The pummeling force of dirt and rocks tumbling over her.
Truthfully, she was lucky to have escaped with only aconcussed head, a sprained ankle, and what felt to be an impressive collection of bruises.
A sound had her turning her head in time to see a maid slip from the room.
In a mere blink, Alis took the girl’s place, the bedchamber door ajar for propriety’s sake. Had he set a watch upon her?
“Good morning,” he said, a smile on his lips and warmth in his eyes.
Chrissi remembered that warmth well. Like everything else about him, it evoked their months together and a thousand exchanged glances.
It didn’t help that he looked more like her Alis this morning—hair still damp around the edges from a bath, cravat slightly loose, coat unbuttoned.
She stared.
He sank into the chair at her side.
“How are ye feeling, lass? As poorly as last night?”
Wincing, she struggled into a sitting position.
“My ankle pains me yet. And...” She paused, surveying her body. “. . . my head aches and perhaps my ribs?”
Why it came out a question, she couldn’t say.
“Would ye like more laudanum?”
“No.” That answer was simple enough. “The pain is bearable for now.”
“Excellent.” His grin was far too open and charming for Chrissi’s peace of mind.
It lit a fluttery flame in her chest that she valiantly attempted to smother.
“How fares the excavation site?” she asked, changing the topic. “Was anyone else hurt?”
“Nae. My men are building scaffolding at the moment to shore up the entrance channel to the tunnel. We don’t want any more accidents.”
They both turned as a maid entered bearing a tray of breakfast fare. The scent of baked bread, sausage, and coffee filled the room.
Leaping up, Alis took the tray from the girl with a nod of dismissal.
And then he busied himself with ensuring Chrissi was comfortable. He set the breakfast tray on the counterpane beside her hip and elevated her sore ankle atop a cushion. He adjusted and fluffed the pillows at her back.
And with each kindness, each accidental brush of his hand, each lungful of his cologne...Chrissi felt herself tensing and resisting the depths of his care. Terrified to sink into the comfort of being cherished and treasured.
It was simply too much—a bellows fanning the flame of her love into a roaring conflagration.
She simply couldn’t do this...to risk placing her heart into his hands once more.
Fear tightened her chest.
And so, when Alis returned to his chair, gesturing at her to eat, Chrissi merely stared helplessly at him instead.
“Eat, lass,” he said on a laugh, pointing to the tray. “I won’t be accused of starving ye.”
It was such anAlisthing to say and so she loosed the thought.
“That is such anAlisthing to say.”
