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linen she'd been running about in was now a gray-black mess, as were her arms and shoulders and
probably her face as well. She was sure she had not been in that condition when she'd run below her
linen had been damp but still white when she'd peered at herself below. She could only think that standing
in the door of the room as the thick black smoke had billowed out had covered her in the stuff. She
definitely needed a bath.
"You did a fine job on your hands."
Paen grunted at his mother's wry statement as she tended to his injuries. He was trying not to think on
the matter too much. His hands were paining him terribly. He felt as if he were holding them in a vat of
boiling oil.
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His gaze slid to the door of the room and he wondered where his bride had got to. She had tried to help
him, he knew, but had been more of a hindrance at first. At least until she'd fetched the others. That had
probably saved his life. The smoke had not been so bad with just the bed curtains burning, but once the
fire had reached the chest, something inside had made the smoke thick and acrid. It had filled his lungs
like a black mass, choking him to the point that he'd become woozy and lost his footing. He'd tumbled to
his hands and knees amid the fire, his hands landing on the burning bed curtains.
The bite of the fire had roused him quickly and he had struggled back to his feet just as Warin had
rushed into the room with a pail of water. The first pail of water had done little good, but the arrival of
several more pails and even more men had put out the fire and aided in removing a good deal of the
smoke from the room. Still, it had been a relief for Paen to finally leave that room. He'd spent the past
several moments half bent over choking up black bile. He hardly recalled being led into this room and still
had no idea where his wife had got to.
"Where is "
"I believe she is up the hall," Christina Gerville murmured.
Paen cast a discomfited gaze his mother's way. The woman had always seemed to be able to read his
mind. It sometimes left him feeling wary around her, as if he must guard his thoughts.
"Aye. She is," Wimarc announced, catching the question and answer between his son and wife as he
entered the room. "Straughton says her mother is seeing her cleaned up. They are sending a bath up for
you as well. Her brother has given up his room to the two of you." He paused at his son's side and
grimaced on seeing his damaged hands. "Not that it would appear that privacy will be needed this night.
You can hardly do aught with those." He raised an eyebrow hopefully. "I do not suppose you were able
to manage the bedding ere "
"Nay," Paen said miserably, for truly he had been all ready for the bedding. Avelyn had been as warm
and soft as he'd anticipated. She'd smelled sweetly of summer flowers and been as passionate and
responsive as a man could wish. Truly, he was resenting the fire's interruption. Were it not for that, he
would no doubt be buried deep in her moist warmth by now. Paen heaved a little sigh of disappointment.
His sigh was echoed by his father.
"How did the fire start?" Lord Gerville asked after allowing a moment to grieve for a lost opportunity.
Paen shook his head in bewilderment. "I am not sure. I think a candle got knocked to the floor, though I
am not sure how."
"Hmmm. Oh, here is your bath," Wimarc said as a knock sounded on the door before several servants
entered bearing the necessities.
"I shall stay and help you," Lady Gerville announced, drawing Paen's alarmed gaze. He'd not been
bathed by his mother since& well, he could not recall ever being bathed by her. There had always been
nurses and servants to see to the task as a child. As an adult, he certainly had never considered accepting
her help, and had no intention of starting now.
"I need no aid. I can manage on my own," he said firmly. She did not appear the least impressed with his
stern tone. In fact, she merely smiled with amusement. This was the trouble with parents, of course. Such
was his reputation on the battlefield that men had been known to quiver at the very mention of his name,
yet his mother had not the slightest fear of him.
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"Manage on your own, will you?" she asked dryly, drawing his attention from his silent griping. Noting
the meaningful look she cast down at his hands, Paen followed her gaze and nearly gasped. The pain had
stopped shortly after his father's arrival, when she'd smeared a cool, soothing balm on it. He'd paid little
attention to what she was doing after that, his mind taken up with the fact that he'd not managed to bed
his bride. Now he saw that while he'd been bemoaning that lost opportunity, she'd been bandaging his
hands, and bandaging them. Dear Lord, his hands were now linen-covered stumps. There wasn't a finger [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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