Keep Me (Sinful Manor #1)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

When I emerge from the shower with a towel wrapped around my waist to find my wife, with her red nose and glassy eyes, putting on a pair of boots, I gape in horror.

“I need to get out of this house, Killian. I’m going out of my mind,” she argues.

“You’re still sick,” I bark as I cross the room and steal her boot from her.

“I’ve been lying in this bed for three days. My fever is gone. I just have some congestion left. It’s nothing.”

My jaw clenches in frustration. The morning after she got her fever, she woke up with nothing but endless sneezing and coughing. I was a mess for days, trying to give her what she needed. Medicine, rest, water, food.

Normally when I get sick, I just sleep for days, but Sylvie is stubborn as hell. Over the last three days, she fought me on every decision. She hated having me dote on her and worry about her. I assume it’s because she’s just not used to it.

“You’re not leaving, Sylvie.” I keep my voice low and my tone flat.

She stands up in a huff. “Are you keeping me prisoner now?” The force she uses to yell at me sends her into a fit of coughs. She collapses back onto the bed to catch her breath.

There’s a swell of pity in my stomach from seeing her struggle so much. Sylvie isn’t like me. She hates feeling cooped up in the house, and I know she longs for fresh air.

“Come on,” I say.

She lifts her arm from around her eyes and stares at me skeptically. “What?”

I kneel in front of her and unlace her boot enough to get it onto her foot. “You’re not a prisoner here, Sylvie. You need some fresh air, but I can’t let you leave alone while you’re so sick. So let me help you.”

She sits up and gives me a narrow-eyed expression. “Where are we going?”

After sliding her foot into the boot, I tie the laces. “Just on a walk of the grounds. We’re sitting on sixty acres, you know.”

Letting out a rattling exhale, she fights the urge to cough again. Then, she says in a raspy voice, “Fine.”

“It’s not raining for once, and I’ll stay by your side the entire time.”

She cocks her head to the side. “I’m not a child, Killian.”

“No,” I reply, tightening her laces. “But you are my wife, and it’s my job to take care of you.”

“It’s really not,” she replies weakly.

“Shut up, cow,” I say, making her laugh. “Too harsh?”

She shakes her head with a soft smile. “Not at all.”

Then, she puts out her hands for me, and I hoist her off the bed. I feel her forehead again for good measure, but as she said, her fever is gone, even without the medicine to keep it down.

On the entire walk along the gravel drive out to the farm, I keep Sylvie’s hand in mine. It’s warm enough now that we don’t need gloves, although the leather ones she bought me are still tucked away in my pocket.

“We’re not walking all sixty acres, are we?” she asks wearily.

“Of course not,” I reply with a chuckle. “Are you feeling okay? We can head back.”

She shakes her head. “No, I’m fine.” Then she wraps herself around my arm, resting her head on my shoulder as we slowly walk down the path toward the farm.

“What do you do out here all day?” she asks.

With a laugh, I say, “Not much, really. The grounds crew keeps most of it up. I do like to help out where I can.”

Then, she squeezes my arm. “You must do a lot. Enough to keep up this physique.”

We stop, and I turn toward her. “Are you…complimenting me?”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

“I won’t. I think I prefer the name-calling.”

“Okay, good,” she teases as we start walking again. “You have large muscles, but you’re still stupid and ugly.”

“Well, that’s just a lie,” I reply with a grin. “I’m incredibly handsome.”

The next time I look down at her, I notice she’s chewing on her lip and trying to hide the blush on her cheeks.

***

When we reach the farm, Ben, the groundskeeper, is standing outside his quaint brick house in front of the barn. I introduce him to Sylvie, and she greets him warmly, which is nice to see. She reserves her bitchiness just for me.

As Ben and I get into a conversation about the garden we’ve been working on, Sylvie walks away to explore the farm. When she finds the gray mare, I excuse myself from the conversation with Ben and run over toward her.

“Is it nice?” she asks before getting too close.

“She’s very gentle.” I grab an apple we keep in a basket near her stall and place it in Sylvie’s hand. Then I hold her against my body as I ease her hand out to the animal.

“What’s her name?” Sylvie asks.

“Moire,” I reply, which makes Sylvie giggle.

“What’s so funny?” I ask.

She shrugs, wiping her slobber-covered hand on my jacket. “Just like hearing you say that.”

