He sagged forward and more blood seeped between the stitches. Working quickly, she wound the strips tightly around his midsection until she was satisfied that everything would stay as she’d positioned it.

Then she eased him gently back to the floor until his head rested on one of the small pillows. She smoothed the hair from his brow and fingered the braid that hung from his temple.

Drawn by the beauty of his face, she ran her finger over his cheekbone and to his jaw. He truly was a beautiful man. Perfectly formed and fashioned. A strong warrior honed by the fires of battle.

She wondered about the color of his eyes. Blue, she speculated. With that dark hair, blue would be mesmerizing, but it was just as likely they were brown.

As if deciding to answer her unspoken question, his eyelids flipped open. His stare was unfocused, but she was mesmerized by the pale green orbs surrounded by dark lashes that only added to his beauty.

Beauty. Clearly she needed to come up with a better term. He would be mortally offended by a woman calling him beautiful. Handsome. Aye. But handsome didn’t begin to aptly describe the warrior.

“Angel,” he croaked out. “I’ve gone to heaven, aye. ’Tis the only explanation for beauty such as this.”

She felt a prick of pleasure until she remembered that just earlier he was likening her to hell. With a sigh she smoothed her hand over the warrior’s unshaven chin. The bristle abraded her palm and she briefly wondered what it would feel like on other parts of her body.

Then she promptly blushed and pushed the sinful thoughts from her mind.

“Nay, warrior. ’Tis not heaven you’ve found. You’re still of this world, although you might be feeling as though you’ve been gripped by the fires of hell.”

“ ’Tis not possible for an angel such as you to reside in the bowels of hell,” he said in a slurred voice.

She smiled and soothed her palm over his cheek again. He turned and nuzzled into her hand, his eyes closing as an expression of pleasure settled on his features.

“Sleep now warrior,” she whispered. “ ’Tis God’s truth you have a long recovery ahead of you.”

“You mustn’t leave, lass,” he murmured.

“Nay, warrior. I won’t leave you.”

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Alaric became aware of burning pain in his side that grew stronger with each second he was conscious. It became so much that he stirred and shifted in an attempt to alleviate the unbearable tension.

“Be still, warrior, lest you rip your stitches.”

The honeyed voice was accompanied by gentle hands that scalded his already overwarm skin. The heat was nigh unbearable and yet he stilled, not wanting his angel to stop touching him. ’Twas the only semblance of pleasure he had.