Mrs. Fitch, having joined them while he was rotating Ailis’s arm and witnessing the pain it caused her, also muttered words of praise. “The poor lamb. Her bed will be made up shortly, Your Grace.”
He nodded as he took Ailis back in his arms and motioned for Martha to draw aside the covers. “Meanwhile, I’ll keep her here. She’ll be most comfortable with her back resting against the pillows, but she needs one more placed under her arm.”
“She also needs a robe,” Mrs. Fitch said, for Ailis only had on a linen chemise. It was a sturdy garment, appropriate for winter, but still a mere undergarment and showed too much of her skin for propriety.
“No, I need to put her arm in a sling first. Martha, get me another pillow and hurry back here. Mrs. Fitch, I’ll need a sturdy cloth to form the sling. If you are shocked by the indecency, then get her a shawl to wrap around her shoulders for now. She is not to raise her arm or move it at all for the rest of the day. Probably not for several more days.”
He glanced at Ailis as she now lay in his bed with her eyes closed and her golden curls in delicate disarray. He wanted to take the clips out of her hair, since she would be more comfortable without them, but decided to let the ladies take care of this once she was properly settled in the guest bedchamber.
He brushed a few curls off her brow. “Ailis,” he said with quiet authority now that they were alone, “do you think you might have hit your head?”
He hadn’t seen any bruises or lumps forming on her forehead, but that did not mean she had escaped such injuries.
Her eyes flickered open and he caught the full impact of their lovely emerald hue. “No, I don’t think so. My left shoulder took all the brunt. My head did hit the ground, but it fell upon a snowy pile and the ground was soft beneath it.”
He let out a breath. “And your hip? Any pain there?”
“I don’t know. All I feel is the fire in my shoulder.”
Every word spoken seemed to be an effort for her, so he did not wish to keep prying about her condition.
But was it not vital to check her thoroughly on the chance she had done more damage to herself?
“I need to ascertain whether there are any other breaks. I shall be as careful as possible, but…” He cleared his throat. “I have to run my hands along your body.”
Ailis gasped. “You cannot! It isn’t proper.”
Martha had returned with an armful of pillows in time to hear their exchange, and protested the same. “Your Grace!”
His expression turned dark as thunder, for he was so tired of these stupid rules of propriety established by strangers who had nothing better to do than look for reasons to be scandalized. “She might have broken a rib, or her hip, or wrist. What if you have fractured a neck bone or your spine, Miss Temple? These are serious. I need to have a look at you.”
Ailis had her eyes closed again and was silently crying.
His maid averted her gaze, but she had to know he was right. “What do you need me to do, Your Grace?”
“Stay here and act as chaperone while I examine her. I must check her bones. There is no way possible to avoid this. And you do not breathe a word to anyone. I shall have your promise now.”
Martha gave him an earnest nod and promised.
He would demand the same of Mrs. Fitch when she returned. Both had been in the employ of the Langford family for decades, and he knew they could be trusted.
“Good, because I will not have Miss Temple disgraced when she has done nothing wrong. To utter a word would ruin her, and how is this fair after all the good she has done for everyone in Broadmoor?”
This was the thriving market town near the North Sea and within his demesne, where Ailis resided with her vicar uncle. The town was quite close-knit and people were still referred to as strangers after having lived there for twenty years. But not Ailis. Despite having arrived a mere six years ago, she was already considered the heart of this town. If someone took ill, Ailis was there to help them through it. If there was a family in need, Ailis was immediately on the task.
She was a righteous do-gooder but without the priggish attitude that often came with those of towering virtue. He had come to think of her as his Miss Temple of Virtue because of her exquisite kindness and the entrancing warmth of her beauty.
She always thought he was mocking her whenever he called her that, which he did sparingly and only when they would not be overheard by others. However, quite the opposite was true.
He held her in the greatest admiration. She was that rare mix of beauty and fire. Hence the appellation—Miss Temple of Virtue—that he’d shortened to merely Temple at times.
After releasing a breath, he started with an inspection of her head, and decided to remove the pins in order to better feel along her scalp. Waves of golden tresses spilled onto her shoulders as those pins came out.
Dear heaven.
So lovely.
He carefully brushed aside those that fell upon her injured shoulder before placing his fingers in that surprisingly silky mane to probe for bruising.
