Page 32 of Come the Morning

“Naturally, you’re freezing. You’re soaked, and you’re naked.”

“Pl—”

“And you’ve been swimming in a wretchedly cold river.”

“I know why I’m freezing—”

“I’m not warming you in the least?” he inquired.

She shook her head. “You’re chilling me,” she said softly. “I’ve never been so cold in all my life.”

“Tell me, are you really afraid yet?” he asked.

She frowned. Of course she was afraid! She would never, never let him know it.

“Cowards such as yourself do not scare me,” she said.

“What a pity. I was about to let you up!”

“Oh!” she cried in sheer frustration. “Please, I’m afraid, I’m very afraid—please let me up.”

He leaned closer to her. “You’re not afraid, and you should be. You think that your birth and the king’s distant hand can protect you. Well, it can’t. You’re with me, and I won’t let you up, and you don’t know what I’m going to do. You are a ward of the king.Basically, m’lady, he owns you. You, and your person, and you have risked both, and, therefore, you’re guilty of treason.”

“No! I’ve done nothing but—”

“Arrive in the midst of a situation where you are naked and freezing on a riverbank with a stranger ten times more powerful than you are.”

She fell silent, staring at him. If he was really so dedicated to the king, he wouldn’t touch her. And she could prove that strength lay in many areas within the human mind.

She closed her eyes for a long moment, then looked up at him with a tremulous shudder. “Please! You’ve made me very afraid, and I’m so cold … aye, I was wrong. If you’ve come to take me back to David, do so,please. I will beg his pardon, I … I’m so cold.”

Again, she closed her eyes, shivering violently. She hadn’t lied in some respects, she was certain that her lips were blue, and she was very afraid, pinned, unable to escape.

“Why don’t I believe you?” he murmured, and her eyes flew open and met his.

“I don’t know,” she grated. “I’m telling you the truth.”

He shook his head. “You are a liar. A wretched, petty liar, but we’ll change that.”

Despite his words, he came to his feet. She started to scramble away, fully aware he meant to help her up.

She lifted a hand to him, pleading, “No, don’t … don’t touch me. I’m getting up, I’m coming along.”

She stood, awkward, and so cold that her teeth were chattering as she hugged her arms around herself, feeling more vulnerable than she ever had in her life. He had stripped down for his swim, but he still wore a knit wool shirt, and that he pulled over his head. When she shied away from him then, he let out an impatient oath, jerking her close so that he could slip the wetshirt on her. It was better than nothing. She didn’t move then, but stood before him with her head down, now shaking violently.

“Come.”

He caught her hand and started walking along the embankment to the boat. She stumbled after him, not meaning to protest at that moment, but so cold that she could barely move. Once again he swore, pausing to sweep her up into his arms. She clung to him to keep from falling, uneasily aware of his physical power. His naked arms, chest, and upper abdomen were defined with muscle. With dismay she thought that he was no one’s servant hoping to become a knight; he was already a warrior, a knight, one of the king’s men who had trained with the very heavy weapons and armor of war.

He stepped into the boat, set her down, and shoved off from the embankment. He pointed to her cloak and tunic, left behind when she had first decided to leave the little vessel—a lifetime ago, so it seemed.

“Get dressed.”

She reached for her things, starting to slip the tunic on top of his shirt.

“M’lady, I’ll take my shirt back, if you don’t mind.”

“But I do mind—”