Read Online Blue Voodoo: A Romantic Retelling of Bluebeard (The Hidden Kingdom Series Book 2) by Jennifer Blackstream - Free Book Online
Authors: Jennifer Blackstream
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cleaning her wound and the surrounding skin with uncharacteristic tenderness.
“It’s a beautiful painting.”
Julien didn’t pause in his ministrations, rinsing the cloth in the bowl and continuing to work the mud and dried blood from her back. “I bought that from an old man in Meropis. He was half blind, but he painted the most breath-taking landscapes.” His voice held a smile. “Perhaps a blind man remembers the true beauty of nature better than we see it ourselves, eh?”
“Perhaps.”
Warm water trickled over her back. There was something soothing, almost hypnotic about his strokes, the way he coaxed the grime from her skin rather than scrubbing at it. Her body grew heavy, a pleasant haze falling over her mind until she drifted in that wonderful place between waking and sleep.
The burning scent of rum filled the air. A second later, a wretched sting lanced her back, seeming to drive through the wound clean out her chest. She hissed and arched her back, coming back to herself with a start.
“I’m sorry.” Julien took the rum-soaked cloth from her back. “I thought you were asleep. I’d hoped to finish this part before you woke up.”
“Who could sleep through that?” She winced, holding perfectly still, trying not to agitate the injury further. Something tickled at the back of her mind and she realized she no longer felt the itch of dried mud on the back of her legs. Trying not to draw attention to herself, she slid her hand to touch her leg beneath the blanket. The back of her body had been wiped clean.
“As I said, I thought you were sleeping.”
Her hand closed into a fist. “So you thought you’d have a look.”
The rum-soaked cloth pressed to her wound again, not so gentle this time. “I didn’t flip you over to clean the other side, if that makes you feel any better.”
Dominique breathed through the pain as the slosh of liquid against the sides of a glass bottle warned of a fresh trickle of alcohol. The air stuttered in her lungs as searing heat licked at her back.
“The wounds are not deep,” Julien noted. “Mostly superficial. Parlangua must have tried to stop.”
An image of Parlangua lunging for Julien, black claws sliding through his flesh like a fish diving into the sea, reared its ugly head and Dominique squeezed her eyes shut as if she could block out the memory. Her heartbeat pounded like a drum in her ears, reminding her of the adrenaline that had burned through her veins as she’d watched blood pour down Julien’s arms.
“Why are you telling people we are to be engaged?” She half-shouted the words, in too much of a hurry to distract herself from her own thoughts.
Julien set the bottle of rum down on the table beside the bed, the glass thudding against the wood. Dominique forced her eyes back to the painting, trying to distract herself as she waited for his coarse hands to apply the healing ointment.
Glass clinked together. “There are a few bottles in this bag. Which is the healing ointment?”
“Is there a green bottle marked with a serpent curled around a staff?”
“Yes.”
“That’s the one.”
The scent of lady’s mantle perfumed the air, pushing back the scent of swamp water. Contrary to the rough texture she’d expected, Julien’s fingers felt soft under the slick, oily film of the healing ointment. Body heat burned her through the skin-warmed substance and she gritted her teeth against the tactile memories. Memories of his hands on her skin under very different circumstances.
“I meant to speak with you about the engagement.”
Julien’s voice startled her, a blessed distraction from her current thoughts.
“Did you?”
The sarcasm tasted good on her lips, eased her spirits with its familiarity and stabbed like a sharpened pitchfork against the gooey memories trying to envelop her. Julien chuckled, and the sound only fed her annoyance, helped chase back the unwanted emotions of the past.
“Hear me out. I think if you’re honest with
“It’s a beautiful painting.”
Julien didn’t pause in his ministrations, rinsing the cloth in the bowl and continuing to work the mud and dried blood from her back. “I bought that from an old man in Meropis. He was half blind, but he painted the most breath-taking landscapes.” His voice held a smile. “Perhaps a blind man remembers the true beauty of nature better than we see it ourselves, eh?”
“Perhaps.”
Warm water trickled over her back. There was something soothing, almost hypnotic about his strokes, the way he coaxed the grime from her skin rather than scrubbing at it. Her body grew heavy, a pleasant haze falling over her mind until she drifted in that wonderful place between waking and sleep.
The burning scent of rum filled the air. A second later, a wretched sting lanced her back, seeming to drive through the wound clean out her chest. She hissed and arched her back, coming back to herself with a start.
“I’m sorry.” Julien took the rum-soaked cloth from her back. “I thought you were asleep. I’d hoped to finish this part before you woke up.”
“Who could sleep through that?” She winced, holding perfectly still, trying not to agitate the injury further. Something tickled at the back of her mind and she realized she no longer felt the itch of dried mud on the back of her legs. Trying not to draw attention to herself, she slid her hand to touch her leg beneath the blanket. The back of her body had been wiped clean.
“As I said, I thought you were sleeping.”
Her hand closed into a fist. “So you thought you’d have a look.”
The rum-soaked cloth pressed to her wound again, not so gentle this time. “I didn’t flip you over to clean the other side, if that makes you feel any better.”
Dominique breathed through the pain as the slosh of liquid against the sides of a glass bottle warned of a fresh trickle of alcohol. The air stuttered in her lungs as searing heat licked at her back.
“The wounds are not deep,” Julien noted. “Mostly superficial. Parlangua must have tried to stop.”
An image of Parlangua lunging for Julien, black claws sliding through his flesh like a fish diving into the sea, reared its ugly head and Dominique squeezed her eyes shut as if she could block out the memory. Her heartbeat pounded like a drum in her ears, reminding her of the adrenaline that had burned through her veins as she’d watched blood pour down Julien’s arms.
“Why are you telling people we are to be engaged?” She half-shouted the words, in too much of a hurry to distract herself from her own thoughts.
Julien set the bottle of rum down on the table beside the bed, the glass thudding against the wood. Dominique forced her eyes back to the painting, trying to distract herself as she waited for his coarse hands to apply the healing ointment.
Glass clinked together. “There are a few bottles in this bag. Which is the healing ointment?”
“Is there a green bottle marked with a serpent curled around a staff?”
“Yes.”
“That’s the one.”
The scent of lady’s mantle perfumed the air, pushing back the scent of swamp water. Contrary to the rough texture she’d expected, Julien’s fingers felt soft under the slick, oily film of the healing ointment. Body heat burned her through the skin-warmed substance and she gritted her teeth against the tactile memories. Memories of his hands on her skin under very different circumstances.
“I meant to speak with you about the engagement.”
Julien’s voice startled her, a blessed distraction from her current thoughts.
“Did you?”
The sarcasm tasted good on her lips, eased her spirits with its familiarity and stabbed like a sharpened pitchfork against the gooey memories trying to envelop her. Julien chuckled, and the sound only fed her annoyance, helped chase back the unwanted emotions of the past.
“Hear me out. I think if you’re honest with
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