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He shot her a look. “Daft girl. I’m fine.”
She sighed. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“What?”
“Bear the constant pain. Much more of this, and I’d be ready to shoot myself. And yet you manage it on a daily basis.”
“It’s nothing remotely like labor, I’m sure.”
“Still . . .”
“I admit it can be bad some days.”
“So, howdoyou keep from going utterly mad with it?” she asked, as much from curiosity as the need to distract herself.
“Whisky helps.”
“Ha. Stop pretending you’re a drunk.”
“No, but I have drunk myself into oblivion on more than one occasion.”
“When the pain got to be too much, I’m sure.”
He frowned down, looking at the faded carpet runner, as if the floral pattern was a puzzle. “I don’t think it was the physical pain so much as how I felt about . . . everything.”
“You mean the war?”
“That and the aftermath,” he said in a somber tone. “The impact the injury had on my life.”
She thought she understood that very well. In the weeks after her rape, unable to find rest or a decent night’s sleep, Ainsley had resorted to laudanum drops. Unfortunately, those had produced nightmares, and too much wine gave her a headache.
“Did the doctors ever give you drugs?” she asked.
“In the beginning. They were afraid I’d destroy my leg completely if I kept thrashing about.” He looked a bit embarrassed. “I was quite out of my mind with fever for a while, acting like a damn fool. The drugs were to knock me out, and they worked.”
Suddenly, she found herself blinking away tears. The idea that he almost died and that she would never have known him seemed too horrible to contemplate.
He tipped her chin up. “There’s no need to get mawkish, pet.” His brogue was soft and deep. “All is well now.”
“I just hate thinking about what happened to you,” she said gruffly.
His warm hand slid over to cup her cheek in a loving touch that soothed the grief in her heart. Grief for innocence lost and for a future that would never be.
“I survived, lass, when so many did not. And I have a family that loves and supports me, no matter what.” His lips tilted up in a wry smile. “Even if they are pains in my arse.No moping aboutshould be the Kendrick motto. They nagged me back to life, I tell you.”
“I wish I had a family who cared for me that much,” she said wistfully.
His expression sobered. “You asked how I put up with the pain. I do it for them. My family is worth whatever paltry sacrifice I have to make.”
Just like my baby is worth any sacrifice I have to make,she thought.
“Now, what are you going to do with this wee babe?” Royal asked, as if reading her mental processes. “And no putting me off this time.”
“I . . . I don’t know. Aunt Margaret has offered to take the child, but that’s no permanent answer. She’s too old. Besides, someone would probably figure out where the babe came from, which would mean—”
“Cringlewood would eventually hear of it,” he said grimly.
“It’s just so wretchedly complicated. I don’t know what to do.”
