Lord Grim's Witch (a medieval romance novelette) by Delilah Devlin Read Free Book Online Page A

mouth. “Turn slowly, so that I can see every inch of your skin.”
    “Every inch is right here,” he taunted, stroking himself again.
    “You know damn well what I mean. Turn so that I can inspect you for more scratches.”
    His hand dropped from his cock, and he gave an exaggerated sigh. “Wouldn’t you know, the woman prefers to gaze upon backsides.”
    He was right. His was perfect—rounded and hard. She remembered grasping both globes in her hands and squeezing with all her might as he’d rutted against her. She cleared her throat. “I see nothing of interest. You may turn around.”
    “You sound as though you’ve swallowed a frog.”
    Ignoring his taunt, she ground out, “Lie down on the bed. I have a salve I’ll rub into your wounds.”
    “Shall I dress?”
    She halted and stared at him. The prudent thing would be to tell him to put on his trousers, but it had been an odd night all the way around, and she wasn’t her usual stern self at all. With ruthless honesty, she admitted to herself that she wanted to gaze upon his naked form, and perhaps touch him intimately. “Please don’t,” she said softly.
    All trace of arrogant humor bled from his expression. Quietly, he strode toward the bed and lay down on it, his cock pointing toward the ceiling.
    She gathered a crock of ointment and a bundle of herbs and crossed the room, settling beside him. “I’m going to make a poultice and rub it into your wounds. Then I’ll place my hands over the scratches and let them heat the medicine. Afterward, I’ll wrap it.”
    “Will this save me, mistress?” he asked, his tone light, but his gaze almost pleading.
    “Gisele,” she whispered.
    “Will this save me…Gisele?”
    When he wasn’t being clever, his voice had a pleasant rasp. She hadn’t noticed that before. “It is only part of the cure.”
    “What else must you do?”
    “It is what you must do that is most important.”
    “What is that?”
    She lifted her fingers and brushed back a lock of hair from his forehead, not questioning the appropriateness of the tender gesture. “Believe that you’ll be cured.”
    “You didn’t see the beast,” he said, anguish slipping into his voice. “You ask me to have faith that will not happen to me, and I tell you I don’t think I can.”
    “Then believe in me. Believe in Lord Grim… Believe in God. It’s up to you whether you let the demon take up residence in your soul.”
    His gaze fell away. “I’m not a coward.”
    She removed the lid to the crock that held a healing cream and set it aside. “I know that.”
    “But I’m afraid of dying like that—like a maddened beast.”
    “Fear will rob your soul of faith.” She poured herbs onto her palm and crumbled them between her hands, letting them fall into the crock.
    “This might be my last day on this Earth.”
    Gisele stirred the ointment with her fingers then slathered a dollop of it over the angry red scratches.
    He winced but gave no protest as she smoothed it over the wounds.
    “Don’t be afraid,” she whispered. “My hands will become very warm, but I promise you will not be burned.”
    His gaze snapped back to hers as she laid her palms over the stripes and leaned her weight into his shoulder. Already, she felt the heat flowing from her heart, through her arms to her palms.
    Air hissed between his teeth, but he didn’t draw away. His gaze remained fixed on her face.
    When her palms began to cool, she removed them and quickly wrapped his shoulder with linen bandages.
    “You are a wonder, mistress.” His gaze slid away and a faint smile curved his lips. “As I started to say, this might be my last day on this Earth…”
    She suppressed a grin, knowing he was already recovering his mischievous humor. “Since it might be your last, do you have any special requests?”
    His eyelids dipped, and his gaze focused on her mouth. “Did he kiss you?”
    She started and thought back. “No, we were in rather a hurry.”
    “I would never be