By God, she was lovely. And what was he to do with her? She'd return to Somerhart soon, and then what? Find another lover? She couldn't remain chaste. Even as a virgin, she'd been pulsing with sensuality; now that she'd discovered the workings of her body . . . His jaw popped in the quiet room.
Alexandra didn't notice. She'd discovered a peach tart and was biting into it, eyes closed in pleasure. Her tangled mess of curls swept against her shoulders and down over the smooth arch of her back. Her movements stirred the scent of lavender and sex that clung to her.
Fear spiked his blood, and Collin drained his goblet in defense. He should marry her, wealth and standing be damned. He didn't want her to ever take another lover, but he did not want her waking every morning alone either. He wanted to slip between her thighs as she slept, wake her each day to the feel of his cock sliding deep and true into her body.
She caught his gaze and her eyes widened in surprise. Collin looked away to hide the sharpness of his passion. "More wine?"
As soon as he'd lifted the bottle, she grabbed the tray and hauled it off the bed, staggering a little under its weight. She held out her glass when she returned, watching while he poured the wine.
Glass full again, she sauntered away to stand at the window, watching the coming dark. Collin devoured the sight of her, framed against the haunting blue of dusk.
"This is my favorite time of day," she murmured. "No matter where you are, the world looks beautiful."
"You're beautiful."
She tossed him a surprisingly demure smile. "You don't think I look like a boy?"
Wine stung his throat, wrenching a cough from his lungs. "A boy?" he croaked.
"I've no breasts to speak of, no hips." She shrugged, turning to lean her back against the window sill.
"You've perfect breasts, Alex. And precious hips." She rolled her eyes. "And your arse alone could make a man weep with joy."
"What?"
"Oh, yes. You've a backside like two halves of a melon, sweet and firm and tasting of nectar."
"Ha!" She laughed at his words but glanced back as if to weigh their truth.
"Do ye no' believe me?" He growled playfully and stood. Her eyes fell to take in his reaction.
"I suppose I must."
"Trobhad, caitein"
"Oh, my tutelage begins with Gaelic. What does that mean?
l
Caitein
,
T
"It means cat, kitten. That's what you remind me of, sleek and small and canny."
"I like that." Her eyes roamed over him, warm with approval at the sight he provided. Collin stood before her and let her look. "And what's that called?"
Collin looked down. "Coileach. Cock."
Alexandra slid toward him, touched one finger to the tip. He hissed and grasped her wrist.
"I want you more than life itself, caitein, but you're surely too tender."
"Mm. I will admit to a certain soreness."
He held her wrist, but couldn't summon the will to move her hand. Her finger stroked, circled the ridge of his head.
"But I was not raised in a nunnery, if you'll recall. And I've heard tell that men enjoy any number of pleasures." Her fingers danced a sizzling path up his shaft.
"As do women," Collin growled, letting go his hold. Those fingers wrapped around him, cool against his heat, and firmed with the barest pressure.
Alexandra leaned close, rubbed her cheek against his chest as if she were the cat he'd named her. Her breath touched his nipple. "I am obedient in all things, my lord."
* * *
Collin shifted in a dark haze of sleep, tried to move away from the heat that seared his side. Sweat dampened the bedsheets, and he kicked them away, twisting to lie on his stomach.
Better. Fresh air settled over him, cooling the damp. His mind stirred a touch, waking him to frown into the pillow. He was missing something.
Ah. His woman.
The sheet wrapped persistently around his arm when he pulled. He untangled himself with a grumble and reached blindly for some part of her. His hand touched fire.
"Shit," he croaked and jerked away to push himself up to his elbows. Blinking around, he tried to orient his eyes to the moonlight. There was Alex, sprawled in all her glory across the other side of the bed. He stared, afraid. His brain roused itself another notch and told him to stop acting a fool.
Collin pushed one hand forward through the fog of his anxiety to lay a hand on her arm.
"My God," he breathed at the feel of her skin. She burned. She burned so hot it brought his heart to his throat. "Alex?" Her name did not rouse her, even loud and edged with panic as it was. -
His body froze, half-raised. If he didn't move, didn't rise to light a lamp, perhaps he could just go back to sleep and leave this dream to the night. He took his fingers from the hot iron of her skin and trailed them through her hair.
"Caitein, wake up. Please." Not even a whimper touched the dark room. "Christ."
Collin sprang from the bed, ran to her side to set match to lamp. Even as the wick sputtered, he clasped her burning face between his hands. Her skin gleamed white, grew whiter as the flame caught and grew. Even her freckles seemed gone, burned off by the heat. Two streaks of crimson scalded her cheeks, mocking the flush of good health and turning her ghastly.
Collin held his breath and cupped her cheeks in his palms. "Oh, Alex." No one could burn like this and survive, certainly not this slip of a woman. She would die.
He surged to his feet and rushed about the room, scrambling into clothes and boots. He wet a towel in the basin and approached her again, not wanting to, hating to see her slack face. When he stroked the water over her skin, she stirred a tiny bit, moaning against his wrist.
"Caitein, listen to me." Her eyes rolled behind their lids. "Listen. You must be strong. Please? I'll get you to a doctor." The water seemed to dry before he'd even moved the towel away. It had taken some of the heat from her though; the linen steamed in his hand. "Alex?"
Not even her eyes stirred this time.
Terror seized his gut. They were alone here. Alone with naught more than a tiny village to run to. There could be no doctor there, likely they went to an herb woman for care. Still, she'd only just fallen ill. Surely there was time to think. People did not die from the fever in hours. No, it took days at least.
