He closed his eyes and let his ears tell him about his surroundings.
There was a fire crackling in a hearth, probably in another room. The door between them had to be open, or he’d not have heard the sound, so if he was in a bed, which he believed he was, then this was a small cottage perhaps, with living quarters on the first floor.
Beneath the pop and snap of the fire was another sound, a soft and rhythmic whisper that told a story all its own. He was near the sea. Those were the familiar sounds of the ocean washing against either a dock or a wall, or maybe a pier.
His mind darted back to the last thing he could recall…a boat. Safe.
In England.
He struggled to remember something, someone…he’d asked where he was, and he’d been told he was safe in England.
And it had been a woman’s voice. Comforting? Familiar? Was he home at Myrtle Grange?
No, because if he was, this would be his own room, he’d recognise it in an instant, and it wasn’t anywhere near the shore. This one was small, and the scent was wrong.
Something soft and fresh, mint and lavender, perhaps. Or lily of the valley. Definitely a woman’s fragrance.
So he was, if his conclusions were correct, in England, in a woman’s chamber, in a small cottage by the sea, at night, and there was a fire burning in the next room. He silently applauded himself for his observations. Shifting slightly, he felt the taut cotton stretching over his arms. He was in a nightshirt, but one that belonged to a much smaller person.
Puzzled now, and feeling more the thing, he tentatively pushed himself upright, encouraged by the fact that the furniture stayed where it was supposed to be. His vision was steady, although his limbs were far weaker than they should be.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he held onto a bedpost for security, and gingerly placed his feet on the floor, encountering a carpet protecting his bare skin from cold flagstones.
He attempted to stand, but a sharp pain in one ankle made him gasp aloud and drop back onto the mattress.
What the devil? He reached down to the offending joint, only to find it swathed quite thickly in bandages. He’d done something to it, that was for sure, but was it broken? Wouldn’t he be in a lot more pain if it was?
He sighed and shifted to the edge of the bed again, determined to explore the extent of his injury. To find out if he could actually walk.
“I wouldn’t, if I were you, Harry.”
He almost fell off the mattress at the sound of her voice, mildly amused, coming from the doorway behind him. “What…”
“Wait. Don’t move.”
Since he didn’t have too many other options, he obeyed, twisting around to try and see where she’d gone. Obviously not too far, since within seconds a lighted candle appeared, and she walked into the bedroom holding it aloft.
He stared, his eyes widening.
“Good God.” He sucked in a breath. “Willow Trease.”
“You remember me. I’m flattered,” she grinned. “Also very happy to see you restored to your senses.”
He made to move, forgetting his ankle, and winced, falling back once more to the safety of the mattress. “Ouch.”
“You have a badly sprained ankle. Nothing, as far as we can ascertain, was broken, but it must have been extremely painful when you injured it.”
“I…” He shook his head, still trying to come to terms with this somewhat surreal experience.
“You have also had a nasty fever for the last couple of days. Fortunately, you have a strong constitution, and we had some effective medicines. A combination that brought you through the worst of it.”
Setting the candle down on a small table, she poured water into a glass. “You’ll be thirsty, I expect. I’ll make tea in a bit if you think you could manage some but have this first. It will help wash away the last of the fever.”
“Thank you.” He took the glass and drank, then handed it back, feeling as if he had suddenly reverted to six years old, and his nurse was caring for him. “Where am I? How long have I been here? You can’t have been the only one looking after me?”
“All questions I will answer very soon. But first,” Willow pointed to the head of the bed, “there is a cane there, which you’ll need to use in order to reach the chamber pot behind the screen. Also, there is a very large and thick blanket on your bed, which can certainly act as a dressing gown, should you think you can move around enough to come and sit by the fire for a little while. It’s up to you…”
“I need to move,” he said quietly. “I feel as if I’ve been sleeping for a year. But I can tell I’m not up to my usual strength, so I will follow your instructions, Willow, if you’ll promise to tell me what on earth you’re doing here in this place at this moment in time.”
