Time Drunk

Leeches

Trish had never been this hungover in her life, and she'd gone to bed with a bottle of tequila more than once. Her head was pounding so severely that her eyes were wet even though they weren't open. They must have trailed down her neck because she felt the dampness of the bedsheet clinging there and all down her back. However, trying to roll over was jarring and painful. She squeezed her eyes tighter as the motion made her dizzy.

"It's alright. Don't try to move," said a male voice beside her ear.

Her breath wheezed out uncomfortably, but her tongue felt thick, her mouth dry. "Who? Who?" she tried. Even speaking hurt.

"Kieran."

It hadn't been a dream. More tears leaked from her eyes. She took a deep breath and another and another. "Fuck," she sniffed. "You're still here." Which meant she was too.

A pleasantly cool cloth touched her face, leaving a trail of sweet relief in its wake. She turned her head carefully toward it, relishing the small comfort. "More," she demanded after he'd wiped her entire face.

"Are you inviting your husband to bathe you, my lady?" his voice rumbled, something touched her ear.

Trish forced her eyes open. Mr. Hot Damn was leaning over her, shirtless, showing off all kinds of ample muscle and a smattering of chest hair. That fast, her mouth watered. She wasn't paying much attention to the cool fabric of the towel anymore when it touched her neck and chest, but she was startled when it dipped easily to her breasts. A swift glance down revealed she was only wearing her bra and panties.

"Pervert!" she tried to glare, but it didn't feel like all her face muscles were coordinating. Coordinating her hands to cover herself was a concentrated effort.

A gorgeous grin shaped his lips. "You are a delight to the eyes, Trish. These," he touched her tattoo, "are more beautiful than I imagined. Did the pain last long?" beside him must have been a table with a basin of cool water, because the towel was cool again when he stroked it over her ink.

Was she really in a hotel in 1760 practically naked, talking with a man about tattoos? "No," she answered slowly. "Once the needle stops, the pain mostly goes away instantly."

"This is a common thing women do in the twenty-first century?"

"It's a rite of passage for all women who kill their husbands," she watched him stiffen, felt the weight of his gaze when it found hers. The towel went up the side of her neck where his hand settled.

He studied her face a moment more, leaning closer. "Should I be concerned?" his breath touched her lips, warm and intimate.

"Did you undress me?"

He gave an arrogant shrug. "You are my wife."

"Ever heard of consent?"

Kieran moved his thumb up to trace gently over her bottom lip. "Is that an invitation to undress you again when you're awake?"

"No," she shifted her chin away, "which is the point."

He muttered something.

"What was that?"

"My point. You have no idea how to be the wife of an earl."

A thought suddenly occurred to her. "If you're an earl, what does that make me?"

"A countess."

"Really?" her face brightened.

"Of course," he shook his head slightly. "Is it called something different in the colonies?"

Excitement turned to shock. Should she tell him? Would it ruin the past? What were the rules in these things?

Trish was saved from having to answer because the hard knock at the door seemed to echo through her brain. She groaned loudly. 

"A moment!" Kieran's rumble didn't upset her head nearly as much, and the soft kiss he left on her temple distracted her from some of the pain. "Consent or not, only I see you like this," he made it a decree as he pulled up the covers and wrapped them around her shoulders.

"That's-" she cleared her throat again, "That's not how it works."

He tugged on his own shirt and buttoned it up. His eyes returned to hers. "That's how it works between us."

When he opened the door, it was Thandie who strode in first, glancing this way and that until she found Trish among the covers. She crossed herself before announcing, "I'm glad to see you rested, miss. Doctor Thurston has come to see you," she glanced toward the door where a middle-aged man was coming in carrying a large black bag. Trish eyed it warily.

Doctor Thurston's bedside manner was nonexistent, and Trish told him so the third time he went to examine the bumps and scrapes on her head.

"I've barely touched her," he insisted in Kieran's direction instead of answering her. "Clearly, the swelling has affected her brain-"

"I am right here," Trish snapped.

"We will need to treat that first," Doctor Thurston continued on, standing up and going to the table where he'd set his bag. "Luckily, I've brought several species with me."

Nothing about that statement made her feel better. "Species?"

"Leeches, my dear."

Nope. Nothing good about that. Lucky for her it felt like all of the blood had just vacated her head. "You want to put leeches," she swallowed down a lump of nausea, "on my head?"

"Yes," the doctor didn't turn to answer her. "Poor thing, to be so discombobulated. I should have been called sooner."

"Kieran!" Trish called struggling to sit up.

"You should be laying down," the doctor turned with a wiggling wet black worm between sharp tweezers.

Her husband came to the side of the bed, more than a little humor in his gaze. Annoyed all over again, Trish reached to take his arm, gripping harder than strictly necessary. Kieran didn't flinch. "Something amiss?" he grinned.

"We've only just begun our ...journey in matrimony, but please understand, if he attempts to put those things anywhere near me, I will discombobulate his face," she'd yanked Kieran down to eye level.

"They can help-"

"And yours," she threatened.

"I say!" Doctor Thurston was sputtering angrily beyond them, but really, she wouldn't have been okay with that in any time period.

Kieran cleared his throat and faced the doctor. "My wife will forgo the leeches for now-"

"For always," Trish corrected loudly.

"Have you something less invasive, doctor? A sedative perhaps, so she can rest deeply without pain? I want her comfortable for the ride home."

Trish nodded carefully, "Yes. That." Sitting up might not have been the best idea. "I want to sleep the whole ride...home."

Two small brown bottles were set none too gently down on the table beside Doctor Thornton's bag. "Three drops of this one with tea every morning until the swelling goes down. Three drops of this thirty minutes before dinner to help her rest."

"Aren't pills easier to carry around?" Trish pressed her fingers to her eyes, so she didn't see the stares the men gave her.

"My dear, they do not make a pill for everything. Good day!"