looking in her direction. Then he tossed a billowing white shirt towards the bed. “There, that’s mine, it should cover a good bit of you.”

Vivienne tried, she really did. She crawled out of her nest of sheets to where the shirt lay on the bed, and thought carefully about the best way to put it on. First she tried to use her left arm to slide her right into the sleeve, but gasped and stopped when the cloth caught on her bindings and jarred her forearm. She slid the shirt back off and used her left hand to move her bound arm into her lap, so she could examine the bindings. Four flat splints ran between her wrist and elbow, one on each side of her arm, all bound tightly in place with clean white rags. Another, longer rag looped over her hand and threaded back through the arm bindings to be tied tightly near her elbow. It was a clever way to keep her forearm immobile, but it left an alarming number of places the shirt could catch.

It took some careful maneuvering, but she managed to bunch the sleeve up in her left hand and work it over the bindings around her wrist. Then she treated the sleeve like a stocking and slowly worked it up her arm, letting a bit of the fabric go each time she moved the sleeve. Tears sprang to her eyes as even these small movements jostled her arm, but she kept at it until the sleeve was all the way up past her elbow. Then she took a deep breath and tried to lift her right arm so that her left could pull the shirt over her head; but before her injured arm was more than a few inches from her lap, she gave a little cry of pain, and the tears she’d been holding back rolled down her cheeks. MacTíre was instantly at her side, supporting the broken arm with gentle hands.

“Never mind, lass, let me just help you into this, and then we’ll pretend you managed yourself.” His voice was low and soothing, and Vivienne let her arm relax back down, trying not to sob in relief. His hands were deft and sure, as though her pain had brought him past his embarrassment, and he kept his voice mild as he gave her little instructions.

“Duck your head now… there. Let me straighten this sleeve… good. I’ll lace you tight, and you’ll be as snug as if you were in one of your own gowns.” His fingers moved swiftly to close the front of the shirt. He couldn’t help brushing the tops of her breasts as he closed the laces, but he ignored it as though it weren’t happening. Vivienne pretended to ignore it, too, but in reality she felt a strange tingling low in her belly, as though each of his fingertips was setting a kaleidoscope of butterflies aflight. When he was done he gently picked her up, and when Vivi felt his arm under her bare thighs, she blushed crimson. Fain gave no sign that he noticed her flaming cheeks, just placed her back at the head of the bed and pulled the sheets up to cover her bare legs.

“Here, lass, drink this now.” MacTíre held the mug with one hand, and used his other to help her wrap her fingers around the handle. Once she was sipping the bitter tea, he stood up and gave her an approving smile. “Now that you’re awake, I’ll go fetch Connelly; he’ll want to check on you. Finish that tea, and we’ll be right back.” Vivienne gazed at him in silence as he left, feeling oddly bereft once she was alone in the cold stone chamber.

Fain leaned against the wall outside his room and tilted his head back, shutting his eyes and taking deep breaths. Either she really was innocent, or she was the most accomplished seductress he’d ever met. The long line of her back, leading to the soft, round bottom just peeking out of the sheets, had been almost more than he could stand. He wanted to touch her, to run his hand down that smooth expanse of delicate skin, to kiss the small indentation at the base of her spine.

And then he’d
had
to touch her. He’d refused to look at her bare body, focusing instead on the shirt, but he couldn’t ignore what his fingers were feeling. Each time he’d accidentally brushed her skin had sent a jolt of desire straight to his core. Had she manipulated him? Maybe she could have put the shirt on alone, but Fain didn’t think so. The pain had been clear on her face, and he had seen the way her eyes had grown wider when he’d laced the collar tight, all the while pretending to be unaffected. Those violet eyes had held no seduction or satisfaction, merely a look of wonder and a faint hint of arousal deep in their depths.

Gods, why did she have to be so beautiful? Weren’t noble families supposed to be homely after generations of cousins intermarrying? Spies, now, spies were different. If they wanted to sneak they should be plain, but for infiltration, little could beat a beautiful woman. After all, Fain was convinced the lass was up to no good, but he couldn’t even stay in the room with her without wanting to join her in his timber-frame bed.

