Palace Grounds - Queen's Garden

When she said that she was bleeding all over him he would tear his gaze away from her face, immediately looking to her hand and having to refrain from gasping. It looked horrendous, and she was right; there was blood all over him. When she suggested that he put her down he would shake his head sharply, “To hell with that,” he would say, his voice rather gruff as he held her tighter against his chest and moved out of the garden and into the sitting room. “My clothes are the least of your worries, m’lady,” he would say, much more kindly. He didn’t apologize for cursing in front of her though, figuring that it would only serve to further dishonor him.

When they reached the door to the Queen’s sitting room he would shove it open with his shoulder and march in, letting his gaze flick rapidly around the room before he moving to set her on the couch, “Stay there,” he commanded, his voice stern and brooking no argument. Instead of going to call for a physician he would instead move to where it seemed that leftover bandages and salve had been left, and he would gather it up before moving back towards the lady. “Alright, let me see your hand. And yes, I’ve done this before,” he would assure her, though before she could try to refuse he would gently grasp it and pull it towards him. “You did quite a number on it,” he would murmur, his brows tugging together as worry filled his eyes.

Before he moved to apply salve to her wound he would gently brush his lips over the wound, lightly so that it wouldn’t hurt, “A kiss, to speed recovery,” he would murmur softly, letting his eyes find hers for a moment before he set to work; applying the salve to her wound and gently wrapping it.

Alpin would nod when she said that it must have been the rock, “Most definitely,” he would murmur, frowning when she said that it hadn’t been that bad yesterday. When he kissed her hand and she immediately went on to say that she was betrothed, and then ramble about it he was tempted to laugh. That was, until she said that her brother was arranging for her to marry the Duke of Carnaghan. He couldn’t help but grin, and once he was finished bandaging her hand he would gently kiss it again, “Well then,” he would murmur softly, an excitement that he hadn’t felt in a long time shining in his eyes, “It’s okay for me to kiss you,” he would say, his voice gruff though rather happy, “Because… I am the Duke of Carnaghan. Which means you, beautiful woman, must be Ranait O’Halloran,” he would say, moving to sit on the couch beside her.

Despite not wanting to he would change the subject, “Ranait, were you hurt anywhere other than your hand?” he would ask, the concern he had felt for her earlier suddenly flying back to his face. He didn’t want to just attend to her hand if that was the only thing that hurt, especially not since he had just found out that she was his betrothed. Not that it should have changed how much he was concerned for her, but somehow it did.

Alpin blinked when she said that he couldn’t possibly be the duke, though he didn’t get a chance to question her about it because she was answering his question. When she said that she had hit her head he would frown, only to gape as she started rambling about how he was intelligent and attractive and that meant that he couldn’t be the duke and that it was just her mind trying to help her to cope. He would stare at her for a minute before laughing and shaking his head, his laughter rumbling up from his chest for much longer than he had expected. Once it was over he would offer the woman a devilish grin before slowly leaning in, “Well then. Sleeping beauties need their heroes to wake them,” he would murmur softly, tilting his head a bit to the side as he watched her for a fraction of a second before shifting to press his lips up against hers.

He didn’t know what had gotten into him; usually he wouldn’t have done something like that, but he was overjoyed by the idea of marrying this lady, and even more happy about the fact that she thought him to be intelligent and attractive. Not that he hadn’t already known that, but coming from her it seemed more…special? When he pulled away from the kiss he would grin broadly at her, “Are you awake?” he would ask softly, his brows raised as he waited for her response.

When the woman said that she guessed that he really was who he’d said he was he would laugh softly, “I’m glad that you finally believe me,” he would grin, reaching out to gently brush back a strand of hair that had fallen into her face. “What made you change your mind?” he would ask, his deep voice slightly teasing, though he did want to know the answer. It couldn’t have just been the kiss; yes, he’d enjoyed it more than he would ever let on, but he didn’t think that Ranait would feel the same way. To be honest, from what he’d heard about the lady he had expected to get punched in the face. It was definitely nice to be wrong, though. When she apologized he would shake his head, “There is nothing at all to be sorry about,” he would murmur kindly, “I suppose when people think of a Duke they think of some disgusting old guy with gray hair. Or some unintelligent, honor-less creep,” he would joke, the last part describing the noblemen like her brother; he hadn't liked the fool at all.

He was not at all oblivious to where her eyes kept wandering to. He’d kissed enough women to know when they were staring at his lips, and usually he would press a firey, passionate kiss to their lips when they did, but he had too much respect for Ranait. She already seemed so frazzled, and he didn’t want to take advantage of her more than he already had. “So, tell me about your head,” he would demand, changing the topic. He hoped that the woman would answer him truthfully, “You said you hit it?” he would ask.

