Her Scottish Rogue by Carol A. Spradling

Author:Carol A. Spradling
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, regency, scottish, historical, series, rogues, English, 1800, 17th century, sweet, medieval, British, mystery
Publisher: Carol A. Spradling
Published: 2015-04-23T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Beck led Baron into the kitchen as Wren directed them where to sit. She set a kettle of water on the hearth and readied ointment and linens. Beck didn't know which was worse to bear, her mumbling about their being muddle-brained and childlike, or the accusing glowers she shot their way while she worked. The cracked ribs he was sure he had didn't hurt half as much as her irritated disposition.

"What were you thinking?" she growled. "You're both grown men, and you behave like you spent the night in a tavern."

Beck exchanged an amused glance with Baron. She was right, but they'd entered the stables as rivals and left as friends. From the way she banged dishes, that point was irrelevant. Maybe she was concerned that his black eye and facial wounds would fail to impress royalty. The prince's ball was only two weeks away.

She slammed a stack of linens and a pot of salve on the table. Both men jumped at the noise. The next time Beck was being cantankerous, he hoped she wouldn't keep this ruffian tactic in mind while she treated his wounds. A good smack on the side of his head would be a better reminder for him to think more clearly than her rampage.

Water steamed in a large bowl as she set it next to her supplies. Her jaw clenched, and she kept her eyes diverted to her actions. Maybe their injuries weren't as serious as she thought, not that it would lessen her irritation with them. She shoved her sleeves up her arm, and Beck tried not to laugh. She turned on him, her glare ferocious. Apparently, his amusement shown on his face regardless of his attempt to stifle it. She stepped close and lowered her face to his. He wasn't sure if she inspected his damage or refueled her rant. From the way she huffed her breath, it could be both.

"Your cheek is red, and your eye will be black by morning," she said. Turning her gaze from his, she listed his hurts as though she constructed a shopping list. "With any luck, your face won't swell and compromise your vision. Your lip is split, but, amazingly, you've kept all of your teeth." She finally looked him in the eye, and amusement flickered across her face. "But I suppose you know that, aye?" she said, her voice condescending.

His chest lightened with her apology. He smiled, but winced when he reopened the cut on his mouth. Her chuckle eased his discomfort. She may try to sound angry, but her resolve was weakening. She had forgiven him for his childish behavior.

"I'll try not to make a sucking or smacking sound when I eat," Beck assured her with a wink.

He reached for her face, but she caught his hand in hers. Instead of caressing his touch, she pressed each bone, knuckle, and muscle. She did know the pads of her fingers weren't supposed to touch while she examined him, didn't she?

He stretched and wiggled his fingers, hoping to assure her that nothing was broken.

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