Sorcha's arm was the only thing keeping Jocelynn upright as they crossed the temple courtyard toward the waiting carriage.
"I'm fine-ine," Jocelynn said, though the words came out with an extra syllable that she hadn't intended. "I'm perfectly, entirely, completely fine," she insisted.
"Of course you are," Sorcha said with a deep, rolling chuckle. Her grip tightened on Jocelynn's elbow as the younger woman's foot caught on a flagstone, and for a moment, the two women pressed close enough together that Sorcha could smell the light floral soap that Jocelynn had used on her hair the last time she washed it.
"You're the picture of composure," Sorcha reassured the future marchioness as she guided her across the courtyard.