The thought of her death spurred him back to action. Wisps of silk fluttered through the air as he tore through the dresser drawers, searching for some garment to cover her nakedness. He had to take her with him, he couldn't run to the village and leave her here alone. What if. . . ?
Collin looked blindly down at the frothy pile of undergarments at his feet. What could be done for a fever anyway? A doctor would check her eyes and pulse, tell him to give her broth and pray for the best. Prepare for the worst, he'd say. Pray for the best. It is in God's hands. How many times had he heard that as a child? He had to get her home to Somerhart.
He bounded to the wardrobe, pulled out a dress and threw it on the bed. Water splashed over his hands and clothes as he hurried the basin to her side to sponge again over her pale lips and bright cheeks, down to her breasts and belly and arms. Somerhart. It was south of here, he knew that. South through the village down the road. Perhaps someone there knew the fastest way.
Collin dressed her with as much care as he could manage, cringing at her whimpers, whispering to soothe her. When she was decently covered, he pulled the quilt from the foot of the bed and wrapped her in that too, before he carried her from the room and downstairs.
"All right, Alex," he breathed, laying her on the couch. "All right. I need to get the horses. I'll be right back."
He sprinted toward the door, rocked back to a halt as he glanced at the kitchen and back to her, torn. His arms ached with fear and the need to keep her close. But the horses needed to be readied and what of the tending she needed before they left?
"Christ," he cursed, whipping open the door. Even as he lifted a foot over the threshold, he cursed again and spun around to stalk back to the kitchen.
"Drink," he crooned to her a moment later, pressing a glass to her open lips. Her throat worked for a moment, but she swallowed no more than a teaspoon before a terrible choking cough tore from her body.
She cried out, reaching for her throat as the glass shattered with a frightening noise against the wood floor. He started to snatch her up, thinking she was choking, but she turned her head and vomited, purging the meal they'd eaten just a few hours before.
"Oh, Jesus," he groaned, and smoothed her hair back with a shaking hand. If she couldn't keep down even water, what was he to do for her? "Oh, God."
He wasted no time then. He cleaned up the mess as best he could, then bounded out the door to saddle both horses, praying he could keep them from going lame if he switched them often enough. Still, dark roads and an extra rider. . . Things could go badly. The horses snorted and stomped as he brought them out, disturbed by his agitation and their strange awakening. Collin had no time to comfort them. He bundled Alex up and mounted Samson on the second try.
"Don't worry, caitein. I'll see you safe." He did not dare to think whether his promise could be kept.
The thick wood door boomed beneath his fist, the sound echoing like thunder through the dark lane.
"Ach. Calm yerself!" a grizzled voice shouted from within. The door flew open to frame a portly man in a nightshirt.
"I need assistance. Can you tell me the way to Somerhart?"
"Summer what? Do ye know what time 'tis?"
"Aye. Past midnight. Do you not know Somerhart? The duke's home?"
"What the hell would I have to do with a duke?"
Collin held back a growl. "Where does Mistress Betsy live?"
"Who?"
"Damn it—"
"She's down the row, two houses in," a voice shouted from the next doorway.
Collin raised a hand in thanks and whirled around to carry Alex into the darkness. The second house in was wide and rambling and very, very old. Betsy herself answered.
"Betsy," Collin huffed. "The lady is ill. A fever. There is no doctor about?"
"No. No," she answered, a tremble breaking her voice. "What is it?"
"I don't know. She's hot as Hades and can't keep even water down."
Betsy blinked several times and took a step away. "The putrid sore throat. Some children had it the next town over."
"Do you know the way to Somerhart? The fastest route?"
She shook her head, looking as helpless as Collin felt. "There's a fork in the road two miles out. Take the east road, that's all I know. But it's hours away."
"I know. If anyone comes for her, you must tell them I've taken her home, understand? Her maid or driver. . ."
She edged the door closed, murmuring, "Of course. God keep you."
Chapter 13
The hours passed so slowly that Collin began to feel mad, began to wonder if he'd slipped into some nightmare where dawn did not exist. He was forced to go carefully; even his panic could not make him run the horses on the strange road. Then there were the frequent stops, to change mounts, to urge a few drops of water past Alex's dried lips. Sometimes she was sick. Sometimes she kept it down. Once, she even opened her eyes, such a shock that he nearly dropped her.
"Whatever are we doing?" she'd croaked. Before hope could surge in his chest, she'd tumbled back into sleep. Finally, finally, just as he began to wonder if he'd ridden off the edge of the earth, the black lightened to gray, then to no color at all, and he could see.
He switched horses immediately, urged Samson to a tired run, murmuring promises of oats and hay all the while. He recognized the waking town he came to and knew it was only a few more miles to her home.
He did not waste time with wondering how to explain himself, but repeated the same questions over and over in his mind. Was the duke in residence? Did he keep a reliable doctor close by? Or would Alexandra die under the care of a leech, without even her brother to comfort her?
Another hour passed before he spied the Red Rose.
Only a quarter hour more. A small weight fell from his shoulders. He could get her home at least. Get her into her own bed. He reined in suddenly at the sight of a familiar face. The innkeeper. "Mr. Sims," he called across the road. "Aye?"
"Is there a physician in town? Someone who tends the duke's family?"
Sims crept closer, suspicion wrinkling his red brow. He swept a searching look over Collin, tried to peer into the blanket. "Aye. There's Maddox. He's seen to them several times." He craned his neck.
"Send him up to the house, if you please. It's urgent."
Sims nodded, eyes still straining as Collin kicked the horse back to a run. Samson tossed his head in irritation, but he leapt to speed and delivered his riders to Somerhart with no more complaint.
