Page 62 of Entrancing the Earl
Holding a lamp closer, she forced herself to look away from his naked chest and explore the more likely places for bee stings, like his hands and wrists.
And there they were, two swelling welts on his battered fists.
Twenty-four
Sun-drenchedmarble met the golden sand. In the distance, azure waves lapped. Was that a palm tree? A siren’s song called. Gerard climbed over the ancient ruins...
Blood dripped from the columns, sinking into the pitted surfaces and staining them crimson.
“I need honey frommyhive.” Frustration tinted the siren’s voice.
Gerard tried to locate the source but struggled against the murky water closing over his head.
“We can telegraph them, of course, but it will still take a day or two to ship it here. It will be simpler to take him back to Wystan.”
Winifred? His aunt was in Italy? Why? Her son! Right, her son needed a sunny clime.
He dived under the water again. Why was he in the water?
“The books recommend inhaling cannabis or lobelia fumes for lung disorders.”
Rainford? Was that Rain out there?
“The books are written by dolts who recommend coffee for insomnia. It’s a bloody bee sting.”Dare.
Then he wasn’t in Italy? On what golden shore did Roman ruins exist in England?
He tried to speak, but his throat closed up, and he heard only a raspy breath.
“He’s coming around!”
Iona. That was definitely Iona, not a siren. Still, a vision of a goddess wrapped in white linen swam through his watery vision.
“My mother’s herbal agrees with Lady Iona,” Dare’s voice continued. “Honey is the best cure if he’s sensitive to stings. He’s not feverish any longer, so this jar is working.”
“Gerard?” Iona’s voice coaxed him back to the surface.
“Don’t wake him until I check this wound.”
Pain shot through his head, and he sank below the waters again.
When he woke next, his head throbbed, his eyes seemed swollen shut, and his shoulder needed to be hacked off before he could move.
“Our healing abilities are helping,” Winifred said soothingly. “The earl is still breathing, and that’s what matters.”
“I almost killed him.”
Iona sounded so mournful, he wanted to reach for her, but he couldn’t move.
“His own blockheadedness did that,” Winifred said with scorn and affection. “He had no business entering that den of thieves.”
“He wanted to protect us from Mortimer. We would have been fine once I married Mr. White. Mortimer couldn’t have touched us then.”
“Blockheaded,” Winifred repeated emphatically. “Ives are like that.”
Gerard wanted to laugh but could only manage a hoarse rattle. He was still an Ives in her eyes, then, not an insane Malcolm who knew things he shouldn’t.
A small, cool hand caressed his brow, and the scent of roses wafted around him. He desperately needed to open his eyes but they wouldn’t cooperate.
