Free Borderland Betrayal by Samantha Holt Page B

rose in his face. Ack, what a fool. Acting as if Ellise even had a part to play in his life. But the fear of losing her still resounded in his mind.
    Aye, he was a fool.
    “Where is the potion of yours?”
    “You shall have me accused of witchcraft with words like that,” she teased, her voice hoarse.
    She struggled to sitting, the bed creaking and the canopy juddering. Ellise’s beautiful big gaze peering around at him from behind the pale blue curtains sent a thunderbolt to his chest. Hair awry and skirts splayed around her legs, she made an enticing image. Lord, he sickened himself, lusting after an injured woman. Words of how she had bewitched him sat on his tongue but he held them back.
    “Over there.” She pointed to the chest tucked in one corner. “‘Tis in a small silver pot.”
    James turned away, grateful to be free from her alluring gaze, and bent to rummage through the chest. She had little. A few gowns that he recognised as Lucy’s and that God-awful apron she’d worn when they had first met. He also noted she had kept the simple gown he had bought off the serving girl for her. For some reason, it made him smile to picture her wearing it and hopefully thinking of him.
    Gaze alighting on the silver pot, he scooped it up and settled on her bedside, wincing as the bed dipped under his weight. “‘Tis a fine trinket,” he muttered as she offered him her hand and he unbound it. Fresh blood pooled in her palm, though it did not flow as steadily as before and he felt some of the tension leave his stiff muscles. The salve would likely hurt, so he spoke again, “Is it yours?”
    Her gaze hardened. “Aye, ‘tis mine. I have not stolen it, if that is what you fear. It belonged to my mamá.”
    “Nay, you mistake me, Ellise. ‘Twas not my intention to accuse you of thievery.” She hissed as he rubbed the balm across the lesion, the scent of lemon pervading the air. “I see the Lady has been generous with her gowns.”
    “Aye,” she said stiffly. “Lucy knows of my predicament but I intend to pay her back for the gowns.”
    “I do not doubt it.”
    Something in his serious tone made her expression soften and a small smile slid across her face. “Do you not? ‘Twas not long ago you were ready to drag me to the sheriff.”
    James shook his head as he readied the needle and thread. He tried to ignore the slight tremble in his hands. Ack, he should have insisted on fetching one of the women. They were well-practised with needles. He was used to stitching up wounds in desperate times when it mattered not if the scar was pretty.
    “I had little intention of dragging you to the sheriff. I would not have wished to see you in the stocks.”
    “Then what was your intention? To shame me?”
    Gulping, he made the first stitch, fighting the desire to turn away, unable to answer her question due to the tightness of her throat. She gasped at the prick of the needle and James wished to God he could take away the pain, absorb it into him somehow and suffer it instead.
    “Good girl,” he murmured. “‘Twill be over soon.”
    She whimpered and shook as he drew the needle through, and he cursed to himself over and over, promising never to let her come to harm again. With the last stitch made, he pulled out his wretched dagger and cut the thread. Ellise studied his work with a shaky smile and watery eyes.
    “You sew well for a knight,” she commented.
    James coughed to clear his tight throat and proceeded to dress the cut, skimming his fingertips over her slender fingers. They were still rough from work, but to him they were perfect. So elegant yet so unique. Just like Ellise.
    Tucking in the loose end, he managed to stop himself from kissing her hand and instead settled for an awkward pat. “You’re a brave lass.”
    She laughed. “I could do with a drink!”
    “Aye.” And I. “I’ll have Winnie bring you some wine. I have to return to my duties.”
    “Forgive me for taking you away from