Her eyes drifted open, and his name fell softly from her lips, “Rannick.”
“I am here,” he assured her, and as if it was commonplace, he wrapped his hand around hers. A sting to his heart had him catching a breath that almost erupted into a strong gasp when she squeezed his hand.
“Trust,” she whispered.
Was she reiterating her trust in him or telling him that he could trust her?
“You will remain abed until I say otherwise, or I will tie you to the bed,” he ordered briskly.
Her eyes fought their way open, fear heavy in them, and she paled. “You would not.”
Guilt stabbed at him but then it was his constant companion, a companion of his own doing. He had given no thought to marrying his first wife, but he should have prevented his father from wedding him to the two women that followed. This woman was not his wife, but he would not suffer guilt over her death if he was able to prevent it.
“Try me,” he warned. “You will do what is necessary for you to grow strong enough to take your leave. Or I will make certain that you do.” He released her hand abruptly, a sudden pain stabbing his chest as he did. “And do not think to work your womanly wiles on me. I have no need or wont of a woman.”
Bliss almost laughed. “Womanly wiles? I have no experience with such things.”
“Say you, but heed my warning, for I am far from an honorable man.” He went to a chest near the end of the bed and pulled something from it and tossed it at her. “Put this on and keep it on.”
It was a shirt, a string tie at the neck, and far too large for her, but it mattered not, it would cover her and that was all that concerned her. She stifled a groan as best she could as she moved to sit up to get the shirt on her. The pain stole her strength with each move and that was not good. She needed all the strength she had to heal. And with the way she grew lightheaded when she struggled to sit up, she knew she had already used what strength she had left for the day.
Bliss did not want to ask, did not want to rely on him even if he was her husband. But wasn’t it better she did? Wouldn’t it be wiser to gain his trust and perhaps, at least, his friendship before she told him they were husband and wife?
With a tremble in her voice, she did not need to fake, she said, “I need help.”
Rannick had seen that but had hoped she would somehow manage on her own. More the fool he. He grumbled as he went to her and slipped his arm beneath her back to ease her up to sit.
Bliss grabbed his arm and shut her eyes when a slight dizziness struck her.
“Stay as you are. It will pass.”
His voice was powerful and yet gentle, and she kept her grip on his arm, taut with muscle.
Rannick’s eyes went to her hand, her slim fingers tried to grip like an iron cuff around his forearm but lacked the strength. He should dislodge her hand, not allow her to touch him, but he did not want to. The foolish thought had him disengage his arm and snatch up the shirt.
“One arm at a time and keep that blanket covering your chest until the shirt is on,” he ordered sternly and readied it to slip over her head.
Bliss made no comment. What was there for her to say or do for that matter? She was where she was supposed to be—in her husband’s bed. Now she only needed to heal enough to have the strength to see their marriage consummated. And pray that she got with child before he discovered her deceit, a deceit with which she was growing more uncomfortable.
She cried out as a stitch of pain caught in her side and her hand instinctively went to her wound, the blanket falling away from her breasts.
Rannick dropped down beside her on the bed. “Rest your head on me.”
She did not argue, she rested her head on his chest, another part of him hard with muscle, and surprisingly she relished the strength and comfort it provided. His thumb brushed the side of her breast as he eased her arm into the sleeve. It was a faint brush and not unpleasant or on purpose. It was good to know since intimacy with him might not prove as daunting as she had feared.
He quickly slipped the shirt down to her waist, eased her on her back, then pulled the blanket up to her waist before he planted his hands on either side of her.
The strength of his hands pressed on the blanket pinned her to the bed. She could not move. He rested his face far too close to hers. So close, she could see that his scar and scowl did nothing to diminish his exceptionally fine features and the specks of green that dotted his brown eyes seemed to enlarge with his mounting anger and that sent a streak of fear racing through her.