Surrender to Me (The Derrings #4)(10)

With one last glance at the man lying on the bed, head moving listlessly on the pillow, she slipped from the room in search of Molly.

The inn was quiet as she made her way down the worn wood steps. In the taproom, a few men lingered over tankards, huddled in their cloaks and tartans, tossing her speculative looks as her gaze searched the room.

Failing to spot Molly, she moved on until she discovered a set of stairs leading down into the kitchen. She descended the steps to a toasty room that smelled of grease, yeast, and sweat.

Two maids slept on pallets near the fire, shadows dancing over their still forms, the outline of their bodies like shadowed hills in a distant horizon.

“Molly,” she whispered, recognizing the dark braid over one of the women’s wool blankets. Creeping closer, she shook the servant awake. Molly sat up with a startled snort.

“I need your help.”

The groggy-eyed maid nodded and slipped on the shoes waiting for her beside the hearth.

Following Astrid back up the steps, she grumbled over the loss of her warm pallet as they made their way to the second floor.

Once in the room, Molly leaned over the man, pressing both hands to his face. He opened his eyes and looked up at her with a wild unseeing gaze.

“I know, love,” she cooed in her thick burr. Glancing to Astrid, she said, “He’s feverish.”

“Should we send for the physician again?”

“If you want to waste good coin for him to tell you what I already know.”

“What do we do, then?”

“We need to bring down his fever,” Molly replied, undoing the buttons at her cuffs and pushing her sleeves up to reveal brawny forearms. “And clean the wound,” she said as she peeled back the bandage to inspect his injury. Whatever she saw had her shaking her head. “I’ll fetch some water. You’ll need to help me bathe him.”

Astrid stared after Molly long after she left the room. Undressing him had been bad enough. Now she must bathe him?

She approached the bed. Biting her bottom lip, she stared down at him—at the bronzed muscles waiting for her ministrations. Her palms tingled and her fingers twitched at her sides.

Familiar self-loathing rose up to choke her. She was a married woman. One of the few things left to her was the fact that she had remained faithful to her vows. She had not caved to any of the propositions put to her these many years, even when it had been clear that to do so—to say yes—could help restore her funds and save her from the sneers of the ton’s dames when she passed by them in a gown four seasons old. The tremor of anticipation now coursing through her was just another strike to her self-respect. She was above base desire for a man not her husband.

“Here we are,” Molly announced, arriving back in the room, several linens tucked beneath one arm and a basin of fresh water in her hands. Setting the basin on the side table, she dipped one of the cloths within. Wringing it dry, she laid it on one side of his wide chest.

“Straight from the well,” she murmured in a soothing voice. “There you are, lad. Nice and cold for you. Doesn’t that feel better?”

Nodding, she instructed Astrid, “Pull the blanket off him.”

The command gave her a jolt, but she obeyed, baring the man before them and schooling her expression into the neutral mask that had become second nature.

Molly soaked another cloth for his chest.

Astrid followed suit, gasping as her hands met the cold water. She pressed the wet linen to his face, wiping the beads of sweat away.

He moaned and turned his face into the linen.

Her belly tightened at the sound, low and primal. The image of his big body, hot and naked—like now—tangling with hers amid the sheets flashed through her mind.

“Och,” the maid tsked, spreading a dry linen towel over his hips and groin area. “Even cold, he’s impressive to behold.” She winked at Astrid. “No diminishing this man, that’s for certain.”

With a disdainful sniff, Astrid continued her ministrations, moving on to his neck, reminding herself that she was no green girl fresh out of the schoolroom but a married woman. She should not be affected by the mere sight of a man’s body.

The maid chuckled. “You’re an icy one. Likely not had a proper bedding.”

“I’m a married woman.”

“What’s that to do with it? If you ever had a man plow you good and well, you wouldn’t look at this one with such cool eyes,” Molly chuckled roughly, adding, “Let’s roll him over now.”

They rolled him onto his side, paying special heed to his injured head.

Her chest grew heavy and tight. Molly’s coarse words played over in her head. Likely not had a proper bedding. Astrid supposed she hadn’t. Or else she had forgotten. But then she suspected that was the sort of thing one never forgot.

Molly slapped another damp linen over his impossibly broad back, the skin smooth and flawless save one crescent-shaped birthmark. Suddenly, Molly paused with a stillness that Astrid found uncustomary in the woman, even in their short acquaintance.

“What is it?” Astrid queried, looking back and forth between Molly and his naked back.

Molly traced the small birthmark that rested high on his shoulder, an odd expression on her face.

“N-nothing,” the maid murmured, her gaze dipping to study the man’s profile with an intensity that made the hairs on the back of Astrid’s neck prickle.