“Knife.” Bull managed past a tight jaw. “B-Boot.”
He wanted her to use a knife? Oh! Therewasa knife, tucked into the top of his boot! Well, that was most helpful. She pulled it free gratefully and began to saw at the laces.
First one boot, then the other, were thrown into the corner. They might be ruined, which would be a pity indeed, but she had more important things to worry about.
“Come on, now,” she urged, pulling on Bull’s shoulders and urging him upright. “We need to...get this…” She struggled to pull his jacket down his arms. “Offyou. Excellent.” The jacket landed atop the boots.
Rosie had no memory of the time when her brother was a bairn. It was possible that at some point during those years, she’d helped her mother or the nursemaids undress Beavis, whom she only recalled as being a loud little red faced arsehole. If she everhadhelped, that would have been her only other experience undressing a male.
Bull was…understandably different.
For one thing, he was full grown.
For another, he was soaking wet, kneeling as close to the roaring fire as he could get without clambering over the logs.
And for another, she was quite fond of him, which was a simplistic phrase to describe her true feelings. But thatfull grownaspect she’d originally mentioned became quite obvious—and quite distracting—as she removed more and more clothing.
The buttons on his shirt, frozen to the fabric, were lost to the knife in their turn. When his naked skin was revealed to the warmth of the fire, they both shuddered, him likely from relief.
And Rosie?
She couldn’t stop staring. Even as she tried to keep her movements brisk and efficient, she couldn’t help but stare at the array of scars and marks—and was that a tattoo?—which covered his skin. Her fingers traced a puckered mark on his shoulder, even as she helped lift him upright.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, his head falling forward. “Heavy…help ye…”
“Oh, shut up, Bull.” Rosie was feeling remarkably out of sorts, which was why she snapped at him. “We just need to keep you alive for now, yes?”
His snort might’ve been a laugh, which eased the tension in her chest a little. Together they managed to get him upright, and her hands only shook a little—a lot, you liar—as she reached to unbutton his trousers.
“Rose—” His hand covered hers, and she glanced up at his pinched face.
“Forget propriety, you cockleheaded wombleberry. You need to be warm.” She whirled about, grabbed a cup of the hot tea the maids had left, and thrust it into his hands. “Here. Drink that. Now.”
“Aye-aye, gen-general,” he managed, trying not to spill as he lifted the cup.
She used his distraction to unbutton his trousers and slide them down his legs, definitely not thinking about the muscular shivering thighs she had just unveiled. Rosie supported him at the hips as he kicked the fabric aside, then reached for the fluffiest towel in the pile.
By the time Bull had finished his second cup of tea and she’d dried his hair and body with the towels, wrapping another one around his waist—hadn’tthatbeen embarrassing,to help him strip off his smalls before he’d settled down to sit on the bed?—his violent shivering had eased and his eyes were peacefully closed.
Rosie glanced at the tray of food, but decided his body likely needed the rest more. Outside large flakes of snow had begun to fall in the darkness, and she frowned in concentration. What did she need to do for him next?
Her entire life, she’d been taken care of.
First at Endymion, then at school or the London townhouse. Even when she visited Merida, it had been her older cousin leading her around the city.
Here and now, though?
Rosie had done what needed to be done, and she would continue to do so. She might have been taken care of for the first twenty-one years of her existence, but she wasn’t useless. She wasn’t helpless. She was going to take care of him.
Nodding emphatically, she brushed Bull’s hair back from his forehead. “Give me that,” she murmured, taking the empty cup from his limp fingers and nudging him back. “Lie down, Bull.”
He made a weak protest, those gray eyes opening just enough to watch her lift his bare legs onto the mattress, but she hushed him again.
“Here, roll just a bit—there.” She pulled back the blankets and tucked them around him. “I will go ask for a hot brick?—”
“Nay.” He snagged her hand, his eyes already half-lidded once more. “Dinnae—dinnae leave me.”
Slowly Rosie’s smile bloomed, and she squeezed his hand. “Never, Bull,” she vowed in a whisper.
