“It’s her medicine.” The girl knotted her apron in her hands. “They’s giving Miss Logan her medicine.”
“Her medicine? Sounds like they’re wrestling her to the floor.” He spit out the words. His body trembled with unspent fire. He was ready to bolt up those stairs and yank LeBeau and whoever else away from Morning Fawn. He could do it. Then, what? His hands curled into fists. If he got himself kicked out of the house, he’d have no way to help Morning Fawn in the long run. And he’d destroy any hope he had of obtaining a reference and jeopardize his mission.
“They’s won’t hurt her, Massar.” The big, brown-eyed girl pleaded with him. Her gaze landed on his chin. “Just hold her down. Give her the medicine.”
Devon scowled at her and George. “They do this every night?”
Uneasy quiet pervaded overhead.
“No, sir.” She held out her callused hands. “Hasn’t happened for months. Please, sir, go back to your room.”
The truth or an appeasement for him?
An angry screech echoed from above.
“Sounds like they finished.” The girl lowered her gaze.
Devon squeezed his eyes shut. He’d brought Morning Fawn back to this house. Put her here in the first place. “Estupida.”He hit his fist against the wall and muttered in Isabelle’s mother tongue. “Brutos. Me gustaria retorcerles el cuello.”I’d like to wring their necks.
A door opened above. The sound of crying drifted down the stairway.
Dear God. A flash of memory sliced through him. Isabella, on her deathbed, crying over their lost infant. He shuddered. Nausea filled his stomach.
Footsteps sounded overhead.
“Please, Massar. Your going up there won’t do any good.” The girl swiped her cheek. A tear?
Mute, George stuffed his hands into his pockets and shifted closer to the banister.
Devon could not, would not put up with Morning Fawn being treated like this. He clenched his jaw and pivoted away. If he laid eyes on that cane-wielding puff-shirt right now, he was liable to throttle the man.
By the time he returned to Brownsville, Morning Fawn would be out of this house.
Two hours later, Devon crept up the forbidden stairs, mindful of every creak. He couldn’t sleep until he made sure Morning Fawn was all right. His palms throbbed from slamming his fists into them. Better his palms than LeBeau’s face. Too bad he hadn’t had a cord of wood to chop.
With no light in the attic foyer, he felt along the wall until he bumped the door handle. He had his pick in his pocket, but first, he traced the doorframe with his fingers. Along the top jamb, he struck metal.
Sweat dampened the armpits of his cotton undershirt as he inserted the key in the lock and turned. Morning Fawn might scream and wake up the whole house. Worse yet, she could be unconscious. He was hoping for somewhere in between.
A quiet hum drifted through the opening. A song he couldn’t quite place.
An orangeish glow emanated from the oil lamp, casting shadows across the plaster walls and wide oak rafters. His swallow stuck in his throat as his glance skittered from an overturned cane-bottom chair to the bed.
Eyelids sagging heavily, Morning Fawn rested on her side, half covered by a disheveled mess of bedclothes. She hugged a blanket to her chest, but she’d kicked her lower legs free of covering. The hem of her rumpled dress gathered just below her knees. A torn stocking hung on the bedpost. Her honey-blond hair splayed across a pillow.
Alive. Beautiful. Subdued against her will.
His thoughts scattered. He shouldn’t be in here alone with her. But he couldn’t turn and leave without checking on her.
His foot struck something cool and squishy. Squash oozed into his stocking. He grimaced and reached for a towel on the washstand, bumping against a plate.Thump, thump. It rattled across the floorboards. He froze. What if someone came upstairs to check on the noise?
Morning Fawn raised her head an inch and squinted at him through her lashes. “What’re you doing here, Mr. Trouble?”
His skin prickled beneath her gaze. The door. He pivoted and closed it behind him without a whisper of a click. He yanked off his stocking and grabbed the towel.
“Everything. Today. Your fault.” She gnawed her lip as he bent to clean the floor. “You stay away.” Words slurred, her voice had lost its hard edge.
Nothing like the fighter he’d encountered on horseback today. No wonder she’d tried to run away. His stomach dropped.
