“Why?” Neddy frowned at her then held Boo up in front of him and stared at her.
“Because they are yours and very important. Those who are not family should not be looking at them. They are private papers.”
Neddy smiled. “I know. He cannot read. So, you teach him, too.”
Emily noticed the faint hint of color in the man’s cheeks and realized he was embarrassed. She was not sure why he should be as she was well aware of the fact that many of those not born to privilege could not read and not every parent felt it worth the loss of an extra pair of hands to work to send their child to the schools that were now set up. At best those people learned what words they felt were important likepoisonordangerand felt that would do well enough. Nor could such people afford the books to read so the skill was of little practical use in their eyes. She had taught the tenants’ children back home on the estate and knew that few of their parents had felt it was really necessary.
“If he wishes it, I can do so.” She glanced at Iain. “Might I have some water, please? My mouth is horribly dry.” She lightly rubbed her throat. “How long was I asleep?”
“Three days,” Iain replied as he made use of the glass and pitcher on the bedside table and poured her some water. “We got some food into ye a few times. Mrs. O’Neal tended to your wounds and said they were healing nicely.” He handed her the glass of water.
Taking a sip, Emily nearly moaned in pleasure as the water washed away the dryness in her mouth and throat. It was not cold but it was not too warm, either. She drank it down as slowly as her raging thirst would allow. Once done she attempted to turn enough to place the glass back on the table only to have her wounded arm loudly protest and she gasped.
Iain took the glass from her and set it down. He watched her as she took slow, deep breaths to banish the worst of the pain and the color returned to her face. She sagged back against the pillows he had quickly plumped up at her back. Then a worried Neddy gave her his Boo.
Although she was startled at how weary and weak she felt, Emily tried to look sternly at Neddy. “You should lock the box, love. The papers are then safe from dirt or water.”
“And prying eyes?” Iain asked as he picked up the key and locked the box before holding the chain out to her so that she could slip it back on.
Emily took the chain and quickly realized she would not be able to put it back on. Her left arm simply could not be moved in a way that would allow it. She sighed and looked at Iain.
Tired and sore though she was, it annoyed her that she could not ignore how good the man looked. His hair was in need of a cut but suited him, the mahogany waves with touches of red brushing his broad shoulders. His deep green eyes were rimmed with surprisingly lush lashes. There was a faint bump in his long straight nose that hinted that it might have been broken once. When she looked at his mouth she was shocked by a tiny tug of strong attraction for it was not something she had ever felt before. He had a slightly wide mouth with a full lower lip. Emily decided he was a man she had best avoid as much as possible while she healed.
“I fear I cannot put this back on,” she said. “It requires the full use of two arms.”
He stood up, made certain the key was secured on the chain and, as carefully as he was able, put it on over her head. To his relief it fell perfectly. The last thing he wanted to have to do was adjust it. That could cause him to have to get very close to her and, perhaps, even touch her skin. Just seeing her bare shoulders and arms was already straining his control. Iain decided he needed to get down to the Trading Post soon for he had been far too long without a woman.
“What is so important about those papers?” he asked as he tugged a small chair over to the bed and sat down.
Emily wished her head did not ache as she rubbed her forehead and tried to decide just how much she should tell him. “There is proof of his birth and papers to prove he has a claim to some property back in England as well as proof that the cabin and land here also now belong to him. Then there is a will which names me his legal guardian.”
Iain believed she was telling the truth but also omitting a lot of things from the explanation. The fact that the boy needed a fancy proof of birth and papers to prove a claim to property told him more than she realized. They were gentry. He just did not know how high they sat at the table. The thought stirred old angers and he decided he needed to get away from her before he lashed out at her with an anger she did not deserve.
“I will tell Mrs. O’Neal that ye are awake,” he said as he stood up. “She will want to look at your wounds,” he added as he walked to the door, “and I suspicion there are things ye may wish her help with.”
A blush stung Emily’s cheeks as she watched him leave. Then she noticed how Neddy watched the man. It was clear the boy had a budding attachment for the man. It might be kind to try to gently put an end to that but she could not do it. David had loved his son but protecting his small family and the fight to keep them fed and housed had used up most of his time and often consumed all of his thoughts. He had had little to give his son aside from the occasional pat on the head as he hurried from one chore to another.
“Do you want to go with him, love?” she asked the boy as she lightly stroked his hair.
“We were working. I pulleded weeds.”
The boy looked so proud of himself she could not help but smile. “Well, go on then. See if he still needs your help.” She looked at the sturdy woman who had just appeared in the doorway. “I believe I will be busy with other things for a time.”
Neddy moved to kiss her cheek and put his hand on her wounded leg. Emily bit the inside of her cheek to stop from voicing a moan of pain, which she suspected could quickly turn into a scream. Mrs. O’Neal grabbed the child around the waist and lifted him off. She then patted the boy on the back, set him on his feet, and gently nudged him on his way. The moment Neddy was gone, Emily sank back against the pillows and fought the urge to cry.
“Ah, poor lass. Is it passing?” Mrs. O’Neal asked as she got a cool wet rag and bathed Emily’s face. “Take deep breaths. Good,” she said when Emily did so. “Passing now? Pain easing?”
“Yes. It just throbs a bit.”
She opened her eyes and studied the woman standing by the bed. Mrs. O’Neal had a pleasant face and a white cap that vainly struggled to contain thick curly brown hair. As the woman set down a bowl she had brought up, Emily noticed she had hands well worn by hard work but they were strong. Emily also saw that Mrs. O’Neal’s arms, which had looked as sturdy as the rest of her, actually rippled subtly with muscle that moved beneath the skin and the plain brown gown the woman wore. Mrs. O’Neal was a woman who worked hard.
“You are probably a bit hungry,” the woman said. “Twice you roused enough for me to get some soup into you though I am thinking you don’t recall it.”
“No, I cannot, but I thank you for it.”
“I mean to have a quick look at your wounds now. The one on your arm was not as serious as the one in your leg. They showed no signs of festering but it may be best to keep a close watch for a while yet.”
Emily nodded but could not stop herself from tensing as the woman undid the bandage on her arm. She looked at it along with Mrs. O’Neal, although she could not see it as well. Just as she began to feel a little queasy over the sight of the stitches on her skin, Mrs. O’Neal lightly touched the wound area and Emily closed her eyes as she winced.
