Page 12 of The Dark Prince
Tyr’s anger diminished at that. “Thank you,” he grumbled. “I didn’t mean—”
The monk waved him away. “I remember your mother. She was a sweet girl. It was a shame what happened.”
Tyr ducked his head. Was he blushing?
My stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, and I winced.
The monk clapped his hands together. “I’ll leave you to it.” He hoisted the bowl of soup up with deceptive strength, the one hand holding more bowls, spoons, and the bread. His hunched form disappeared through the open door, which he kicked shut behind us. I jumped sharply at the sound.
My husband and I were alone.
There was one bed.
I would be brave,I thought.This was simply a woman’s burden to bear. He had taken me away from that horrible house. I was grateful. I could do this for him.
I started walking toward the ladder that led up to the loft, and my husband followed behind me. I paused at the bottom of the ladder, kicking away the straw that clung to my slippers. I bent down and tried to undo the ties, but my cold fingers were clumsy.
“Allow me.”
Tyr’s massive form bent and he kneeled before me, undoing my ties expertly with his much thicker fingers. One callused hand slid up my bare calf and held it gently as he removed the slipper, and set it on the ground.
His hand was warm on my foot.
“Now the other one.”
My mouth was dry. That was the only reason I licked my lips. Obediently, I put my bare foot down on the ground. It was cold. I hoped he had stockings at his castle.
I lifted my other foot, and he repeated the process, fingers lingering on my calf as he promptly rid me of the other slipper. I jerked my foot back before he could examine it, not wanting anyone to look at my injury.
I took off my cloak and hung it from the hook over my head. Without giving myself time to be afraid, I lifted my dress over my shoulders next. Since I was less ample than Roselle, I could easily do this and didn’t have to worry about undoing a long line of hooks and buttons.
“What are you—”
Tyr’s voice broke as I stood before him in nothing but my linen shift, a thin white garment that bared my shoulders and only went to my knees. He was staring, and my courage fled me. I looked at the floor, unable to meet his eyes.
He picked me up without warning, and deposited me at the small table. “Eat. I’ll get something for your foot.”
I blinked as he rummaged around in the small cottage. I had assumed (wrongly; I suppose) that he’d immediately want … to get to the deed. I decided I wouldn’t question my good luck. I grabbed one hunk of bread left and tore into it, leaving all manners behind. It would appall my mother how I dunked it in my soup, but I didn’t care. I’d had nothing but jerky scraps since we’d left, and Tyr didn’t seem one to care much about frivolities.
At least we had that in common.
I’d gotten halfway through my soup when he approached me, holding a few clean clothes and a pitcher of water.
I moved to take them, but he placed them out of reach on the table, leveling an odd look at me. He grabbed my injured foot and lifted my leg, forcing me back down onto the chair.
“Keep eating,” he beckoned, voice low and rumbling.
Right. How was I supposed to eat with his hands running up my bare legs? His heat felt so good against my cold skin I had to be careful not to moan out loud.
“Again, I apologize. We will find boots or wrap your feet tightly. It was inexcusable to neglect your health like this.”
He seemed incredibly upset with himself.
“I was the one who just ventured out into the snow. It’s not all on you,” I offered back, not sure why I was helping to soothe his guilty conscience.
He huffed and dumped water over my injured toes. With more gentleness than I thought possible, he cleaned off the blood and bound my foot with clean linens.
His hand lingered on my calf, his fingers idly stroking up and down the muscle.
