His first thought as he opened his eyes was that he needed an aspirin. His head hadn’t hurt this badly since his younger years when he would wake hung over from a night of too much drink. His second thought was, where the hell was he and how did he get here? Panicked for a moment, he feared that he may have fallen back on his old ways, gotten drunk and passed out. Then it all came crashing back to him… The storm. His grief. A reckless, all-consuming need to see Isabeau. He recalled his walk through the slashing rain, the icy chill of the night air that did nothing to cool his blood, and Isabeau herself—in his hands, his mouth, crying out as he took her in a frenzied rush. Bloody hell. He’d never known anything like the desperation he’d felt last night. Thankfully she’d been with him every step of the way. Still, he feared he’d gone too fast, was too rough. He should have taken more care with her, but he’d been a little crazy. Had he hurt her? Caused her pain in any way?
