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Hugging the owl, she fought the instinct to kick at Merrick, feeling her eyes sting. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she was starting to get overwhelmed. He wasn’t doing anything to make her feel objectified like she was a plaything, or treating her horribly, yet she’d had enough. She hated being in pain, despised not having a voice.

Merrick frowned at her. Stripping off the gloves, he tucked a knuckle under her chin and studied her eyes carefully. “How much discomfort are you in?” When she averted her gaze and shrugged, a thread of steel entered his voice. “Do you not think that’s something you should tell your D—tell me about before I make things worse?”

Honestly, she was probably just making a big fuss over nothing—she was used to suffering quietly. No one else cared if they piled more pain on top of what she already felt;a beating a day stopped a wife from running away, was one of her father’s many mottos.

She couldn’t tell Merrick that, of course, so she stayed silent.

He hummed thoughtfully instead of raging at her. “We’ll forego the catheter. Until you can walk without falling, I’m your ride to and from the bathroom. In the future, you let me know when something hurts, darlin’. Yeah?”

Because he sounded so strict and commanding, Tamsyn agreed. She clenched her teeth as he gently removed the small amount of tubing already inside her, then relaxed once the intruder was gone.

Before he could take the tray away, she set the stuffie to one side and wiggled her fingers at him to come closer. Holding her hand out, palm up, she gestured for him to do the same.

Merrick lifted an eyebrow, but did as she silently asked.

It was only fair she gave him something in return.

*

Merrick

Tiny pieces were starting to fall into place when it came to his silent little owl, he thought. Even without a voice, it was clear she wasn’t the kind to complain, regardless of whether she was in pain, and that spoke volumes about her.

Moving the girl to his own accommodations was a purely selfish act, if he was honest. The protective side of him was going insane, wondering if she was awake, if she was in pain, if she was scared when he wasn’t there.

The poor lass was probably grateful for his absence, but until she was back on her feet and independent, he couldn’t rid himself of the urge to look after her.

Some savior complex, he imagined, borne from rescuing her.

It was likely why he was unable to stop from holding out his hand to her when she asked, those huge tawny eyes round and sad. They were hypnotic—brown with green and gold flecks that caught the light.

She set her palm on his, pushing down until the back of his hand rested on her thigh. With a cute frown and her tongue between her teeth, she set the tip of her index finger on the heel of his palm and began to draw.

No, not draw, he realized.Write.

Her hand was unsteady, the concentration in her eyes unmistakable as she painstakingly scored a line across his palm, followed by a second one starting in the middle of the first.

T.

She drew a triangle next, shakily crossing it in the middle to make anA.

Merrick followed the wobbly lines of anM, then deciphered the next squiggly line as anS. The effort of spelling cost her, he noted, as her hand trembled more, her eyes growing heavy as she tried to form a… was that aVor aY?

Finally, she finished with a wonkyN, then let her fingers lay on his hand. She focused on his face, the hope and yearning etched into her eyes killing him.

“Tamsyn,” he murmured, putting it all together in his head.

The gentle curl of her fingers on his hand was apparently her version ofyes.

“It suits you.” It really did; soft and unique, yet with an underlying core of strength.Tamsyn. “I like it. Thank you, Tamsyn, for trusting me with it.”

How could one girl—woman, he corrected—wrap around him this way? He prided himself on being able to read a submissive, but she was elevating him to an entirely new level. Never had he imagined being able to decipher a woman’s thoughts through eye movement and facial tics to this degree.

When he cupped her cheek, stroking his thumb over a bruising bump lurking beneath her fragile cheekbone, she closed her eyes and leaned into his hand.

“Gonna tuck you back in now, let you get some more rest while I make lunch,” he told her. “Linnie advised something warm and light, so I’m thinking soup. Do you like soup, Tamsyn?” He got the faintest nod in reply before her head went heavy. “I guess that’s a yes.”

Removing the medical equipment off the bed, he adjusted her legs—checking the state of her soles—before recovering them with the duvet. He felt her eyes on him, the weight of them heavy but trusting, and gave her a stern one in return. “Sleep, little owl.”