Barely a Bride

Griffin’s sleep brought no refuge from the terror. The dark early morning hours ushered in his nightmares.

  The sound of his anguished cries penetrated the walls of the master chamber. Alyssa bolted from the bed as soon as she heard them and raced to Griffin’s room.

  He was dreaming. Bad dreams. Horrible dreams. Dreams that made him cry in his sleep. Alyssa climbed up on his bed and struggled to hold him down and to calm him.

  But Griffin fought back, and Alyssa found herself fighting to protect her face from his flailing arms.

  She lay almost atop him, holding the covers close about his body, forcing him to stop thrashing. “Griffin.” She spoke softly but firmly. “You’re having a bad dream. That’s all it is.” She noticed the beads of perspiration forming on his upper lip and placed her palm against his forehead.

  He was feverish.

  And it was his own fault, Alyssa thought uncharitably. The stubborn man hadn’t listened to her when she had warned him his wounds needed attention. And his stubborn refusal to allow her to tend his wounds had caused him more pain.

  Griffin wouldn’t allow her to tend his wounds while he was awake, but he’d have no say in the matter from now on. She’d simply tend them while he was asleep. But first, she had to soothe him.

  “Go away. Please, go away. Leave me alone. Let me die. Please.” Griffin twisted his head from side to side on the pillow in an effort to evade the soft hand stroking his damp hair as hot tears slid down his cheeks and onto the pillow slip.

  “Shhh,” Alyssa soothed, easing her weight off him.

  His thrashing about had caused him to slip off the mound of pillows she and Keswick had propped beneath his injured shoulder and at his back after Keswick, acting a valet, helped Griffin shave and retire to the bed. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m only going to prop your pillows around you so you’ll be more comfortable.”

  “Hot,” Griffin whispered. “Water, please. I beg you.” He opened his eyes, but he was still lost in the throes of his nightmare, and his brilliant blue eyes showed no spark of recognition.

  Alyssa sat up and reached for the water carafe on the bedside table. She poured a small amount in a glass, then propped him up and pressed the glass to his lips.

  “Hot,” he said again, after she’d managed to dribble a bit of water through his parched lips without drowning him.

  Alyssa set the glass on the bedside table and then flipped back the covers.

  She gasped at the sight. His magnificent body was a mass of cuts and bruises. A big purple and yellow bruise marred the area below his collarbone, and another bigger bruise surrounded the bandage on his right shoulder. Alyssa untied the bandage and removed it, immensely relieved to find the bandage clean and fresh.

  A stab wound about four inches long marked the point of a bayonet. The cut had been neatly stitched, and the stitches had held. Although the wound was an angry pink color, there was no sign of infection.

  Glad that she’d had the presence of mind to leave her remedies in Griffin’s room, Alyssa slid off the bed and grabbed her canvas bag from its resting place upon the dressing table. Rummaging around inside, she pulled out a jar of soothing and drawing salve and returned to the bed.

  The salve would soothe the skin and prevent the wound from scarring as badly as it would if left unattended. Pushing the bedclothes aside so she could view his naked body, Alyssa found more wounds: another bayonet wound, this one in the calf of his left leg; he had been shot in the fleshy part of his right arm, and he had sustained a deep and nasty saber cut to his right thigh.

  Staring at the stitches securing the flesh and muscle of the saber cut, Alyssa murmured a prayer of thanks that he hadn’t lost his leg or the use of it. It would take time, but the saber cut would heal. At the moment, though, it was hot and red and irritated from the fabric of his uniform breaches, no doubt, and from the fact that he had been on his feet much longer than he should have.

  There were other wounds, lesser ones. A small puncture wound and a thin line at his throat. She stared at the wound more closely. Dear God! It looked as if someone had tried to…as if someone had tried to cut his throat. At the top of his right thigh above the saber cut was the bruised imprint of a horse’s hoof, and there across his abdomen was the clear mark of a wagon or cart wheel. Alyssa blinked back a flood of tears as she set about slathering his body with a liniment meant to ease the discomfort caused by deep bruises. It was a miracle his hip bones hadn’t been crushed. It was a miracle he’d survived. Because someone had driven a horse and cart over him.

  Alyssa’s mouth tightened into a thin line. Tension strained every muscle in her face. “Don’t worry, my love,” she whispered. “I’ll take care of you. You’re hurt and you’re tired of fighting, so rest. I’ll keep the nightmares at bay.”

  Alyssa smoothed the liniment over his chest and arms, following the line of his chest hair down over his abdomen, upper thighs, calves, and legs, and back again where his male member lay cradled in the nest of hair between his thighs.

  He was so beautiful. And he’d been so terribly hurt. So dreadfully battered and bruised. Reaching out, Alyssa gently traced the length of him with the slightest touch of her fingertips and then tenderly cupped her hand around him.

  “Touch that portion of my anatomy again, madam, and I’ll kill you!”

  Alyssa cried out as Griffin caught her wrist in a painful grip. “Griffin, please, you’re hurting me.” She met his gaze and saw a look of hatred so intense it frightened her. She opened her hand. “I didn’t mean to…to…trespass. I’m sorry.”

  Moments passed. Griffin stared at her without recognition, then slowly closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

  Alyssa pulled her wrist from beneath his sweaty palm. There would be bruises there in the morning, but nothing like the bruises Griffin had suffered. Nothing like the pain he’d endured.

  Alyssa lifted his hand, turned it over so that the palm faced upward, then leaned over and pressed her lips against it. “I love you, Griffin,” she whispered. “And I’m never going to let anyone hurt you again. I promise.”

  Smiling, Alyssa closed her eyes and slept.