Page 38 of Ella’s Desire

Ella met Bronson’s gaze and slid guiltily away. They both knew her eyes were no longer innocent.

Isla looked between them and snorted. “Off with ye anyway. If it’s bad, ye’ll no’ want to see it.”

Ella hesitated at the doorway.

“Yer sisters are looking for ye.” Isla prodded her fingers into Bronson’s shoulder.

He gave a hiss of pain and she pursed her lips. Whatever it was, he didn’t want Ella to be there to see what this woman did to him either. “I’ll be fine,” he offered by way of reassurance.

Ella finally quit the room and let the door close behind her.

“Off with yer tunic, lad.” Isla helped him pull the cloth over his head, as well as the linen beneath it, a difficult task when he couldn’t help but cradle his wounded arm.

“Ye’ve got to mind yerself with that young lady.” The healer narrowed her eyes and leaned in close as she examined his shoulder. She smelled of sage and several other herbs he could not identify. Her fingers pinched at the skin of his shoulder with a surprising amount of strength. “The lass has wild ideas, mind ye. Ye’ll get yerself killed trying to keep up with the likes of her.”

Stars of white-hot pain danced in his vision. “So I’m learning,” he said through his teeth.

“Yer arm’s come away from yer shoulder.”

He jerked upright. That didn’t sound good. “Can it be mended?”

She waved her hand with nonchalance. “Och, aye, it’s easy as sin, but painful as a hot poker in the arse.”

A…what? He stared at her in horror. “‘Tis only my shoulder…”

In response, she threw her head back and howled with laughter. “Hold on, lad. It’s going to get worse before it gets better.” She grabbed something from a small box on her desk and tossed it to him. A strap of leather. “Put that in yer mouth to protect yer fine teeth.”

No sooner had he bit on the leather than she grabbed his forearm with her icy strong fingers and pulled, pulled, pulled his arm out to the side.

The pain was blinding. He growled his discomfort through the leather clenched between his teeth and found himself suddenly in agreement with the old healer.

Ella’s wild ideas just might get him killed.

Ella hovered by Isla’s door, uncertain if she ought to leave. Bronson’s injury was entirely her fault. He had tried to dissuade her, but she had been too driven by lust, too eager to please him as he had done for her.

Her stomach twisted into knots over her guilt. And, truth be told, she was disappointed to have not finished their interaction. She had sensed how close he had been to his crises; how he had been swollen harder than iron in her hands, the veins straining against the thin, silky skin. He was so near to the pleasure she had experienced the night before.

“Ella.” Cat’s voice called to her from down the hall as she ran over, oblivious to how her skirt swirled about her ankles. “We’re preparing the wedding decorations. Will you join us?”

Ella hesitated and regarded the closed door once more. No sound emerged. What was happening within?

Cat blinked. “Are you ill?”

“Nay, Bronson fell out of a tree.”

Cat giggled. “We can’t all be as good in trees as you, Ella. Was there much blood?”

“Nay, there was none.”

Cat smiled at this. “Then he will be well. Whatever injuries he has, Isla can cure.” She caught Ella’s hand and pulled her. “Come, we are making the decorations for the great hall.”

Ella reluctantly allowed Cat to pull her away from the closed door where Bronson was injured on the other side. Injured because of her. Cat was going on about flowers and ribbons, but Ella’s mind wouldn’t leave Bronson.

She was led all the way down the hall, up a flight of stairs and into the warm, sunlit solar. Leila sat on the cushioned bench between the windows, surrounded by bits of ribbons, with Moppet beside her and Hardy at her feet.

“Moppet,” Ella exclaimed. The servants had sworn to locate him for her, but she hadn’t been able to inquire about him yet.

“He’s in a mood, I’m afraid.” Leila patted his head. He jerked back from her touch, his black eyes narrowed. “Apparently he didn’t want to come back inside.”