Alpin listened intently as she spoke, grinning when she comments that it was unlikely that she had hit her head hard enough to be hallucinating, laughter spilling from his lips upon hearing her comment about it being unlikely that somebody would impersonate a duke, only to realize that there were people who would do that and admit that she thought him to be too honorable to do something like that. “Well, thank you,” he would murmur, only to quite as she went on to talk about the kiss. He would look at her for a moment, taking in what she had to say as a frown developed over his lips, “I’m sorry that you ever had to hear of such things,” he would murmur, his apology genuine, “There are some really…unsavory individuals in this world,” he admitted, his jaw clenching for a moment before he would smile again, “But, I can promise you this, at least. As long as I’m alive you’ll never have to worry about anything like that,” he would murmur, reaching out to gently hold her uninjured hand. When she went on to say that it was mostly the kiss that had convinced her he would laugh softly, “I suppose that makes sense,” he would murmur, nodding slightly in agreement.

When she began to tell him that her head should be fine he would nod, watching as she reached up to touch the spot that was apparently tender before pulling away her fingers and showing him, “I see,” he murmurs softly, shifting forward to gently press a tender kiss to the spot that she had touched, “I really hope that it doesn’t end up hurting too much,” he murmured softly, “Perhaps we should get you some ice?” he would ask, though he was already moving away from the couch and over towards the door. He would open it and lean out, catching the attention of a servant and immediately requesting that ice be brought to them sooner rather than late before moving back to the woman, standing in front of her as he waited for the ice to arrive. When she began to talk about the potential of her possibly having drowned he would frown, his brows furrowing together, “Oh no. There is no need to thank me,” he would assure her, reaching down to grab her gently by the hand and tug her up into him, wrapping his arms around her in a gentle hug, “I only did what any other honorable individual would have, there should be no thanks for that.”

He couldn’t help but sigh and shake his head when she mentioned how most ladies were, and what they talked about, “I know. I’m just glad that you’re not like them,” he would admit honestly, though he didn’t truly know that she wasn’t like the rest of them. He just had a feeling. When he pulled her up into a hug and she practically melted into him, closing her eyes and hugging him back he would grin, gently brushing his fingers over her back. He had figured that she was a hugger, and he was happy to find out that he had been right. Even if it meant that she didn’t respond to him for quite awhile. When she finally did though, he would heave another sigh, “You’re right, the kingdom has been unfortunately occupied by self-serving creeps,” he would admit, frowning as he realized the kind of world that his betrothed had grown up in. When she went on to say that she was an invisible nobody, and that it helped her to find out people’s true colors he would glance down at her face, lifting his hand from her back to gently tilt up her chin so that he could look upon her face, “You couldn’t be more wrong, Ranait O’Halloran. You are not an invisible nobody, you are an intelligent, tremendously beautiful, woman,” he would murmur softly, feeling a strong desire to kiss her again. He wondered if it would still be considered taking advantage of her, knowing that he didn’t want her to think of him as one of those creeps who forced themselves on women. So instead he would move his fingers from her chin, shifting his hand up to gently brush his thumb over her lips, “I want to kiss you,” he would admit, though he didn’t make a move to do so, “But I really don’t think I should,” he finished before dropping his hands to his side and moving towards the door.

It wasn’t that he wanted to leave, he just knew that creating distance between them was probably the best idea. Which was good, because moments later a servant rushed in holding an icepack, which he took graciously, “Thank you,” he would tell the individual, “You may leave,” he said, watching as they left the room before he would turn back to smile at Ranait. “Why don’t you sit?” he would ask advancing towards her again. When he was close enough he would hand her the icepack, “Press that to your head, but not for very long at a time,” he would murmur before moving to sit in a chair opposite the couch. He would lean back into it and watch the woman for a few moments, letting a soft sigh fall from his lips. He wouldn’t allow himself to ruin his honor, or Ranait’s either. If he did he would never forgive himself.

Alpin could only agree upon hearing her opinions on her brother, “Oh, I know. He’s…” he would trail off, trying to think of an adjective that was appropriate to say in front of a lady, though he couldn’t find one and would simply say the first one to come to mind, “Well, he’s a jackass,” he would shrug, unapologetic. When he pulled away from her he couldn’t help but notice the look on her face, and felt as if he could probably be considered a jackass right now as well. He wasn’t quite sure why, but he suddenly felt guilty; maybe the look was because she already felt that he was one of those fools that would force themselves onto another woman? He wouldn’t question it, though a frown had settled on his face and his mind kept running through several possibilities as to why she would have that look on her face, though never once did he consider the possibility that she may have wanted him to kiss her.

When she was settled down with the ice pressed to her head he would dare a smile, though it soon drifted off of his face to be replaced with an almost brooding look. Only to have it disappear when Ranait began speaking to him. He would laugh when she suggested that she wasn’t beautiful, and started to list off reasons why he wouldn’t find her attractive. He would shake his head sharply, staring at her for a moment, though eventually he would have to move unable to resist the urge to get closer to her. He would kneel in front of her, gently grasping her bandaged hand in both of his, “I don’t care about your dress,” he would murmur softly, “Honestly, I hardly even noticed it. I’m too focused on your beautiful brown eyes,” he says softly, “And your wounded hand? When I see the bandage I can’t help but think about how you didn’t even care that you were hurt; all you could focus on making sure I wasn’t put out by it,” he continues, dipping his head to gently kiss her hand, “I don’t care about your hair either; I’ve seen it when it was absolutely gorgeous,” he says, grinning up at her, “And about your head…I’m just glad that you weren’t hurt too severely,” he would admit. “Something really bad could have happened to you.”