Winter's Warrior (The Wicked Winters #13) - Scarlett Scott Page 0,1

still for me, lads.”

Chapter 1

His only memories were of a witch trying to kill him.

She had cast a spell over him, until he felt as if he were weighed down by boulders and had been unable to move. Then, she had forced a bittersweet potion down his throat until the darkness claimed him.

As he pondered it now, he was sure it had been the delirium of the fever Caro said had raged through him after she had found him, beaten nearly to death, with a pistol wound in his upper arm. Fortunately, the ball had passed cleanly through, but the infection that had set in after she’d stitched him up had almost been the end of him.

And the source of those terrible nightmares, which still clawed at him every night when he fell asleep.

But it was morning, light shining through the edges of the window dressings, and the bustle of the street below telling him it was past time to rise. His stomach growled, as if in competition with the din of the voices of the men and women and the clattering of drays passing in the street. Hunger was a good sign. It meant his broken body was healing.

Too bad his mind continued to be utter rot.

He threw back the bedclothes and rose, shucking the nightshirt the glowering fellow named Randall had helped him to don the evening before. Removing the shirt required great care and patience, for his injured arm remained difficult to move. Now that he was at last feeling like a man instead of an invalid, however, it was worth the risk. He had been longing to wear the shirt and trousers which were neatly folded and awaiting him across the room.

When Caro had brought him the clothing a few days ago, he had not yet been strong enough to don them. But each day, he regained more of his ability. And when he had risen this morning, he had decided it was at last time to make an effort.

He may not recall a single, damned detail about who he was or why he had found himself nearly dead behind a gaming hell called The Sinner’s Palace, but today, he was going to wear some cursed rigging as if he were an ordinary chap.

He winced as he struggled to remove his wounded arm from the sleeve of the nightshirt, then cried out as the stitches pulled. But he was determined. Biting his lip hard, he pulled his arm free, then slid the entire garment over his head.

The door to the chamber flew open and Caro stepped over the threshold, bearing a tray.

He froze, and the one portion of his anatomy which seemed to have remained unaffected by the injuries he had endured went rigid. Forgetting himself, he attempted to clamp his hands over his cockstand, and howled in pain as the stitches in his arm pulled once more.

Wide, hazel eyes were upon him. Upon that particular part of him.

“Oh bloody hell,” she said, nearly sending the tray’s contents to the floor. “Forgive me. I had no notion you were bare-arsed.”

The heavy door had already closed on its own momentum at her back.

They were alone.

Damnation, she was beautiful. Through the haze of pain, through the agony of fire burning in his arm, he recognized it. The shock of his hasty movement had made his cock soften, but it did not remain so for long.

It never did in this woman’s presence. Miss Caro Sutton was an angel. He was convinced of it.

“Apologies, Caro,” he managed, standing there awkwardly, trying not to admire the flush creeping over her or the glistening strands of auburn in her chestnut hair.

“It is I who should be sorry,” she said, her husky voice falling around him like a warm caress. “I ought to have knocked. In my haste to bring you some sustenance, I assumed you would be abed and…dressed.”

“I was about to be,” he said wryly, nodding toward the stack of clothing.

The place where the bullet had passed through his flesh still throbbed, but the woman before him had a way of soothing even the greatest of pains. Ever since he had arisen to her lovely, concerned face hovering over him, he had found himself strangely comforted by her presence.

Indeed, over the course of the time she had spent nursing him back to health, he had become hopelessly taken with her. At least, he thought that was what this strange warmth was in his chest, this need he had for her, which