Free The King's Mistress by Sandy Blair Page B

finally struck the shaft. Muscle and flesh tore with searing intensity. When he could finally breathe again, he gripped the fully exposed steel tip with his right hand and pointed with his left to the leather pouch at his feet. “In there you’ll find what you’ll need to bind the wound.”
    As Lady Geneen hauled whisky and bandages from the pouch, Britt again gritted his teeth and jerked the arrow free. Before his heartbeat could steady, his best whisky was burning its way through his flesh. “God’s teeth, woman, enough!”
    “Hush! ’Lest you end up doing this yourself.”
    He huffed, then glanced at Montre. Seeing he was still out cold, Britt murmured, “You’re quite the iron maiden, Geneen Armstrong.”
    “Iron to the core, MacKinnon.” She tied off his dressing and then, heaving a sigh, took a step back. He twisted a wee bit to test the dressing. Satisfied it would stanch the bleeding, he murmured, “My thanks.”
    “’Twill hold?”
    “Aye.”
    “Good.” Her lovely blues eyes then rolled back in her head, and to his utter astonishment, she fainted dead away at his feet.
     
    “Ouch!” Merciful heavens, her head hurt.
    “My apologies, my lady, but the compress is needed to stem the bleeding.”
    MacKinnon! Her eyes flew open. The day came rushing back in one awful flash when she found Britt staring down at her. Their argument, the attack, her shooting Montre, her driving an arrow through Britt’s side, then…nothing. “What happened?”
    And why was she prostrate on Britt MacKinnon’s lap? She struggled to sit, but his arm tightened about her waist.
    “Nay, be still. You fainted. Right now we need talk…before Montre awakens.”
    Oh Lord, not now. She looked away. “Talk of what?”
    “Are you daft?” He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look into his handsome face. “Why did the two of you not just hie off? Why go to all this trouble masquerading as your sister? From what I’ve seen of you, ’twill be most obvious to the king that you are not Greer the moment he tries to bed you.” He huffed, then nodded toward Montre. “And you do realize he’s not Her Highness’s only henchmen, aye? You need tell me what you’re about before you get us all killed, your sister included.”
    He’s right, damn him. She did need his protection and therefore had no choice but to confide in him…to a point. Genny took a shuddering breath and whispered, “Greer’s with child.”
    “Are you certain?”
    “Aye, most certain. The babe will arrive by Samhain.”
    “Where is she?”
    Oh no! That she wouldn’t tell him. “I’m taking Greer’s place at court for only a short while.” She cleared her throat. “For only as long as it takes to prove I am not with child, and then I’ll take my leave.”
    Britt looked incredulous. “And what makes you think you’ll be allowed to leave at will? If the king says you’re to remain at court, you remain. And doubtless in his bed.”
    “None will wish me to remain.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the packet she’d carefully wrapped in a scrap of oiled cloth. “This will make everyone most happy to see me gone.”
    Watching her open the packet, he asked, “What is it?”
    “A poison nettle. When the time comes, I need only rub its sap on my skin to make large painful boils rise within hours. I’ll look like I have pox.”
    After a moment, he nodded. “They are most protective of their well-being, so ’twill work.”
    Relieved he thought her plan would work, Genny pocketed the nettle.
    Britt rose, then helped her to stand. “And in the meantime? Can you sing, dance? Play the lute or play the whor—”—he cleared his throat—“courtesan?”
    Heat infused her cheeks at the very notion of him thinking her that kind of woman. “Nay. To all. ”
    “Humph.” He looked about. “We need go.”
    Happy he’d ended his inquisition, she pointed to the queen’s assassin. “What of him?”
    “We’re taking him with us.”
    She