Free Trapped at the Altar by Jane Feather Page B

competently.
    Ivor held his arm over the sheet and Ariadne perched on the edge of the bed, taking a firm grip of his forearm with one hand. The red kerchief lay on the bed beside them. She lifted her knife, put her free hand against the blue vein in Ivor’s arm, and, without a tremor, placed the tip of her knife against it and cut. Just once, just below the surface, but the blood bubbled up, dark red.
    Ivor turned his arm instantly, and blood dripped onto the white sheet. They both watched it for a moment, transfixed, and then Ariadne moved swiftly, bending his elbow, pushing his forearm up, his hand onto his shoulder. “Hold still.” She got off the bed and fetched the brandy bottle.
    â€œAnother one of Tilly’s words of wisdom.” She took his hand and opened his arm. The blood welled from the cut. “Forgive me. This will hurt, but I believe it will do no other harm and maybe some good.” She poured brandy over the wound, and Ivor gave a gasp at the sharp sting. Ari closed his arm again, pressing his hand into his shoulder. “A minute or two, and then I will bind it.”
    â€œTilly has something of the physician about her, clearly,” Ivor observed, flexing his hand against his shoulder.
    â€œThere are women in the valley, the midwives and others, who have such knowledge.” Ari twisted the kerchief into a band. She took his hand and opened his arm. The blood still welled but more sluggishly. She bound the red band around it, tying it tightly. “I believe that will do.”
    Ivor nodded and stood up. He regarded the bloodstained sheet. “Tilly will vouch for your purity in the morning.”
    Ari tried to ignore the sardonic edge to his voice. She felt an overwhelming need to sleep and suddenly sat on the edge of the bed, her legs seeming unwilling to hold her another minute. The coverlet was still wrapped around her, but with a twist and a turn, she could be in bed, the cover over her and her head on the pillow. She felt herself sway.
    â€œYou can’t keep your head off the pillow, and I have no intention of sleeping on the floor. Neither will I sleep downstairs,” Ivor declared briskly. He leaned over the bed and jerked the heavy bolster from behind the pillows. “Unwind yourself and lie down. The bloody spot is yours, if you remember.” He thrust the bolster down themiddle of the feather mattress and turned away to take off his clothes.
    It was a small enough price to pay, Ari thought. This entire pantomime had been for her benefit. She untwisted herself from the coverlet and lifted it in a shake that dropped it securely over the entire mattress. Gingerly, she maneuvered herself a space around the small bloodstain on her side of the bolster and lay down, her head sinking into the pillow. Her eyes, however, would not close.
    Ivor was kicking off his shoes, throwing off his clothes, unrolling his stockings. If he was aware that she was watching him, he gave no indication. He snuffed the candles on the sill between finger and thumb and then walked around the bed to the other side of the bolster. Ari watched him through half-closed eyes in the light of the single bedside candle. He was the first fully naked man she had ever seen. There had been no opportunity in her lovemaking with Gabriel for either of them to undress properly. She had no idea how Gabriel would look naked. But Ivor was a revelation.
    There seemed so much of him. So much length and rippling muscle, so much ease of movement, such smoothness, and such a luxuriant trail of chestnut hair down his belly, forming a thick forest at the apex of his thighs. She caught a glimpse of his penis as he lifted a knee onto the bed before inserting himself beneath the coverlet. She had glimpsed Gabriel’s penis just once, after they had made love, a small, flaccid piece of flesh curled damply into his pubic hair. Ivor’s penis was by no meanserect, but it seemed, to her drowsily sensual examination,