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“I did not mean it in that way.”

Of course he did not; she was overly sensitive because she was tired, and planning all this had taken its toll on her. She felt awful that he had to go through the weaning process and that she had suggested he walk when it obviously caused him pain.

Tomas limped past her again. “I’m sorry if I upset you. It was not my intention. I just wanted to know more about him.”

Elena turned and studied the man across the room. “He was…a good man. A clever man. A man of great passion.”

“And you miss him.”

“Of course, I miss him. After my father’s death, it was just Juan and me. Then he left to fight and never came back. I begged him not to go, but he was stubborn and said it was his duty to his country.” She sighed. “But what about me? What about his duty to me!”

The captain gave her an assessing look. “It looks to me like you are very much like your brother. You too are clever and brave and good.”

“You will not think so of me once the poppy calls to you again.”

“Perhaps it would be better for me not to have it and get it out of my system quicker. Nip it in the bud so to speak.”

She shook her head. “Your body is in no condition, and I do not have the strength to fight you. It is better this way.”

He laughed, but an hour later he was casting up his accounts and shaking all over again. He refused at first to take the small dose, as if he was trying to show her he could do this on his own, but when the sweating and nausea would not let up and he could not stop the shaking, he relented. She gave him just enough to stop the worst of the symptoms, but still he shivered and sweated through the night.

She did her best to aid him, but he pushed her away. For all that he had been through over the last few weeks, she saw strength in him. A resilience that was admirable. It made her feel like she had done the right thing in keeping him alive. Though he might regret for now how she had managed it.

Tomas slept most of the morning, which allowed her to use the large barrel of water that sat just outside at the top of the ruined steps to wash herself and prepare some more soup. She wished she had some fish or chicken to give him, but she had no way to store it here. And she could not venture to the village, as it would be too risky to be seen right now. She sat and peeled an orange as she looked out over the sapphire sea. It looked endless, but she knew there were other lands she could not see, like Morocco and beyond that, this mysterious England. Countries she would never go to.

Chapter Four

Thomas had never been so sick. Days of relentless vomiting and shaking had left him drained. His head pounded with a headache that was worse than any hangover he had ever suffered. She had warned him repeatedly, and each time the accuracy of her words surprised him.

He should thank her, even though it was she who had made him addicted in the first place. Thomas must remember when in the heat of his torment, that she had done it for him. If not for her, Lord knows what would have happened to him. Weaker than when they had escaped four days ago, she had done her best to give him food rich in vegetables, fresh oranges, and tea made from God knows what. In these last few days, she had been constant in her administration but aloof at the same time, scolding him when he tried to be noble. Noble, what a strange notion it was in a place like this.

He wondered if the French had left yet. On the first morning, they had faintly heard the alarm of French voices when they had discovered them gone. They had used Elena’s spyglass to watch them scouring the cove below. Elena had chuckled at their attempts to find them. He had not had the same sense of confidence. She had told him to stop being so worried and to concentrate on healing. How did one do that? He was not an idle man. It was not in his nature to lie about all day.

On the fourth night, it rained, and she somehow moved a small barrel down the stairs to the grassed outer area to collect water. He so desperately wanted to help her, but she pushed him back into the room.

“There will be enough time in the future for you to be galante. For now, you must let me manage.”

It went against everything he was, everything he had ever been taught. It chafed like wet hessian against his manly parts. Helpless was not a word he would have used to describe himself, which was, he supposed, a step up from hopeless, but he still didn’t like it.

“I have scooped up some water from the big barrel into a smaller one if you wish to wash. I have some lye soap and there is some linen for drying. In this bag there are more clothes.”

Was that her subtle way of saying she could no longer stand his stench? Why was it that she smelled of lavender and lemons all the time? He nodded as he took the bag.

“Do not get your hand wet,” she warned.

How was he to bathe when one arm did not work, and he was not to wet the other? He decided he would have to come up with something, but when he got to the bottom of the stairs where the grass was, he saw that she had provided a candle for light and a wooden jug with which to douse himself. Yes, she was far cleverer than he was. He disrobed, placing the clothes out of reach of the water.

He used the jug to pour water over his head and used the small washcloth to lather up the soap and then used the cloth to wash. His hand still got a little wet, but he had done his best. He had the sense that she was watching him, but what did that matter? She had seen all of him already. Briefly, he wondered if he had been the first male body she had seen and how much time she had spent studying his body while he was unconscious. Elena was a doctor, after all. Surely, she would not have missed such an opportunity.

When he returned to the room, she was busy at her worktable. He left her to it and walked around the room. He knew there were exactly thirty-six steps to do a full revolution around this room. He was determined to build up his stamina and get out of this place once and for all. So, he would walk, no matter how much his body protested.

“You are doing well,” she said when she changed the wet bandage on his hand and examined the wound left from the missing digit. She re-bandaged it and put her hands on her hips when she was done. “It is looking better.” Elena discarded the bandage and then examined the bruising around his eyes, then the splint she had on his broken arm. She had an efficient way about her that he admired and plus, he liked it when she touched him. “I think the poppy is nearly out of your system. You will start to feel your pain a little more perhaps, but it is better this way.”

“Pain? You say it like they are nothing but twinges.”

She frowned, a knitting together of her honey-colored brows. “I cannot feel your pain for you. You must tell me if you cannot bear them.”

He scowled at her. “I can bear them.”