“You are.” He took the parchment and the ink, placing them on an empty chest at the foot of the bed. “The healer wanted you resting.”

“No. She didn’t want me wandering around. She didn’t say anything about me writing.”

“Don’t argue with me. I’m in a very bad mood because of you.”

“Who told you to steal a child’s pet?”

“Don’t make me cover your face with a pillow until you see my side of things.”

“Isn’t that called murder?”

“In some parts of the world.” He sat down on the bed. “Although you were completely ungrateful about that damn puppy, I got you other gifts.” He pulled out the sack he’d brought in with him.

“I’d really prefer something to eat.”

“Food will be up in a few minutes or so. Until then, ungrateful wench, I got you this.” He placed the book he’d purchased on her lap so she wouldn’t try and hold it in her hands. “I was told it’s relatively new, so I’m hoping you haven’t read it yet.”

She studied the cover. “Jani: The life and loves of a local tavern girl.” Dagmar let out a breath. “No. I can say with all honesty I haven’t read this one.”

“Good.” He went back into the bag and pulled out the next few items.

“I already have boots.”

“These are better boots. Better for when you’ll be doing a lot of walking. You don’t want those blisters back, do you?”

“And the socks?”

“Just as warm as wool but less rough against the skin. Wealthy soldiers-for-hire use them all the time when they’re traveling from battle to battle.”

Her fingertips rubbed along the leather of the boots. “Thank you. This was very sweet.”

“You’re welcome. Besides, I didn’t want to go through another round of boil lancing.”

“Blisters,” she snapped. “They were blisters not boils.”

“Blisters. Boils. Does it matter?” He glanced down at her feet. “How’s the ankle?”

“Better. The swelling has gone down considerably.”

“See what happens when you listen to me? Only good things.” He smiled at her. “Now, are you going to thank me properly?”

“I said ‘thank you.’ That’s considered in some cultures as thanking you properly.”

“I was hoping for a little more than that.”

She studied him a long moment before she nodded.

“All right.” She scooted down a bit on the bed, pulled her gown up high on her thighs, and relaxed back into the mattress. “If you could make it quick before the food gets here, that would be great.”

Gwenvael felt a small twitch beneath his eye. He often got something similar right on his eyelid but only when he had to deal with his father. Apparently a new one had developed that belonged only to Lady Dagmar. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I hope you’re not expecting me to get on my knees, because I don’t think the healer—”

“No!” Good gods, this woman! “That’s not what I meant, either.”

“That’s always what men mean when they ask to be thanked properly.”

“Your world frightens me. I want us to be clear on that.” He leaned over and grabbed her waist, lifting her until her back again rested on the propped-up pillows.

“I’m unclear as to what you want, then.”

“A kiss,” he said, pulling her dress back down to her ankles. “A simple kiss.”

“Whatever for?”

“Because that’s what I want as a thank you.” And because he was certain a kiss from this obviously cold fish was just what he needed so he could stop thinking about her and focus on what was important.

“What exactly are you expecting?”

“Sorry?”

“What I mean is, is there some particular response you need for me to have in order for you to be pleased? Should I faint or merely moan at the contact? Perhaps I could shake a little, which wouldn’t be hard because I am so hungry right now.”

“Can’t you simply act like you always do when you’re kissed?”

“I’m guessing you’re used to much more dramatic responses than you’ll ever get from me.”

“Ah-ha!” He pointed a finger at her. “You’re a virgin.”

“Ah-ha!” She pointed her finger back. “No, I’m not.” She suddenly blinked rapidly and pulled off her spectacles with one hand while using her thumb and forefinger of her other hand to rub her eyes. “I have been, in point of fact, married three times.”

“You were? What happened?”

She put her spectacles back on. “The first insulted my father at the after-wedding first meal, although my husband did manage to drunkenly initiate me into womanhood the night before. By midday he’d been pulled into pieces by four of my father’s war horses, much to the audience’s drunken delight. The second wisely had his way with me right after the ceremony in one of the stables, but then insulted one of my brother’s wives at the celebration feast. He lost his head right there during the stuffed pig presentation. And the third, poor thing, he barely got through the ceremony, shaking and quivering like a lamb. Then he excused himself right after the commitment and I never saw him again. Not that I could blame him. Father insisted I have the marriage dissolved, so I did.”