Destined for a King by Ashlyn Macnamara Read Free Book Online

a spot on his nose. “I don’t suppose so.”
    “Send Kestrel along if you must. Or at least inform him of the plans, and he can decide. But I swear on all the gods, I will do no more than dose him with willow bark and do my best to break the fever.”
    “All…all right.”
    Thank the gods. “Now off with you. But hand me that mug first.”
    Tamsin dropped a curtsey that set her chest to jiggling. Owl’s eyes nearly popped out of his head before glazing over as if he’d caught Torch’s fever. “Thank you, Tamsin,” she muttered. “Next harvest festival, I’ll give you the entire three days off to attend.”
    “Aye, me lady.”
    The door closed behind them, and Calista let out a breath. With Owl’s brooding presence gone, she felt lighter already. Torch seemed to have mistaken her for a pillow. She nudged him, but his head merely swayed before coming to settle on her shoulder once more. One of his hands came to rest on her thigh. At least, should he start in with his suggestive ravings, whatever he said would remain between the pair of them.
    This would never do. She shifted, slipping her shoulder from beneath him, and inched one arm behind his neck. Pressing forward, she eased him back against the pillows and brought the cup to his lips. Carefully. Just enough to moisten.
    He muttered, and she yanked the infusion away—just in time, for he shook his head. “Nasty.”
    “I know it’s bitter, but you must drink this. Otherwise I’ll be forced to bathe you in cold water to bring down your fever.”
    His eyes fluttered open. “I should rather have the bath if you’re to be the one who gives it.”
    And why should he sound so lucid at a time like this, when his flesh still burned and his eyes remained glazed with illness?
    She pressed her lips together. “My method involves a great deal less trouble and mess.”
    “Getting messy with someone when it involves no clothes…Hmm…” Somewhere he found the energy for a wicked grin. “You ought to give it a try sometime.”
    “Not when you’re sick.”
    “Does that mean you’re willing to try once I’m well?” Damn it, he sounded more coherent by the moment. “I’ll have some of that, please.”
    She proffered the cup. He raised a hand to take it from her, but she preferred to keep control. She wouldn’t put it past him to spill the contents all over the bed—thus requiring not only a change of sheets, but a bath as well. And she’d just sent Tamsin off.
    “Easy. Just a sip.”
    Holding her gaze as if she were feeding him wine and sweetmeats, he obeyed. “That stuff would be a sight better if you put it in something other than water. I’d wager ale would disguise the taste.”
    “I don’t know how ale would affect the healing properties.”
    “You could try it and see if it worked. Stuff’s undrinkable as it stands.”
    “You’ll need to finish this if it’s to do you any good.”
    “You healers, all alike. Why you can’t invent potions and tinctures and what all that actually taste pleasant? You’d think the worse something tastes the more beneficial it is.”
    She pressed the cup on him again. “I need you to get better. For my father’s sake.”
    He took another swallow, a larger one, and grimaced. “I need me to get better for my own sake. And yours.”
    “Why do you insist on wedding me?” Although she thought she knew. If he wished to provoke Magnus, stealing a bride out from under him was an excellent choice.
    He placed his hand over hers, his fingers curling about the contour of the cup. “Are you so set on your current betrothal, then?”
    “If I told you yes, would you relent?”
    The beginnings of a smile faded from his lips. “No. I never relent. But if you would resolve yourself to this match it would go easier on you.”
    “Resolve,” she echoed. Her mother wanted her to hold him off, but when he pronounced the word with such intensity…He said he wouldn’t relent, and she believed him.
    “I’ve never yet