Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
She barely touched what remained of her food and wished she could spend the rest of the afternoon cleaning out the cottage alone. She had thought herself a part of them and yet they sided with their chieftain. She really was foolish.
She had been duped by everyone, even herself. She should have been more vigilant. She had been too busy dealing with the ill. Rogan probably had counted on her deep involvement in keeping her from seeing the truth. She had been cautious at first with Rogan, even wondering if this isle had anything to do with her abduction. Then she had grown absorbed with treating the ill and finding the cause of the sickness and Rogan had been so kind, attentive, and helpful . . .
Damn, she had fallen easily into his trap.
Aliss was relieved when John came to fetch Anna, and Aliss insisted she go with her husband. Finally, she had the solitude she craved. Rogan did what was best for his clan and would he not continue to do so? She was merely a pawn in this game and she would do well to remember that.
“Are you all right?”
Startled, Aliss bumped into the edge of the table and shot her husband a surprised look, though it changed quickly enough to one of concern when she saw a bloody cloth wrapped around his hand.
“What happened?” she asked, rushing over to him.
“You answer me first.”
She looked perplexed.
“Are you all right?” he repeated.
“Of course I am,” she said, annoyed that he knew she was upset. She reached for his wounded hand.
He yanked it away. “I called to you twice from the doorway and you did not hear me.”
“Are you going to give me your hand or bleed all over my clean floor?” she snapped and held out her hand.
He placed his hand in hers. “I am as concerned for you.”
“Don’t be.”
“You are never curt when treating someone. Something is wrong. What is it?”
“None of your concern,” she said and removed the cloth, resting his hand on it.
Her eyes spread wide. “This is a knife wound. How did you get it?”
“Tell me what troubles you and I will tell you about the wound,” he bargained.
“No,” she said, and shoved him to the table. “Sit.”
She went to work as soon as he sat. She cleansed the wound, which she was relieved to see was not deep. More of a surface cut that had bled out and would now heal with proper attention.
“Your gentle touch belies your anger.”
“I am not angry,” she snapped, and almost winced at her own biting tone.
“Did someone upset you?”
“I need to concentrate. No more questions,” she ordered, and to her relief he remained silent.
She spread a generous amount of salve on the wound then bandaged it with a strip of white cloth, tying a secure knot to hold it in place.
“Keep it dry and clean,” she said, and turned only to be spun back around and drawn between his spread legs to rest close to him.
His hands held her hips firmly, letting her know he did not intend to release her. She thought otherwise and wiggled to free herself of his grasp.
“Stay put!”
His demand surprised her. It was not like him to command her. He had always been respectful and considerate with her, but then she had always granted him the same courtesy.
“I want to know what troubles you.”
“Why?”
His brow wrinkled. “You are my wife and I—”
She yanked herself free and moved away from him. “We are no longer truly husband and wife.”
She took a step back when he stood, the strength of him filling the room, his sleek movements reminding her of a wolf that prowled his territory.
“I disagree.”
Even his voice resembled a low growl.
She placed her hand on the rough wood mantel for support. “You deceived me. Now you expect me to trust that you speak the truth about your love for me?”
He marched over to her, grabbed a finger and placed her hand to his chest. “Feel my love for you. Know that my heart beats wildly when I see you and when you are out of my sight too long I miss you.”
Aliss dismissed the heavy beat beneath her hand. Surely, it was her imagination.
“I love when I wake before you in the morning and feel your warm body snuggled next to mine. I love holding you, hearing you breathe, watching you sleep, waiting for your eyes to flutter open and for you to smile. You always smile when you wake and look at me.”
How could she deny her own similar feelings? She felt safe and comfortable in his arms as if she belonged in them. And she couldn’t deny the smile that came so easily to her lips when she woke to see his face.
That she loved him was obvious, but she could not reconcile his betrayal. It tore at her heart.