Disaster
The longer Adelina stared at his crotch, the more difficult it became for Roland to keep his cock under control. She seemed transfixed. Was she simply shocked by something she hadn’t noticed about men before, or did it mean she was afflicted with the same cravings running rampant through his body? “I wish to speak with the major,” he declared, torn between strutting before her or fleeing her presence.
“I’ll come with you,” Adelina said. “I’m anxious for him.”
So much for flight.
The baron led the way to a small guest chamber on the second floor of the house.
Dozing in a chair in one corner, Godric startled awake when they entered. “Our patient drifts in and out of sleep,” he said.
Roland approached the bed. The soldier’s throat and hands were swathed with bandages, the scars on his face smeared with some sort of salve. He lay like a mummified corpse.
Adelina gasped when the stricken man opened his eyes and tried to speak. Roland wasn’t disposed to be kind to this wretch who’d stolen the dowry and led them on a merry chase. He gritted his teeth when she leaned over to smooth Mandeville’s damp hair off his forehead. “You mustn’t try to talk,” she said softly. “The wolf injured your throat.”
His mouth moved but no sound emerged. He frowned in obvious frustration.
“You’re safe in the manor house of the Baron d’Aigremont,” she assured him.
Not truly expecting to hear words of appreciation, Roland was nevertheless angry when the major merely clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. They could just as easily have left him for the wolves to finish off instead of carrying him to safety.
Troubled by such an unchristian thought unworthy of a noble knight, he put his anger down to jealousy. There was only one way to resolve the dilemma. At the first opportunity, he would confess his feelings to Adelina. It would then be up to her. Either she felt the same way, or his heart would be broken.
Near the door, Godric shifted his weight, fidgeting with the frayed end of his sleeve. “I’ll be off,” he declared. “I’m not one for fancy houses.”
Adelina nodded. “We understand. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure the major is taken care of.”
Roland fisted his hands and prayed for patience.
* * *
Adelina’s feelings about Major Mandeville confused her. There was no doubt he’d saved her life at Waterthwaite, but she suspected his loyalty ultimately lay with King John.
Nevertheless, she felt obliged to do what she could to help him heal, although she sensed Roland’s growing frustration with the amount of time she spent tending the soldier.
She longed to have a private conversation with Roland in order to clear the air. But, if he didn’t harbor the same intense feelings, she’d end up looking foolish. She’d be obliged to spend days aboard ship in close proximity to a man she was falling in love with, but who cared naught for her.
The Montbryces and her brother were anxious to be gone from England. The baron was growing increasingly nervous about the galley tied up to the dock below the manor house. Aigremont wasn’t far from Waterthwaite as the crow flew. The possibility Glenda and her mother might find out where they were and send men in pursuit lay like a lead weight in Adelina’s stomach. “I’d rather die than go back to that pigsty,” she muttered as she sat by the major’s bed after the evening meal the day after their arrival.
Earlier in the morning, she’d been pleased with his progress. His skin was cooler and the scars on his face didn’t look as angry.
Nevertheless, she was surprised when he suddenly struggled to sit up, rasping something unintelligible.
She put a hand on his chest. “Nay, Harcourt. You must give your throat a chance to heal.”
She snatched her hand away when Roland entered unexpectedly, but the scowl marring his handsome face told her she hadn’t acted quickly enough. It seemed she could never do the right thing when it came to Roland.
“We can no longer linger here,” he informed her brusquely. “We sail with the dawn tide on the morrow.”
“Nay,” Harcourt rasped, reaching for her with bandaged hands.
Roland strode across the chamber, put an arm around her waist and moved her out of the major’s reach. “Calm yourself,” he said sternly. “The baron will see to your care. We must get Adelina to safety.”
The major shook his head, took a deep breath and gritted out, “Carlisle, with me.”
Roland’s grip on her waist tightened, for which she was grateful, else she might have swooned. The temptation to melt into his arms was powerful but Harcourt was already agitated.
“Come,” Roland whispered, the stern set of his jaw betraying his determination. “The man’s off his head. You’ve done all you can. He’ll recover his wits once the fever abates, but we must leave.”