Fain groaned and pushed himself off the wall, determined to put a buffer between himself and the supposed Miss Wellesley. He’d told her he was fetching Connelly just so he’d have an excuse to leave, but it was a good idea. The little man could check her over, and perhaps suggest someone else to play nursemaid. Fain could get his bed back and the lass could torment someone else.

“Absolutely not!”

“Abso
lutely
not!!”

Vivienne took a moment to glare at MacTíre for echoing her so emphatically, before rounding on Connelly once more. “I am
not
staying abed for two more days! That’s ridiculous!”

“I don’t care
how
long she stays abed, but she isn’t doing it
here!
”

Connelly glared at them both. “Hush yer mouths an’ listen ta sense. Lass, yer body’s had a hard time of it, an’ it needs ta rest. Ye canna go runnin’ ’round a drafty keep in a nightshirt, riskin’ givin’ that fever a foothold.”

“But—”

“But nothin’. Ye’ll keep yerself abed ’til I say ye can rise, or I’ll have MacTíre, here, sit on ye.”

Vivienne shut her mouth, but glared at the little man in rebellion.

“An’ as for yer objection, ye great oaf, ye canna be occupied in any other way. The storm outside rages, an’ we’ll be bound ta the keep for days. Ye might as well keep an eye on the lass, bein’ as how yer already acquainted.” Connelly’s eyes twinkled, but MacTíre didn’t look the least bit amused.

“I want my bed back.”

“Dinna be daft, man, the lass canna sleep on the stone floor.”

“But she can sleep elsewhere!”

“Excuse me.” Vivienne spoke with icy calm. “Are you saying that the room I am currently occupying is, in fact,
yours?
” She looked at MacTíre. When he gave a curt nod she went on. “And why, pray tell, would you bring an unconscious woman to your very own room, rather than an empty, unoccupied one?” Her voice was accusing, but MacTíre didn’t act at all guilty. In fact, he rolled his eyes at her, as though she were being ridiculous. What an odious man.

“It was an error. I would have moved you, but then I discovered your arm was broken, and it seemed prudent to leave you be.
However
,” he gave the medic a hard look, “there’s no reason I can’t move you now.”

“She canna be alone, man, in case the fever returns. Who would ye set to watch her, then?” Vivienne watched as the two men stared at one another, apparently engaged in a contest of wills. The question held some significance for them both, but she couldn’t discern it. Finally MacTíre shrugged, and looked at her ruefully.

“I suppose I’ll bring a pad for the floor.”

“Nonsense!” Vivienne wasn’t about to let them decide her fate without putting in her own opinion. “Surely one of the maids or kitchen women can sit with me. It’s highly inappropriate for us to be alone, anyway. There’s no reason for…” She trailed off at the look of amusement both men were giving her. “What? Why is that funny?”

Connelly chuckled but didn’t say anything. MacTíre spoke up, his voice dry. “Our cooking is done by two large, shaggy brothers who learned to make campfire stews on their trips to the summer pastures with their family’s bighorns; and we’ve no maids to speak of, although little Billy Notter does his best to keep the tables clean and the floors swept in the great hall.”

“Then what do the women here do?”

Connelly raised an eyebrow at her. “Dinna ye ken, lassie? There’s nary a woman here. Yer the only one.”

Vivienne stared at the men. “You’re jesting. What of your mothers, your wives, your sisters, your sweethearts? What of your daughters? Where are they?”

MacTíre ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “A few of us are single with no families, but most of the men have wives and children living elsewhere. They visit them when they can.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do their families not live here?”

He paused, and then spoke softly. “It’s a hard life we lead out here, and not one a man would wish on the people he cares for. The men come for honor, but they leave their families at home out of love.”

Vivienne was silent. Albion had outlying keeps as well, and they were staffed by rotation out of the army. It wasn’t an enjoyable duty, but her father saw to it that the keeps were well stocked and in good repair, and men never left their families at home when their turn in the wilds came. She supposed there might be a reason Toldas didn’t do the same, but it seemed like an ill-done thing, to force men to serve in places so barren that they had to leave their families at home.