Page 16 of The Herald's Heart
Larkin moaned.
“Hush now. Keep quiet, and you’ll soon feel better.” Alice sat and dabbed at her forehead.
With Alice between them, Larkin could not have responded to Sir Talon had she wished to, which she definitely did not. She would swear no oath to cease her searching. She would have a hard enough time if her arm injury was as severe as she feared. If she could just make Sir Talon believe her. That was impossible without the marriage box. So no matter what he threatened, no matter her injuries, she would find the box or die trying.
• • •
His first thought on seeing Larkin in the rubble of the broken wall had been to pray she was still alive. When that prayer had been answered, he prayed that her injuries were slight. She had indeed been lucky. However, when he’d seen the gold spilling from her apron, he’d chastised himself for a fool. He had no business being soft where this woman was concerned.
Talon trudged down the stairs to the solar where Larkin was cleaning today. On the chance that she told the truth about how her accident happened, he’d gone back to the counting room and examined the entire space. He’d found a burned spot in the rushes below the sconce where the end of a recently extinguished torch might have lain. The rushes near the doorway seemed disturbed, but any number of things could cause that. However, the scorch marks supported Larkin’s tale, if nothing else did. He could not condemn her when she might not be lying.
He paused in the doorway of the solar and watched her. She seemed as diligent in her assigned task as she’d been in searching the keep. But working hard did not make her honest.
She swiped one-handed at the sweat that trickled down her neck and below her bodice. Her left hand was useless, being heavily splinted to protect it while her sprain healed. She tugged open the laces at the front of her gown and fanned herself with the loosened cloth.
Talon was oddly proud of her. After three days’ work, the solar was nearly clean. She’d done the work one-handed and alone. The odor permeating the keep was better, so he knew she had removed every trace of offal. However, ’twas nothing like the May meadow he’d demanded. The entire building needed cleaning on a daily basis. Cleve had not been able to convince any of the village women to enter the keep. Even clever Larkin would not be able to keep up on her own. He must get her help but not too much. He wanted her so busy she had no time to search for any marriage box.
He’d told her not to search the keep on her oath, but he’d neglected to get that oath from her lips. Given what he’d found in the counting room, should he force the issue or risk her continued searching? If she told the truth about her accident, it was possible someone did not want her prying about Hawksedge. She’d had as much success finding the marriage box as she had cleaning the entire keep on her own. But who knew what secrets the earl had hidden about? If her searching threatened those secrets, she could be in danger. He would have to keep closer watch on her.
He continued to observe unnoticed. She inhaled deeply and held her breath. Then she bent and gathered a bundle of sodden, mold-scented rushes into one arm. Did she hate getting anywhere near the stuff as much as he did? About to drop the mass into the tub used to transport the filthy reeds to the bailey, she gave a surprised shriek and dropped her load, scattering moldy straw across the nearly clean floor of the solar.
“Nooo!” She gave an anguished cry and began to jump about like a madwoman. “Get thee gone, you hideous beast.”
Talon frowned and glanced back over his shoulder. No one else was in sight, so she could only be speaking to him. He could swear she had not looked in his direction, and he was certain he was not hideous.
She slapped at her breast. “Nay! Get off me.” She screamed and grabbed the gaping material at the top of her gown and shook it violently. She stared down her front, as if she expected the cloth to object to her harsh treatment. “Argh.”
A moment later, she began to beat herself about the thighs. She twisted and turned as she struck wildly.
Talon gaped at her antics. Mayhap she suffered an injury to her brain from the broken wall, and the injury had gone untreated. No matter what the cause, he could not allow her to hurt herself more.
He charged into the room, lifted her from the floor, tossed her onto the bed, and pinned her writhing limbs beneath his body.
“Ugh. Get it off me,” she screamed, while pulling her arms free.
His brow tightened, he stared down at her.
“Remove it, please. I cannot stand it. That thing might be crawling under my skirts now. I beg you.” She pitched her head from side to side and thrashed her legs.
He captured her hands before she could harm herself. “Calm down,” he ordered. “I can do naught while you shout and move thus.”
She froze beneath him, though her chest still heaved and her lips trembled. The feel of her warm torso beneath him caused his body to harden most inconveniently. Now was not the time for sexual advances. He told himself to focus on the problem at hand.
“Tell me what tortures you.”
“A spider,” she blurted. “A great wooly beast of a spider as long as my finger. It leapt on me from the rushes and hides in the folds of my skirt.”
Talon smiled and smoothed the hair from her face. “Is that all? Lie still, and I will find your spider for you.”
She bit her lip and stiffened.
Talon released her arms and sat up. Her obvious discomfort and fear cooled his desire. Gingerly, he patted at her long tunic from waist to ankles. To preserve her modesty, he did his best to keep his touch firm and impersonal. When that netted nothing, he began to carefully spread the folds of her skirt apart.
“There’s the beastie.” With a lightning-swift move, he scooped the eight-legged creature into one palm, covering it with his other hand.
“Where?” Larkin raised herself onto her elbows and peered at Talon. The movement forced her gaping laces farther apart.
His gaze fixed on her breasts; he licked his lips and swallowed.
