11
The dewy scent of roses wafted into the chamber on the morning breeze.
In the first lightning grayness of dawn, Malcolm’s eyes focused on the blanketed figure huddled on a chair beside his bed. One pale, white arm extended from the woolen cocoon, and her upturned palm rested lightly against his knee. Wincing as he shifted his leg, Malcolm watched through slitted eyes as Jaime stirred, without waking, and drew her hand back into the folds of her wrap.
Though he quickly pushed the thought from his mind, he realized that she had grown into a woman of tremendous beauty. He had always known she would. Her black hair, loose and in a state of disarray, lay in soft waves upon her shoulders. Her high forehead, the sculpted nose, the pronounced cheekbones and the full, sensuous lips all worked
