Fifi faced him. Her jaw muscles worked as she considered his question, the rest of her countenance calm and cool.
“No, he did not,” she said.
His fist slowly uncurled even as he continued to eye her closely.
Peter’s feet shifted against the stone floor. “Who are you two referring to?” Peter asked.
Slade would never reveal details proving embarrassing or potentially dangerous to Fifi, despite trusting Peter without reservations.
Slade wasn’t going to answer Peter. He turned to Fifi. She said nothing either.
Her gaze fell to her ungloved, upturned palms. When Slade caught sight of their raw blisters and cuts, something tightened in his chest.Bloody farthing hell.He didn’t have any healing salve.
“Fifi …” he started, worry and concern pulling his tone down. But then he paused when she looked up. For a split second, hesaw that uncertain little friend, the one he’d dearly cherished years ago. The little friend he’d had when he’d needed one. When he’d been trying to escape a cold home, lacking the sweet gentleness of a mother. His heart clenched to a painful state forcing him to take deep breaths.
“I will help you in any way that I can. But why not stay here instead of at an inn? There’s plenty of room and food and I will take care of you until we can decide what to do,” he finished.
He swallowed when the uncharacteristic and unprecedented urge to comfort her took hold of him.
She looked around as if considering. “Thank you for the offer, but we would require a chaperone. Or is there perhaps a cook or a maid who also resides here?” she asked, uncertainty lingering in her expression.
Peter spoke before Slade could answer. “My wife, Lucia, could act as chaperone. The cook and maid at the lodge don’t reside on the premises.”
“Thank you, Peter. I would love to make the acquaintance of your wife. However, I only plan to remain here for a few days until I can reunite with my friend,” Fifi said, a smile easing into her features.
Slade considered her with a keen eye.
“Is this the same friend for whom you acted in service of at the manor?” Slade asked.
Anger heated Slade’s insides. He wanted to forcefully explain to this friend of Fifi’s that friends don’t put each other in danger at the manor of a swine like Bolingbroke. But he had to quell that impulse for now.
Her eyes flashed with something like reticence. “Yes.”
When her eyes landed on his chest, her cheeks darkened as she then averted her gaze. Slade tilted his head down. It’d slipped his mind he wore nothing but breeches.
“Pardon me,” he said.
As he turned and made a dash towards his bedchamber to don a shirt, Peter’s voice sounded as he spoke to Fifi.
“The colonel sold his commission with the Scots Greys and will eventually be venturing back to the Highlands. I’m sure he can serve as your escort to this friend of yours in the meantime. You can trust the colonel with your life and honor. He is the most principled man I know.”
Slade returned wearing a white linen shirt. He carried a bottle of whisky in his hand as well as a pail of water he’d retrieved from the barrel in the kitchen and a linen he’d just torn into strips for bandages. He placed the pail down next to the chair Fifi occupied.
“Please, use the water to wash your hands.” He placed the bottle down on the table.
Her eyes softened with gratitude.
Peter shifted uncomfortably. “Should I have fetched a healer or a sawbones? Pardon me, I didn’t think of it earlier.” Peter then threw up his hands in a self-deprecating expression. “I am utterly helpless in emergencies. Perhaps I should bring Lucia earlier rather than later. She always knows what to do in a fix.”
Fifi flinched with a hissing intake of breath as she dipped her hands into the water. “A healer is quite unnecessary, Peter. But thank you.”
“Please, hand me the bottle,” Slade said to Peter, then turned to Fifi.
“This will bite.”
She pressed her lips together, nodded up at him, then opened her wet palms above the pail. He took the bottle from Peter and went down on one knee in front of her, took her upturned left palm in his right and proceeded to drizzle the golden liquid on her blisters. The sharp, woodsy aroma flowed up to his nostrils as he resisted the urge to blow air on her palm at her hissingintake of breath. She wasn’t a little girl in need of coddling anymore, he told himself.
“Apologies for the discomfort,” he whispered as he released her hand and proceeded to the next one.
