Page 63 of The Texan Duke
Was the duchess going to get a tearful visit from one of the villagers tomorrow along with a confession? The more time elapsed, the more she wanted to think that it had been a horrible mistake. Of course no one had deliberately tried to harm Connor.
Except that she thought that might be a naive assumption. After all, he was going to change everything by selling Bealadair.
She made her way back to Connor’s side. His hand had slipped away from the wound and it was bleeding profusely.
“You have to stand up,” she said. “I can help you get to your horse, but I can’t make you stand up. Please, Connor.”
His eyes fluttered open.
“Kiss me again, Elsbeth.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“That kiss was not long enough.”
“You’re feverish,” she said.
“I’m not.”
“You’ve been wounded.”
“I have at that. That’s why you should kiss me again.”
“Your Grace.”
“Even that doesn’t sound as terrible uttered by those luscious lips of yours.”
“Connor!”
“Kiss me, Elsbeth.”
“If you’ll stand up,” she said in desperation, “I’ll kiss you.”
“You promise?”
She nodded.
“Do you ever break your promises?”
“Never,” she said.
“Never?”
“Why do you ask me questions if you don’t want to hear my answers? Or don’t believe them?”
“You’re very fiery. Are all Scottish women fiery? You remind me of a Texan.”
He was not moving to stand and if he didn’t do so quickly, she was very much afraid he would be too weak.
She moved to his left side, grabbed his arm, and began to pull.
“You have to stand, Connor. If you want that kiss, you have to make it to your horse.”
Blood was seeping over his shirt down to the waistband of his trousers. He wasn’t cooperating, and her fear gave her a strength she didn’t know she had. She nearly pulled him upright all by herself.
He leaned on her heavily as they made their way to Samson.
“My hat,” he said.
