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“Yesterday afternoon, I’m fairly sure.”
“I’m so very sorry.” She bit her lip. “Are you in pain anywhere else?”
“My head.”
“Excuse me.” Her cool fingers slid through his hair.
Despite the dull throbbing he reveled in her gentle touch.
Her breath caught. “Oh, sir, you are bleeding.” Within a moment she had removed her scarf, folded it, then gently eased his head up and placed the scarf under his wound, cushioning his head. Next she removed her shawl and laid it across him, apologizing for the fact that it was damp. “But at least it should help you be a little warmer.”
“It is.” He could feel its soothing comfort. Or perhaps that was just the body heat from her. Or the slightest scent of violets that clung to its perfumed folds.
“You must be so thirsty.”
He nodded, sucked in a whimper of pain.
“I shall see if I can find a glass.”
There came a creaking of bricks, and her soothing presence moved away.
He counted his breaths until she returned.
“Here.” She moved beside him, held a glass of water to his lips, and lifted his head.
Soon he felt the sustaining liquid trickle through his lips and down his throat. “Th-thank you.”
“I know it’s not the drink of preference for most men, but I trust you’ll forgive me this once.”
“This once,” he muttered, lips lifting a little in appreciation of her efforts.
“And—oh! You have missed your meal. Here.” She shifted and withdrew an apple from her pocket. “I know it’s not much, but it might sustain you a little longer, at least until Dr. Linton arrives.”
His stomach growled, drawing her smile as she handed the apple to him. His fingers touched hers ever so slightly, rippling further warmth up his arm. “You truly are an angel.” He bit into the apple with a loud crunch.
“What an unusual idea of heaven you have, sir.”
His hunger forbade speech until he’d polished off every tangy-sweet mouthful.
She sighed. “I wish it were more but, unfortunately, the eggs and porridge made too much of a mess and did not survive the journey here.”
A glimmer of amusement pushed past his weary pain. “You put them in your pocket also?”
“Alas, my sewing skills seem rather less than they ought, and they slipped—or was it dripped?—through, leaving naught for you save one poor piece of fruit.”
“It wasn’t poor, I assure you.”
“I could go upstairs to the kitchen and see if there is something more.”
“I don’t know if those stairs will bear much more traversing. Besides, I find this has now quite taken the edge off my hunger.”
“I am glad, even though I’m sure you’re being kind. I cannot imagine such a humble offering even beginning to assuage your hunger.”
“You might if you knew what conditions had been like when we were fighting the French.”
Her head tilted. “I suspect it best we not think about that now.”
“What would you prefer to think about?” He shifted slightly, only to gasp in pain.
