Page 92 of A Touch So Wicked

“’Tis a wife’s right. Roll over, Damian.”

Reluctantly, he acquiesced, presenting his back for Elissa’s inspection. The bandage had a small amount of fresh blood on it but not enough to cause Elissa worry.

“Satisfied?” Damian asked. She nodded and Damian cuddled her against him. “Go to sleep.”

Damian hurt like the very devil but it hadn’t stopped him from making love to Elissa. And it wasn’t going to stop him from mounting his horse and going after Gordon. He held Elissa until she fell asleep, then eased away from her and rose stiffly from bed. Music and laughter drifted to him through the open window from the courtyard below, but he didn’t intend to join in the merriment.

Elissa was still sleeping blissfully as Damian pulled on his clothes and snatched up his sword and pistol. The door made a single groan of protest as he opened it and slipped into the passageway. A wave of weakness overwhelmed him and he paused just outside the door, hanging onto the wall for support. When his head had stopped spinning, he descended the curving staircase.

Concentrating on placing one foot in front of the other, Damian finally reached the bottom, but the effort had sapped his strength. His legs were trembling, his vision was impaired, and perspiration beaded his forehead. Wiping away the sweat with the back of his hand, Damian staggered into the hall. His knees suddenly buckled and he grasped the edge of a table for support.

“Damian!”

Elissa burst into the hall, her expression fierce.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“After Gordon.”

“Nay! Look at you.” She touched his forehead. “You’ve a fever. You canna mount your horse in your condition.”

A wolfish smile stretched his lips. “I mounted you, didn’t I?”

“And probably shouldn’t have. Come back to bed, Damian. I’ll fetch something from Nan to ease your fever.”

“Don’t coddle me, Elissa.” His expression hardened. “Gordon tried to kill you. I’m going to hunt him down like the cowardly dog he is.”

Suddenly two Elissas danced before his eyes, both scowling at him. He closed his eyes and opened them again. The two forms melded together into one. Damian shook his head, refusing to accept his weakness. How could an insignificant wound cause so much trouble? As much as he wanted to run Gordon to the ground, he realized he wasn’t going anywhere this night.

Ignoring his feeble protest, Elissa placed an arm around Damian’s waist and turned him toward the staircase.

“Damn Gordon,” Damian muttered. “I hope Dickon finds him.”

“No one will find Tavis if he doesna want to be found,” Elissa replied with conviction. “Tavis knows the mountains like the back of his hand. He will go underground. He’s done it often enough in the past.”

“Bloody hell! I feel so useless.”

She helped him up the staircase and into their bedchamber, then eased him down on the bed. “Rest while I get something from Nan for your fever.”

Damian lay back on the pillow, angry with himself for inviting Gordon to his wedding. He had hoped his invitation would serve to end the hostilities between them, but he should have known better. Scotsmen were born stubborn. Damian realized Gordon would never forgive him for stealing his bride and seizing Misterly.

Elissa returned with a vile-tasting potion that Nan had brewed for him. He grimaced but obeyed when she held the cup to his lips and insisted he drink it all. He gulped it down and gagged.

“Are you trying to poison me, woman?” he gasped, shoving the empty cup away.

“Don’t be such a bear, Damian. Go to sleep. Mayhap Tavis’s luck will run out and Sir Richard will capture him. Will you hang him?”

A soft snoring sound rumbled from his chest. Elissa undressed both Damian and herself and stretched out beside him. Music wafting through the window from the courtyard lulled her to sleep.

Damian opened his eyes to the light of day, a loud pounding on the door and Sir Richard’s voice calling to him. He jerked upright and was immediately sorry. Pain shot through him; he clenched his teeth until it became bearable. Moving slowly, he pulled the blanket over himself and Elissa and granted Sir Richard permission to enter.

Elissa awoke and sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest. “What is it, Damian?”

“Sir Richard has returned.”

Dirt stained and disheveled, his eyes rimmed with fatigue, Sir Richard stepped into the chamber.

“Did you catch him, Dickon?”