“Moire,” I reply, drawing it out for her and giving the R a bit more of a roll. Then, I tug Sylvie closer and lean in to press my lips to her ear. She giggles from the tickle of my beard.

But when I try to move my mouth to hers, she shoves me away. “Don’t kiss me! I’m sick.”

“I don’t care,” I reply as I pull her back toward me. I just want her body in my hands at all times. I crave her against my body and my lips on her every second of my day.

“You’re disgusting,” she squeals as I hold her face and kiss her hard right on the mouth. I don’t care that she’s sick or that I’ve seen her go through an entire box of tissues in a day. If that’s disgusting, so be it. She’s my woman, and I’ll take the bad with the good.

“In sickness and in health, remember?” I say with my lips just inches from hers.

Our eyes meet, and I see the slight panic in her gaze. She gets that way anytime I bring up our marriage, as if she’s afraid of it now . We’ve been married for six months. And we have six months to go. I’ve not made any indication that I expect her to stay after the year, at least not yet .

I desperately hope she does.

Sensing her discomfort from that phrase, I quickly let her go. She averts her eyes, and I busy myself with giving Moire another snack.

As I’m petting the horse’s mane, Sylvie points toward the barn. “What are those?”

Looking up, I see the boxy white structures on the other side, and my mouth twitches with a smile. “Let me show you,” I say as I take her hand and lead her toward the hives. Stopping near the barn, I quickly roll up my sleeves and rinse my hands clean with the spout.

Then, I watch her expression as I pull open the box from the top and lift the frame from out of the shelter. The sound of the swarm is immediate, and Sylvie lets out a squeal as she starts to run from my side. Snatching her by the arm, I give her a stern look.

“Calm down, darling. They won’t hurt you.”

At that moment, a few dozen bees leave the frame and start to buzz around us both, so I quickly grasp my wife to my side, whispering into her hair. “Just relax. I’ve got you.”

She lets out a muffled sound, and I look down to see she’s buried her face in my shirt, her eyes clenched shut.

“Sylvie, look,” I say as I prop the frame up on the side of the box. With one arm around her to keep her safe, I press the other to the bee-covered hive to show her how gentle they are.

She whines as she clutches tighter to me.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” I reply. “That honey you put in your tea comes from here.”

“Yeah, well, I could also get it from the store.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” I dig my finger into some of the honeycomb at the edge of the frame, and I show her how easily it drips. My fingers are covered as I bring one to my mouth and lick it clean.

When I look down, her eyes are zeroed in on my hand, so I bring it to her lips. She inspects it for a moment before running her warm tongue along the length of my middle finger. I can’t keep in the low growl that emits at the sight and sensation of her tongue against my digit.

“Bloody hell, woman,” I growl, making her smile.

Just then, a bee buzzes past her head, and she panics, swatting at it with a squeal. As she starts to run, I lose grip of her, and she gets out of my hands.

“Sylvie, relax!”

But she doesn’t. She flails and stumbles until she trips and falls, landing in the grass with a hard thunk . That forces another coughing fit, and I rush over, grabbing the worker bee that had gotten himself stuck in her wild curls. The moment my fingers close around him, he stings me, and I toss him to the ground.

When I hiss, Sylvie looks up at me with concern. Between her coughs, she manages to squeak out, “I told you they were dangerous!”

Using my teeth, I pull out the stinger and spit it into the grass. Then, I lower myself to my knees in front of my wife.

“No, mo ghràidh. They’re not dangerous. You just have to know how to handle them.”

She continues coughing, so I pull her up and pat her back through the spell. By the time she’s done, I can hear the rasp in her breathing. The doctor said the virus will work itself out, but the cough could take longer. I wish it’d hurry. I can’t stand the sound of her like this.

When she’s done heaving, she takes my hand in hers, staring down at my finger. There’s a red, swollen lump there already.

“Does it hurt?” she whispers.

“Nah,” I say. “Not too bad.”

Then she brings it to her mouth and presses her lips to the end of my index finger. “I’m sorry.”

“Come on then,” I reply after kissing the top of her head. “Let’s get back home and get you to bed. Enough fresh air for you today.”

“Okay,” she agrees.

I pull her to her feet and leave her a good distance away from the hives while I go back to replace the frame I had removed. When I’m done, I return to Sylvie and tuck her under my arm so we can walk back to the house together.