“Keeps it from withering, I suspicion. Let’s see if we can lift the arm up.”
Matthew only got it lifted up once and Boyd moaned, sweat breaking out on his brow. “Not ready for that then.” He started just gently lifting Boyd’s forearm up until the boy regained his composure. “Keep it simple. The upper arm obviously needs more time to heal.”
“Do you think that is why I can’t move it?”
“Could be. Too soon to ken that, but this is good, too.”
After a half hour Matthew took the weight off. He looked at Boyd. The younger man look exhausted and it puzzled him. If there was no feeling in the arm, why would it being moved tire him out? Then he reminded himself the wound had been a bad one.
“Are ye staying here at the infirmary or coming back to where we’re bunking?”
“I think I am staying here a little longer.”
“Probably best until lifting that arm doesnae make ye nearly go down. Weel, I will wander by tomorrow. For now I am going to see Abigail. She must be back at the Beaton house by now.”
“How is she doing? Getting along fine at that house?”
“Aye, but I have the feeling young Abigail is one who can make her way anywhere.” Matthew smiled when Boyd laughed. “Perhaps this time she and I will go walking to get away from all the women and will not get shot at.”
As he left the infirmary, Matthew hoped the young man’s arm would heal. It would almost be better to have lost the arm than to go on with it hanging uselessly at one’s side. He suspected Boyd might not agree. Despite how despondent he got over the problem, it was obvious that Boyd still clung to the hope that it would get better, which was a possibility. Matthew would do his best to say nothing that might crush that hope.
He had had enough of the war. It was undoubtedly selfish and unpatriotic but he was worn to the bone. He missed his home and family until it was a continuing ache in his very bones. He decided what he needed was to see Abigail, then groaned. When his body tightened at the mere thought of her, it was past time for him to do some hard thinking about the woman and their future.
He rapped on the Beaton house door and Mrs. Beaton answered. If he did not already know the woman he would have been cowed by the scowl on her face. Instead he asked for Abigail and was told to wait in the parlor. He hoped it would not take too long to get her and went to sit on the settee.
* * *
“The lieutenant is here again.”
Abbie gave a start and looked up from the book she was reading. “Where is he?”
“In the parlor. Waiting. Looks like Julia is resting so you do not have to keep watch for a while.”
Glancing at her friend, Abbie had to agree. Julia was finally having a good rest. She’d given her a tiny drop of the medicine and it was doing the job. Abbie hoped it was not going to hurt the child in any way. She checked her hair, tightened the ribbon on it, then brushed her skirts down and followed Mrs. Beaton down the stairs.
Matthew stood up as she came into the room and smiled at her. Abbie sighed quietly because that was always a fine thing to see. “Afternoon, Matthew.”
He stepped close and kissed her hand. “I was wondering if ye would care to go for a walk.”
Glancing at the sun beaming through the window, Abbie nodded. “Yes, I think that would suit me very well.”
He took her by the arm and led her out into the hall, idly wondering why Mrs. Beaton was lurking around. After helping Abbie into her coat, he smiled at Mrs. Beaton and led Abbie out the door. He heard the door shut behind them with a sharp click and wondered why the woman was in such a sour mood.
“Is something wrong with Mrs. Beaton?” he asked.
“No. She is just in a bit of a snit about Julia having a child.”
“Weel, not much can be done to change that.”
“I know. I am just hoping she gets over it. After all, Julia is married.”
Enjoying the quiet of the day, Abbie barely noticed when he abruptly turned into an alley between two deserted houses. “Why are we in here again?”
“Privacy,” he said as he walked her back until she was pinned between him and a wall. “We so rarely have any.”
Before she could respond to that truth, he was kissing her. It was not long before her tongue joined his in the play and she tightened her hold on him, loving the feel of his warm, hard body against hers. The way he rubbed his hands up and down her back, skimming her sides, fired her blood. When he ended the kiss even she recognized the sound she made as one of protest.
He took her hand while she was still reeling from his kiss and led her into the house she had just leaned against. “I should have recognized that move, sir.”
