Read Online Morna's Legacy 04 - Love Beyond Measure by Bethany Claire - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Bethany Claire
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little he used his right. Still, something about the way he gripped things seemed a little unnatural, and I ventured a guess that he was actually right-handed. “You write with your right hand, don’t you?”
The left corner of his mouth lifted and he shifted to face me. “Aye, and thankfully I still can do so, as long as I doona move me elbow too much. When the sword came down, it cut me deepest right along me shoulder muscle,” he paused, lifting his left hand as he traced one of his fingers along the red line, showing me its path. “Then, it hit me bone and turned, traveling underneath and along me ribs. ’Tis made me right shoulder difficult to move, but Morna says it will heal eventually.”
My eyes bugged nearly out of my head. Whatever I’d imagined as the cause of such an injury, I’d not considered a blade—a piece of machinery perhaps, but not a weapon. “A sword?”
“Aye, a mighty large one.” He took a long look at my face, observing my look of shock. “Doona worry, lass. He’s dead now—the man who did it.”
He said it so dismissively that I couldn’t help but swallow a laugh. He seemed to believe that I wondered more about whether the man who’d assaulted him was dead or alive, than why in hell someone had come at him with a sword in the first place.
Just as I opened my mouth to ask, he spoke again, changing the conversation entirely.
“I’m sorry if I frightened ye. Ye thought yerself alone, aye?”
“Yes, I did, but there’s no need to apologize.”
He nodded in acknowledgement of what I said and blew a long strand of unruly hair out of his face with his lower lip. He did it often, and I found myself wondering if months of being unable to lift his right shoulder had left him less groomed than he’d like.
“Would you…” I hesitated, hoping I wasn’t about to over-step. “Would you like me to cut it for you?” I pointed to the curly strand. “You sometimes act like it gets in your way, or I could at least pull it back?”
He glanced up, his eyes crossing as he made eye contact with the annoying strand. “If ye doona mind, but I wouldna wish to take ye from yer work.”
“Ah,” I waved a hand dismissively. “I’m done with that for now. This seems more urgent.” I reached both hands up, slipping my fingers into his red locks, messing his hair around to get a feel for how it needed to be cut.
I’d cut Cooper’s hair his whole life. Although their shade was different, the texture of their hair was very much the same—curly and, although not frizzy, the shiny curls on both men were not easily ruled, bouncing out of place at their whim. His neck relaxed as I played with his hair, and his eyes closed in pleasure. Men often didn’t get to experience how lovely it felt to have their hair properly messed with.
“If ye insist, I doona have it in me to argue.”
“I do. You’ll feel much better when you get some of this off your neck.” I stood and moved to stand behind him, lifting the hair at the base of his neck. He lay his head back in my hands, and I massaged his scalp as I gathered the strands. “Do you always keep your hair long?”
“Hmm…?”
His head relaxed so that I looked down at his face from above him, and he smiled as his eyes flickered open.
“What did ye ask me, lass? By God, that feels good, Grace.”
“Yeah, a good head massage always does. I asked if you always keep your hair long.”
“Oh, aye, but do what ye wish with it. I doona much care.”
His eyes closed again, and I laughed, tugging on a strand at the base of his neck. “Hey, don’t fall asleep on me. It’ll be hard for me to cut your hair that way.”
He reached his left hand up and grabbed my fingers, bringing them to rest in his hand and on his shoulder, “Oh, doona ye worry, I am verra, verra awake. ’Twould be impossible for me to sleep with yer hands on me.”
I pulled away, pleased for the moment that his eyes were closed so he couldn’t see my heated face.
The left corner of his mouth lifted and he shifted to face me. “Aye, and thankfully I still can do so, as long as I doona move me elbow too much. When the sword came down, it cut me deepest right along me shoulder muscle,” he paused, lifting his left hand as he traced one of his fingers along the red line, showing me its path. “Then, it hit me bone and turned, traveling underneath and along me ribs. ’Tis made me right shoulder difficult to move, but Morna says it will heal eventually.”
My eyes bugged nearly out of my head. Whatever I’d imagined as the cause of such an injury, I’d not considered a blade—a piece of machinery perhaps, but not a weapon. “A sword?”
“Aye, a mighty large one.” He took a long look at my face, observing my look of shock. “Doona worry, lass. He’s dead now—the man who did it.”
He said it so dismissively that I couldn’t help but swallow a laugh. He seemed to believe that I wondered more about whether the man who’d assaulted him was dead or alive, than why in hell someone had come at him with a sword in the first place.
Just as I opened my mouth to ask, he spoke again, changing the conversation entirely.
“I’m sorry if I frightened ye. Ye thought yerself alone, aye?”
“Yes, I did, but there’s no need to apologize.”
He nodded in acknowledgement of what I said and blew a long strand of unruly hair out of his face with his lower lip. He did it often, and I found myself wondering if months of being unable to lift his right shoulder had left him less groomed than he’d like.
“Would you…” I hesitated, hoping I wasn’t about to over-step. “Would you like me to cut it for you?” I pointed to the curly strand. “You sometimes act like it gets in your way, or I could at least pull it back?”
He glanced up, his eyes crossing as he made eye contact with the annoying strand. “If ye doona mind, but I wouldna wish to take ye from yer work.”
“Ah,” I waved a hand dismissively. “I’m done with that for now. This seems more urgent.” I reached both hands up, slipping my fingers into his red locks, messing his hair around to get a feel for how it needed to be cut.
I’d cut Cooper’s hair his whole life. Although their shade was different, the texture of their hair was very much the same—curly and, although not frizzy, the shiny curls on both men were not easily ruled, bouncing out of place at their whim. His neck relaxed as I played with his hair, and his eyes closed in pleasure. Men often didn’t get to experience how lovely it felt to have their hair properly messed with.
“If ye insist, I doona have it in me to argue.”
“I do. You’ll feel much better when you get some of this off your neck.” I stood and moved to stand behind him, lifting the hair at the base of his neck. He lay his head back in my hands, and I massaged his scalp as I gathered the strands. “Do you always keep your hair long?”
“Hmm…?”
His head relaxed so that I looked down at his face from above him, and he smiled as his eyes flickered open.
“What did ye ask me, lass? By God, that feels good, Grace.”
“Yeah, a good head massage always does. I asked if you always keep your hair long.”
“Oh, aye, but do what ye wish with it. I doona much care.”
His eyes closed again, and I laughed, tugging on a strand at the base of his neck. “Hey, don’t fall asleep on me. It’ll be hard for me to cut your hair that way.”
He reached his left hand up and grabbed my fingers, bringing them to rest in his hand and on his shoulder, “Oh, doona ye worry, I am verra, verra awake. ’Twould be impossible for me to sleep with yer hands on me.”
I pulled away, pleased for the moment that his eyes were closed so he couldn’t see my heated face.
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