Blythe had not looked at any of the men bidding on her but stared over their heads, wishing to be anywhere else, but now that someone had won, if one was to call it that, she needed to see who it was.
And even though she was afraid of the unknown, some of her nerves lessened when she looked at his face.
She had seen Dr. Valentine around the camp, treating injuries and illnesses.
He seemed kind and caring, so perhaps…
Just because a person behaved in one manner while in public did not mean they were a nice person in private.
Yet, she needed to believe that Dr. Valentine was kind both in public and in private.
Besides treating those who requested his services, she had seen him visit the tents of the camp followers, often, and during the day, which was likely why she had noticed him. Intimate matters usually took place under the cloak of darkness. Not for Dr. Valentine, though. He visited in the morning and afternoon.
Blythe did not fault him, of course. She’d been told that men of a certain age had a need for intimacy and if forced to go too long without that it could be detrimental to their health. She did not know this for a fact of course because her only experience and knowledge came from her marriage, but since the only unattached women present were the camp followers, Dr. Valentine had little choice as to where he, um… maintained his health? But, as he did visit so often, Blythe could only assume that he was likely nothing more than a rake disguised as a doctor.
Maybe he was tired of visiting the camp followers and she would be more convenient.
Blythe’s stomach tightened again.
“We will wait here until you return with payment, Valentine,” John called.
Blythe continued to stand still, the warm sun beating down on her, sweat pricking her brow.
What if he didn’t return? Would she have to endure the humiliation of another auction?
What if she were not so fortunate next time.
Then again, she didn’t really know what Dr. Valentine intended or if she was lucky this time.
Please, let him be good and decent.”
When he returned, Blythe nearly blew out a sigh of relief.
It did not matter that she had never met him, there was something in his manner and bearing that assured her that all would be well.
Except, she had also believed herself in love once and that man had just sold her, so her judgment of men was not exactly trustworthy either.
“She is yours,” John said as he took the money and handed Dr. Valentine the rope.
It was bad enough that she’d been led to the auction block by a rope and feared that she would be led away in the same manner to complete her utter humiliation.
“The rope is not necessary,” Dr. Valentine said as he untied the knot then examined her wrists, running a thumb over the bruised and scratched skin.
He drew in a breath through his nose and his jaw clenched.
Oh dear, was he someone who easily angered?
“Are you certain? She may try to run off,” John laughed.
“I would not blame her if she did,” Dr. Valentine retorted.
Blyth blinked at him, surprised by the response.
Valentine bent and picked up her satchel. “This way, Mrs. Clay.” He then offered his arm and led her through the camp to where the medical tents had been erected. “I have an ointment that will help with the pain and healing of your wrists,” he promised.
Word had already spread, or so she assumed, because everyone they passed stared at them. Once she inside Dr. Valentine’s tent, she might never leave until it was finally time to return to England.
It was bad enough that Mrs. Clay had been forced to stand on a wooden block as her husband auctioned her, but for him to tie her hands and waist with a rope, as if she were livestock had caused a rage inside the likes that Orlando had not experienced since he was a child.
