She entered the doorway and gave a sharp cry as a hand grasped her upper arm and pulled her inside. The tray bobbled in her hands as she recognized Thornton, bare-chested and imposing.
He leaned against the wall, standing on one leg and bracing himself with the palm of his hand. His whole body trembled as he looked down at her. She realized how truly tall he was, how easily he could overpower her if he chose. In the growing evening darkness, perspiration glistened on his face.
“My leg is broken, isn’t it?” he whispered.
His big hand slid behind her head to tilt her face up to him, and Roselyn caught her breath on a gasp at the shock that went through her.
“I must leave here.” His whisper was almost a hiss. “It’s been five days! I’ve never been so incapacitated. I’m sorry…the word means—”
“I know what it means,” she said coldly.
He held her still, his fingers spread across her skull, his eyes delving into hers. “Yes…” he said softly, “I can see that you do. You’re not a typical country maid.”
“And six days have now passed.”
“Six days? I cannot even keep track of such a simple thing!” His mouth turned up in a grim laugh. “I don’t even know whose clothes I’m wearing, or how I got into them.”
“I helped you.”
His gaze focused on her again, and she felt herself tremble as it dipped to her mouth.
“You are quite the nursemaid,” he murmured.
For a moment Roselyn could only remember lying beneath him on the cliffs, his hand just below her breast. Suddenly she couldn’t bear to be near him, because it only made her remember that their fathers had tried to force this intimacy on them. “Please let me set the tray down.”
He released her at once, and she placed the tray on the ground.
“You need to lie down. You’re not strong enough to be about.”
Again, he laughed with little humor. “But you’re strong, aren’t you? I must have been dead weight when you…disrobed me.”
She felt a blush steal across her features and thanked God the sun had set so Thornton couldn’t see. She could barely admit to herself that she’d studied his nakedness as if she’d never seen a man before.
“If you saw everything,” he continued, the quirk in his mouth dying, “was I wearing a pouch strapped to my chest?”
“No.”
She didn’t hesitate to withhold the truth, even though she saw the brief look of despair in his eyes. She had forgotten all about the pouch, and hoped it was still buried in the grass beneath him. She needed to examine it before she gave it back to him, to determine if he was a spy.
She put her arm around his back, and he half hopped, half dragged himself to the stool.
Thornton had already wandered away once—he had almost done so again. What if he told people she was caring for him? Her parents could discover where she was, and make her leave the only place she’d ever felt safe.
Roselyn took a deep breath. “This arrangement isn’t working out.”
“Arrangement?” His black eyebrows rose. “You sound as if I’m renting lodgings from you.”
“I’m sorry, but it’s getting too hard to keep running down here. I’m the village baker, and I have duties I can no longer neglect. You need to come home with me where I can better care for you.” And she could retrieve the pouch.
But she felt heat suffuse her body at the thought of having him alone in her cottage. She vividly remembered the feel of his leg between hers. What was wrong with her?
“You should eat, regain your strength a bit, and then we’ll go.”
“Now?”
“We cannot go during the day; someone might see you.”
He questioned her no more, just looked thoughtful as he ate his meat pie. After lighting the lantern, she felt that watching him eat was suddenly too intimate, so she glanced out the window.
