much more swiftly than he had the first time.
“Oh, husband,” Annabel gasped with surprise and apparent embarrassment when he caught her attention by grasping her arm and dragging her upright where she knelt on the table. “I was just—Cook—I—”
Her stammered effort to explain what he had just witnessed died when he suddenly put his hands to her breasts. He had meant to fan them over the expanse of creamy flesh bulging out of the tight neckline, but somehow his hands got the message mixed up and simply latched on to each generous globe through the cloth. That brought a choking sound from Annabel that was accompanied by a blush so bright red he wondered there was any blood left in her body. It appeared to have all risen to her face and neck. Muttering under his breath, he shifted his hands to do what he had meant to do all along and said, “Ye need to change.”
When Annabel’s mouth worked without anything coming out, Seonag stepped up beside them and reminded him, “She has nothing to wear but the gown ye brought her in and yer mother’s gowns. Yer mother was no’ quite as large in the upper area as your lady wife is. Lady Annabel did have a kerchief there, but—” Seonag turned and gestured to the man on the table and he saw the blood-soaked cloth tied around his wound.
Ross frowned as he realized that his wife’s present situation was all his fault for not letting her pack a chest to bring with her. He had been so damned eager to get her away from her parents . . . Ross sighed and then glanced to the interested crowd around them and said succinctly, “Out.”
The word was sharp enough, or perhaps his expression was unpleasant enough, that every single person turned and headed at once for the doors. Satisfied, Ross let his hands drop from Annabel’s chest and relaxed a little.
Annabel hesitated, but then cleared her throat and said, “I know I was overstepping when I threatened Angus. But I need the whiskey to clean the needle and the wound or this man could lose his leg.”
“Lose my leg?” The man on the table squawked with horror.
“If it is not cleaned properly before I sew it up, yes,” Annabel admitted and then patted his arm and assured him, “But I will not let that happen. I was trained by the best. You will be fine.”
Recalling the way the man had been ogling his wife’s chest as it had hovered over his face, Ross scowled at him. His scowl only deepened when he realized he didn’t recognize him. “Who the devil are you?”
“The spice merchant,” Seonag answered for him. “He was injured when Jasper startled his horse and the beast overset his wagon.”
Ross cursed under his breath.
“Jasper?” Annabel queried curiously.
“He was my father’s animal,” Ross admitted. “A damned fine hunting dog and companion until father died. He’s been uncontrollable ever since.”
Annabel nodded solemnly, and glanced around as the cook hurried out of the kitchens and rushed across the room with another goblet of whiskey. She murmured “thank you,” as she took the liquid, her earlier anger with the man nowhere in evidence.
Angus nodded, his anxious gaze sliding from her to Ross and back, and then he turned and hurried away, back to the safety of his kitchens.
“How are you going to—Yowww!” The merchant broke off and howled when Annabel undid the cloth she’d tied around his leg and quickly poured a good portion of the liquid over the open wound. The merchant also sat abruptly upright, reaching for Annabel. No doubt, wanting to throttle her for causing him such pain, but Ross caught him by the shoulders and forced him down flat again.
His wife did not even seem to notice the man’s action. She simply held the half-empty goblet out to Seonag and said, “Please soak the needle and thread in this for a few minutes.”
Seonag nodded and moved at once to do as asked while Annabel bent to inspect the wound she’d just soaked. Ross held the merchant down and watched
“Oh, husband,” Annabel gasped with surprise and apparent embarrassment when he caught her attention by grasping her arm and dragging her upright where she knelt on the table. “I was just—Cook—I—”
Her stammered effort to explain what he had just witnessed died when he suddenly put his hands to her breasts. He had meant to fan them over the expanse of creamy flesh bulging out of the tight neckline, but somehow his hands got the message mixed up and simply latched on to each generous globe through the cloth. That brought a choking sound from Annabel that was accompanied by a blush so bright red he wondered there was any blood left in her body. It appeared to have all risen to her face and neck. Muttering under his breath, he shifted his hands to do what he had meant to do all along and said, “Ye need to change.”
When Annabel’s mouth worked without anything coming out, Seonag stepped up beside them and reminded him, “She has nothing to wear but the gown ye brought her in and yer mother’s gowns. Yer mother was no’ quite as large in the upper area as your lady wife is. Lady Annabel did have a kerchief there, but—” Seonag turned and gestured to the man on the table and he saw the blood-soaked cloth tied around his wound.
Ross frowned as he realized that his wife’s present situation was all his fault for not letting her pack a chest to bring with her. He had been so damned eager to get her away from her parents . . . Ross sighed and then glanced to the interested crowd around them and said succinctly, “Out.”
The word was sharp enough, or perhaps his expression was unpleasant enough, that every single person turned and headed at once for the doors. Satisfied, Ross let his hands drop from Annabel’s chest and relaxed a little.
Annabel hesitated, but then cleared her throat and said, “I know I was overstepping when I threatened Angus. But I need the whiskey to clean the needle and the wound or this man could lose his leg.”
“Lose my leg?” The man on the table squawked with horror.
“If it is not cleaned properly before I sew it up, yes,” Annabel admitted and then patted his arm and assured him, “But I will not let that happen. I was trained by the best. You will be fine.”
Recalling the way the man had been ogling his wife’s chest as it had hovered over his face, Ross scowled at him. His scowl only deepened when he realized he didn’t recognize him. “Who the devil are you?”
“The spice merchant,” Seonag answered for him. “He was injured when Jasper startled his horse and the beast overset his wagon.”
Ross cursed under his breath.
“Jasper?” Annabel queried curiously.
“He was my father’s animal,” Ross admitted. “A damned fine hunting dog and companion until father died. He’s been uncontrollable ever since.”
Annabel nodded solemnly, and glanced around as the cook hurried out of the kitchens and rushed across the room with another goblet of whiskey. She murmured “thank you,” as she took the liquid, her earlier anger with the man nowhere in evidence.
Angus nodded, his anxious gaze sliding from her to Ross and back, and then he turned and hurried away, back to the safety of his kitchens.
“How are you going to—Yowww!” The merchant broke off and howled when Annabel undid the cloth she’d tied around his leg and quickly poured a good portion of the liquid over the open wound. The merchant also sat abruptly upright, reaching for Annabel. No doubt, wanting to throttle her for causing him such pain, but Ross caught him by the shoulders and forced him down flat again.
His wife did not even seem to notice the man’s action. She simply held the half-empty goblet out to Seonag and said, “Please soak the needle and thread in this for a few minutes.”
Seonag nodded and moved at once to do as asked while Annabel bent to inspect the wound she’d just soaked. Ross held the merchant down and watched
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