Wolfsgate by Cat Porter Page B

been finally drained of the opium. Maybe it was all this rejuvenation and fresh country air.
    Maybe it was simply Justine.
    Brandon got out of the water. She was hunched over on the ground buttoning her boots. He tossed his head and squeezed the excess water from his hair, knowing the cool drops would fall on her.
    Justine blinked up at him. “I should go. Molly may need my help. I didn’t tell her I was coming here.” She got up and scrambled away from him.
    “Wait for me. I’ll come with you.” His body quaked with silent laughter at his bride’s obvious discomposure over his nakedness. “Could you hand me my shirt, Justine?”
    She darted to his pile of clothes and, averting her gaze, handed him his shirt. She was nervous, and he liked that. He could take advantage of it. He still didn’t trust her motives. Although he had known Justine since she was a child, the last time he had spent any time with her she had been a girl of maybe fifteen or sixteen years old. She was a woman of twenty now, having lived with William and Richard. Surely, a different person. How could he be certain of her true character or of her intentions in William and Richard’s plot that had entwined them both?
    Justine peeked over her shoulder at him. “Um, I thought perhaps you might like to visit your father’s grave. May I take you there tomorrow morning?”
    He pulled up his boots, his eyes remaining on her. “Yes.”
    She smiled. “Good.”
    He stood up, wobbling on his feet. His body swayed, and his one hand shot out to grab the tree trunk near him. Justine was next to him in seconds, her arm around his waist. His wet hair splattered her face and neck with water.
    She placed one warm hand on his chest. “What is it?”
    “Just dizzy, I don’t know. Too much bloody excitement, I suppose. And that knee again.” He grimaced. “Damn.”
    “Do you want to sit?”
    “No, no, I don’t think I’d be able to stand up again. Let’s walk slowly.” He tucked his free hand around her shoulder and pulled her closer into his torso. The warmth of her body seared him to her side. She waited as he took a few more deep breaths. Maybe his pulse would ease, and he could go back to feeling normal again.
    No, normal was most certainly over.
    “Better?” she asked. He didn’t answer. His muscles remained tense. “You don’t have to be embarrassed with me, Brandon.” Her voice had softened. “I saw you in that hospital. I know what you’ve been through, and I know the effort this is taking. It will be some time before you will be fully strong again.”
    His gaze slid to her face. Her head was tilted back, there was a gleam in her velvety brown eyes. Was that hope? Confidence? Did this girl ever waver in her belief that all would be well?
    “Ready?” she asked, her voice light.
    He nodded and clasped his other hand over hers that she still had on his chest. He squeezed it, then let it go. They walked slowly, his breathing labored, his limp pronounced.
    “When we get home, you will eat something, even if I have to feed you myself, do you hear?”
    “Stop bothering me about bloody food,” he said through clenched teeth.
    “You cannot heal completely without sustenance. All this time they were feeding you God knows what evil swill at that hospital, and you were wasting away. Now your current diet of spirits just will not do. It will only set you back.”
    “You take your role as the overbearing wife most seriously.”
    “I’m not overbearing!” Her eyes searched his. “Am I?
    He let out a chuckle and squeezed her shoulder. “I’m teasing you. Lord, I forgot how easy it was to tease you, and how much I enjoyed it.”
    “Brandon, I don’t mean to irritate you. I’m only concerned for your well-being.”
    “I’ll eat something, I promise. Do stop talking though, my head is killing me.” His arm trembled around her body, and he tightened his grip on her flesh. He was uncomfortable again, rattled and unnerved. The aftereffects