Read Online Wildewood Revenge by B.A. Morton - Free Book Online Page A

bedded down on his chest last night? She hoped she hadn’t talked in her sleep-or worse. She wondered why he hadn’t taken advantage of the situation; she was both relieved and offended. She gave a quick mental check of the current state of her belly. The fear was waking. Admittedly it was a late riser but it was still there and no amount of French schmooze could alter the fact that he had shot her, kidnapped her and scared the life out of her.
    “I don’t think that’s necessary or proper,” she replied tartly. Did he really think she was going to drop her trousers for him? Maybe she’d given him good cause to think she would. She cringed inwardly at the thought.
    He raised his scarred brow and smiled again. “Proper, no. Necessary, yes.”
    “Oh for goodness sake, take a look if you must.” She unbuttoned her trousers and lowered them just enough so he could reach the bandage around her thigh. Miles knelt before her, seemingly oblivious to the sight of her skimpy underwear and gently unwound the strip of material. She yelped as he pulled the final piece which adhered to the wound and found her fingers gripping the hair on the top of his head.
    “You hurt me, I hurt you.” she muttered through clenched teeth.
    “Pardon,” he winced. She had one hell of a grip. “The wound is fine and clean, it just needs to heal.” He began to replace the bandage. “When we get to Wildewood you must remove the dressing and allow the air to cleanse it further.”
    “You seem to know a lot about caring for wounds.” She kept hold of his hair, until he had finished and then pulled up her trousers self-consciously. Good God, of all the knickers she could have chosen to wear, she had to have on the tiniest, most frivolous scraps of nothingness. Why couldn’t she have donned her girl boxers or her sensible sports pants?
    He narrowed his eyes, dragged them away from her behind and back to her face. “I gained experience in the Holy Land.”
    “Oh, what did you do there?” she asked, anxious to dispel all thoughts of the appropriateness of her underwear. Was he really a knight? Had she really created herself a handsome knight in shining armour, not a bad dream after all? Although she’d seen neither armour nor crusader treasure and had yet to witness any display of chivalry. More likely he was simply so deranged he had created an alternate reality for himself in which he believed he was akin to Lancelot.
    “I killed a lot of men,” he answered grimly.
    “Oh!” Said like that it didn’t seem quite so exciting or romantic. She took a step back. He’d just admitted he was a murderer and if this wasn’t a dream and he really was a crazy, forest dwelling madman then she’d better stop worrying about lingerie and start thinking about escape. She felt her stomach tighten, the fear was wide awake. She remembered his advice. Feign interest.
    “I suppose that happens in wars,” she suggested weakly. What did she know? She had no real concept of conflict, what it must be like to be in a position where you have to kill or be killed. She felt young and gauche and embarrassed. She wished she wasn’t here, that she hadn’t taken the dog for a walk. She wished she was home at Kirk Knowe .
    Miles broke the awkward silence that followed. “Help me pack up our things, Mademoiselle and we can be on our way more quickly.” He aimed a kick at the sleeping form in the corner of the cave. “Edmund, get a move on you lazy cur, Grace will ride with you this morning.”
    Grace shook her head. This was madness. She was in a cave at the top of the world with a medieval knight and his squire chatting about the crusades and yet she couldn’t be. It was impossible, this simply could not be happening. The man, the boy, they weren’t real, couldn’t be real. They were in her head, and she was beginning to think she was going crazy. She’d called him mad, but she was the mad one. She had to put a stop to it, dream or no dream she was in