Page 80 of A Most Forgettable Girl

“Yes, I did!” she burst out. “That is what they do at my father’s tournament when someone is knocked unconscious.”

“I was not knocked unconscious,” he pointed out.

“Well, you sort of were,” Gunnilde replied, worrying her lip anxiously. James peered up at her, then rose onto one elbow. Gunnilde set the empty jug upon the floor and straightened back up. “Do not exert yourself, husband, I beg of you,” she extorted breathily.

Instantly he felt flooded with gratification, though whether it was her calling him husband or the tone of voice she used, he was not certain, for he found he liked them both. “Come back to bed,” he exhorted, sitting up and pulling back the covers. “You must be freezing.”

Gunnilde scarcely seemed to hear him, her hands were fluttering about his chest. “Your—your heart... It does not feel...irregular or weak?” she asked earnestly.

It was beating like a godsdamn drum, James reflected. The blood was singing in his veins. He had never felt so alive. “I feel entirely well,” he told her truthfully. “Better than I ever have.” He lifted his hand to touch her hair, smoothing it back from her face. It looked rather untidy now, no doubt at least partly due to his own mishandling of it.

“No,” Gunnilde said, shaking her head and worrying her lip with her teeth. “That can’t be right. You fainted.”

“I did not faint,” he assured her, catching her arm and drawing her back into the bed beside him.

“Yes, you did, James!” she said unevenly, then burst into tears. “You—you slumped over me like a dead man and then toppled sideways in a dead faint. I could not rouse you!”

He tutted, drawing the covers up around her shoulders. “Come here. Did I scare you? I’m sorry, sweeting,” he fussed over her, kissing first her brow, then down her cheek, catching her chin and turning her face toward his. She allowed his coaxing, consoling kisses but gave an exclamation when he ran his tongue along her bottom lip.

“James! You can’t possibly mean to—”

“Shhhh, let me reassure you,” he whispered into the shell of her ear. “I need to make you feel better.” He slid his hand under the neckline of her shift to gently cup her breast. Misinterpreting his gesture, Gunnilde lifted her own hand to rest it over his heart.

“You feel how strongly it beats?” he asked, stilling at once.

She nodded and he smiled down at her. “You see? My heart is fine.”

“Then why did you—?”

“It was just...too good,” he admitted, shrugging his shoulders and turning rather red. “I was overcome. I won’t do it again. I promise.”

“But what if you do?”

“Then you can throw cold water on me again.”

“No,” Gunnilde insisted. “I need reassurance that your health is not too delicate for—”

He drew back to look at her. “For what?”

“Copulation,” she said, lifting her chin. He spluttered incoherently. “I want to consult a physician, James,” she said, a stubborn look on her pretty face.

“A physician?” James was horrified.

“Yes. There must be several famous ones here at the palace.”

“I am not seeing a physician, Gunnilde. I’m positively bursting with health and vigor!”

“Well, maybe now you are but moments ago you gave me the fright of my life!”

“And I apologize for that,” he placated her, “and assure you that I won’t do so again.”

Gunnilde’s palm planted in the center of his chest, pushing him firmly back.

“You cannot possibly ensure any such thing, James, and you know it. Your health is far too precious to me to overlook this.”

Too precious? Her words affected him strangely. Against his will, he felt his resolve weakening. “I am not seeing a physician, Gunnilde, and definitely no one here at the palace.”

“In that case, how would it be if we were to consult with Sir Ned’s witch instead?” she asked, clasping her hands together.