Bound to the Warrior by Barbara Phinney

Author:Barbara Phinney
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2012-11-13T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

After bidding good day to Adrien, Ediva entered her solar and sagged against the door. She was coming to care for her husband far more than she had ever intended. She swallowed to relieve her dry throat. But with the heat and the tightness within her belly, she strode to her pitcher set and poured some weak juice Margaret had left for her.

She drank deeply. Still, it did not soothe her throat.

In fact, heat and dizziness surged into her head and she fought to keep the room from spinning around her. Staggering to the bed, she gasped. Pain shot through her belly and she curled like a newborn atop the furs.

Then, with telltale tingling at the back of her mouth, she realized the worst. She rolled over quickly and pulled out the pot from under her bed before retching into it.

When she could, she rolled over and shut her eyes. Oh, she hadn’t felt this sick for a long time. The day before her first set of nuptials she’d retched with anxiety, but ’twas different now.

After lying on her bed for a while, she tried to sit up. That being successful, she stood tenderly and took a mouthful of the juice again. This time, it stayed. Uneasily.

She pulled off her outer tunic and fell upon the bed again. The room took up its spinning again. But as she closed her eyes to the terrible sensation, her thoughts turned to Adrien. Then darkness floated over her and stole the spinning room from her vision.

* * *

“She’s waking, Lord Adrien.”

Movement around her. Ediva forced open her eyes and found her solar dim and quiet. Her hair fell across her face, and a rough hand swept it back, causing a streak of pain to slash through her. She tried to speak, but her mouth felt glued shut with dryness.

Her attention shifted. Her maid took a cool cloth to her face, gently dabbing her chapped lips.

“Thirsty,” she whispered.

Her maid hurried to the ewer and poured a small amount into a cup. Ediva grabbed it and drank deeply, but the relief was short-lived. “More.”

“Nay,” a male voice beside her said. She turned, finding herself in Adrien’s thick arms. He shook his head. “Too much will only make you sick again.”

“I was only sick once. I feel better now.”

Her maid gasped. Adrien tossed a sharp look of reprimand at her. “Nay,” he answered softly. “You have been sick many times these past few days.”

“Days?” She blinked. The sun had set, though the windows were unshuttered. “How many?”

“Five. We weren’t sure you’d even awaken, but Margaret was able to get some herb broth from the midwife into your belly.”

She tried to sit up but was punished with more pain. “My head.”

Adrien helped her. “A headache. ’Tis not good to go so long without drinking.”

Her maid fluffed the pillows behind her back and Adrien eased her against them. She touched the pillow with her hand, finding that her fleece pillow had been replaced with several feather ones.

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