Darcy Branwyn

Part Four

England 1192:

(The same fictional world as Enduringly Yours.)

While hating that her horse had bitten him, any chance to be close to him felt like—she wasn’t sure what it felt like, come to think of it, but her skin was feeling very tight all over again, reminding her of a snake trying to shed its skin.

“It’s not that bad,” he said, misinterpreting her silence. “I’m fairly sure you’ll be able to save it.”

“What?”

“My arm. And that was a jest, my lady.”

“Of course.”

“Smile.”

“What?”

“Smile, Alana.”

She forced a smile.

“That’s almost better. We might have to work on it some more.”

“What does smiling have to do with anything?”

“You’d be surprised.”