Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 162269 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 541(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162269 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 811(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 541(@300wpm)
“We can have a transport created for you, so you can command a horse, but it will be low, so you can get yourself in it and out of it. Or, say, wheel your chair in it and lock it in place.”
“Bronagh—”
“And you can stand fine, with your sticks, so if you were to take a wife, you could meet her at the altar upright, if that means so much to you. Though I don’t know why you wouldn’t just meet her in your chair. She would be marrying you, not your legs.”
Marrying you, not your legs.
His chest started to warm.
“I—”
“I have seen injuries less than yours, I have seen injuries worse than yours, a good deal worse,” she continued. “And far too many of them. So do not ask me what war means. What god or king causes man to do what man does to man for the sake of anything. All I know is it happens and forces all manner of men to do different, but no less heroic things. Those being, discover reasons to find ways to live their life to the fullest, no matter what became of their person. And then go about living life to its fullest.”
She stood after saying these words and came to Alfie’s chair.
With no choice but to tip his head back when she arrived, she bent to him the instant he did.
Her face so close, her so close, he could smell her perfume.
Something he had scented often and something, from the beginning, he had adored.
She smelled of green grass and mossy woods and flowers.
Gods dammit.
His cock stirred.
“And now that you are asking these questions, my champion,” she whispered, placing a hand on his chest. “I will stop pussyfooting about and tell it to you true. I want to be part of the new meaning to your life because I think you’re marvelous. And I don’t care one whit about your legs.”
And with that, she pressed her lips to his.
Her there, her scent, her words, her spirit, the time spent in her company, the vision of her burned in his brain, on his heart, Alfie did not fight his hands reaching to her, his fingers sifting into her hair, holding her head to him, or the very ungentlemanly act of touching his tongue to her lips, insisting they open.
On a sweet mew, she gave him this, and if all had not been lost before—when he had to admit it was—it was lost then, he was lost, when he had her taste.
He was lost to anything but deepening the kiss, angling his head to do so, drinking more.
More of Bronagh.
More of her spirit and sweetness.
More of life.
When his body had responded to the point he’d desire to take the kiss somewhere else, he broke his mouth from hers and whispered against her lips, “We must stop.”
“Hmm?” she hummed dazedly, and he felt her weight in her hand at his chest.
He grinned against her mouth and watched as her eyes slowly opened.
That was life too.
“I’ll take dinner with you tonight, honey,” he murmured. “And vol-au-vents filled with stew for lunch tomorrow.”
She snapped into focus and gifted him with relief and excitement filling her eyes before they got wet.
He pressed his mouth to hers and pulled away, saying, “Now we must change for dinner.”
She suddenly shot straight, he lost the feel of her hair, but she gained it as she smoothed it, then smoothed her skirts at her front, and said nonsensically, “Yes, quite.”
“Yes, quite, what?” he asked, unable to remove the teasing thread of his tone.
“Yes, quite, I shall meet you at your chambers to go with you to dinner and…and arrange for us to go on an outing tomorrow.”
“Please allow me,” he murmured.
“Of course.” She touched her throat and her eyes grew somewhat wild.
In turn, he grew concerned he’d been too forward.
“Have you not been kissed, Bronagh?” he asked gently.
“I, yes, well…” She smoothed her hair again. “Well, yes, but not like that.”
He fought his grin.
“You’re very pleased with yourself, Alfie Henriksson,” she snapped when she saw his struggle.
“I am, indeed, very pleased, Bronagh.”
She huffed.
He chuckled.
She stared.
He took her hand.
“Thank you,” he said softly.
She grew adorably awkward again.
“My pleasure,” she mumbled.
“I do not know how to—” he began.
Her hand twisted so she could hold his fingers in hers tightly. “We will find our way.”
Alfie nodded. “Dinner, honey.”
“Oh, right.”
He smiled at her again, squeezed her hand and then let her go.
She hesitated, rubbing her lips together while gazing down at him, then nodded and began to move away.
When he lost sight of her, he looked to the fire.
“Alfie?” she called.
He twisted to look at her around his chair.
She was at the door, her hand on the latch.
“You’ve made me very happy,” she said.
And then she rushed out the door.
Alfie stared at it for some time after it was shut.