He gives her a quick, amused glance and nods respectfully. “Aye. I can have one of the lads pull the jeep up closer, I can get it to the rocks over there.” He points to a nearby rock outcropping and heads off to make the calls.
Swooping my wife back up in my arms, I head for the rocks. “I can walk,” she mumbles, her face half-buried in the blanket.
“Walking on that ankle?” I scoff, “It’s the size of a watermelon. I’ve got you.”
“You do have huge muscles,” she sighs, “probably from dragging dead bodies into thelime pit.”
“Ah, ya’ keep coming back to that night, do you?” I’m unaccountably pleased by this.
“Just the charming bit about there being more room in the lime pit for me. So inspiring,” she snaps. She suddenly seems to remember that I just rescued her and takes a deep breath. “Thank you for finding me. Please tell your guards that I appreciate their time.”
Her graciousness - especially at a moment like this - makes me smile. I can’t imagine another woman thinking to thank my men.
By the time I’ve carried her over to the meeting point, the jeep is there, waiting for us. Lifting her into the back, I strap her into her seatbelt, keeping her wrapped in her blanket like a burrito.
A luscious burrito.
How can this bloody woman be so beautiful? She’s fallen into a ravine and spent the night buried under pine needles and moss and I still want to rail her into oblivion.
It takes us less than fifteen minutes to make it back to the lodge and I can see how indignant she is. “I was this close?”
“Aye, but you were doin’ a lot of back and forth, dodging my soldiers,” I say supportively, which she doesn’t seem to appreciate.
Carrying her up into her room and setting her on the bathroom counter, I roll up my sleeves and start the tub. “This is Sorcha’s bedroom when she visits here, I think it’s been years. But I do know she had a lot of girlie shite like bath salts and bubbles.” Grinning at her suggestively, I ask, “Would you like a bubble bath?”
“I can do that for myself,” she says stubbornly, pulling the blanket tighter.
“Not with that ankle,” I remind her before unwrapping her from her woolen armor. “Do you need to pee before I get ya’ in the tub?”
She looks as excited by this plan as a toddler with a plate full of brussels sprouts. “You’re not putting me in the tub! If you would just please leave, I’ll handle it.”
Yelping as I pull off her filthy jeans, she tries to bat my hands away as I move to her torn shirt. “You’re getting in the tub, I am going to bathe you and then we’re wrapping up that ankle. These three things will happen. You may decide if a toilet stop is needed first.”
“Stop talking about me going to thecludgie!”Isla moans, “You’re unnatural.”
“Is that a no?”
Her expression twists with warring between her outrage and, I suspect, a genuine need to pee.
“Fine,” she snarls, “if you could please leave for a moment, I’ll-”
Lifting her and carrying her over to the toilet, I let her pull off her panties before seating her. We stand there, staring at each other until she breaks.
“Go away! I can’t do this with you standing there like a creep!”
“Very well,” I smile graciously, “I’ll be back when I hear the toilet flush.”
She’s bent over with her face in her hands as I leave, whistling cheerfully. Torturing my wife is becoming one of my favorite hobbies.
Once I hear the flush, I’m back in the bathroom to find Isla trying to hobble over to the tub. “You’re so intent on refusing help that you’re willing to break the other foot? Put your hands on my shoulders.”
She’s struggling, the stubborn little Bessie. Here she is, all beat up and still, she doesn’t want to accept help. I wonder if she’s this obstinate with her family, or just with me? Still, she holds on to me with one hand, swiftly stripping off her underwear.
“Don’t look!”
“Ya’ think you’re the first naked lass I’ve laid eyes on?” I laugh, and her lips pull back, baring her teeth like she wants to bite a chunk out of my arm. “My eyes will focus on your lovely face only.” After lifting her into the bath, I roll up my sleeves. “How is the water? Too hot? Not warm enough?”
Isla’s resting against the back of the tub, eyes closed. “It’s perfect.” One eye opens, “You’re not looking at me, right?”
