Page 42 of Barbarous

“How long am I expected to endure such observation?”

“Two days, my lord.”

Hugh snorted and took a bite of warm bread and melting butter. “Not bloody likely,” he said thickly. He hadn’t rested that long when his face had been sliced in half. Even with the promise of Daphne’s company, Hugh could not submit to forty-eight hours of bed rest. He grinned: unless Daphne was actually in bed with him.

“Is there anything better than hot bread and butter?” Hugh asked, helping himself to another slice.

Kemal merely raised his eyebrows at Hugh’s rhetorical question.

Hugh sipped his tea and thought about yesterday, trying to recall how he’d fallen off his horse—which he’d not done since he was a boy. The last thing he remembered was flying off Pasha, his feet still in the stirrups. He frowned. That couldn’t be right.

He drained the rest of his rapidly cooling tea and popped the last of the bread into his mouth. He needed to get dressed and speak to William. And then he needed to speak with Gates about something. He blinked his eyes, his lids heavy. . . why did he feel so bloody tired? He raised the teacup and then realized he was no longer holding it.

“Wha—?”

Kemal was pulling the blankets up around him.

“Kemal?”

“Yes, my lord?”

Hugh opened his mouth. And then forgot what he wanted to ask.

Kemal leaned so close the pores on his nose were alarmingly huge.

Hugh tried to shy away but his body was too heavy to move. “Uhh—”

“You need to rest, my lord.”

Hugh stared at one particularly stout hair, mesmerized. “No, I—” Kemal’s nose wavered and grew and Hugh couldn’t seem to blink it back into shape. “Ahh, I am going to take a quick nap. Don’t let me sleep past a half hour.”

“No, my lord.” His normally serious servant was smiling and his voice came from very far away.

* * *

The next time Hugh woke, Kemal was reading at his bedside.

“Good morning, my lord,” he said, his gaze flicking up and then back to the book in his lap.

Morning? Hugh lifted his arm to push back his hair and gasped at the pain.

“Bloody he—” A huge yawn came over him, which also caused pain. And his head felt as though it had been stuffed with cotton wool and then beaten with a plank.

He stared accusingly at the other man. “You put a sleeping draught in my tea, didn’t you?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Hell and damnation!” Hugh winced and lowered his voice. “You are never to drug me again, do you understand?” he demanded, sounding weak and peevish.

“Yes, my lord. No more drugs,” Kemal agreed, his eyes back on his book—as if Hugh were boring him.

Hugh scowled. “What the devil are you reading?”

Kemal held up Gulliver’s Travels but didn’t stop reading.

So, Daphne had been here last night and Hugh had missed her visit, thanks to Kemal and his blasted sleeping draught.

“Put down that goddamned book, fetch my robe, and ring for a bath! I’m getting out of this bloody bed.” He glared to let his servant know the matter was not up for debate.