“Did he imply it?” Ned had to ask.
Fitz’s expression grew pinched. “I should be able to think on my own, sir.”
“Yes, you should,” Ned readily agreed, convinced that the lot of them had cooked up this scheme. Fitz was just the messenger.
The man had the good sense to look ashamed. He turned back to Gemma and caught her staring at both of them, her expression wary.
Wary.The word described her manner fromthe first moment he’d met her. She didn’t trust men. It was clear to him now.
He didn’t trust women.
They were a fine pair.
“Mrs. Estep?” She didn’t respond.“Gemma.”He made his voice deliberately sharp. She blinked, looked to him—and what he saw in her eyes almost broke his heart.
He understood betrayal. He knew it well. Whatever was going through her mind, it was bigger than a knock on the head.
Ned spoke to Fitz. “Since you are here, make yourself useful. Pick up the candle and hold it high. Gemma, keep drinking.”
She dutifully took another sip from the flask while Fitz did as bidden. Ned could now see the cut more fully. No sign of imbedded splinters. “It is clean.”
He had pulled a second chair up so that he could sit facing her, the two of them knee to knee, and reached inside his bag.
Gemma stirred. Her knee hit his, then rested. “I would put charcoal on it.”
“Not from the hearth,” Ned countered, pulling out a small bag.
“Certainly from the hearth.” Her spirit was returning. “Where else would you find it?”
He poured the contents of his bag in the palm of his hand. There were three small charcoal pieces. “I’m a bit choosy about what I use. I prepare this myself from good oak wood.”
For the first time since the incident began,she looked at him,trulylooked at him. He took a small mortar and pestle from his bag. It was a third of the size of a normal one. He ground a chunk of the charcoal, adding a spot of water to create a paste.
She watched, a small smile forming. When he was finished, she said, “Why, Mr. Thurlowe, I’m surprised you would use a healer’s remedy.”
“I use whatever has beenprovento be good medicine.”
“So that means you keep leeches in that bag?”
“Not in my bag.”
She raised a skeptical eyebrow. Yes, she was feeling better, and he did have leeches at his house. Every doctor kept them. “I rarely use them. I prefer to see if the body heals itself first. Sometimes the best cure is patience.”
“That is a comfort.” She turned her head for him to apply the charcoal. Fitz, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing, held the light. He was good about not letting any wax drop on both doctor and patient.
After Ned gingerly applied the paste to her wound, he unrolled a clean bandage from his bag. He wrapped it around her head. She touched it as if judging his skill and then smiled. “It helps.”
“Fitz, fetch a mug.” Ned took the flask and poured a bit of brandy in it. He handed it to the lanky man. “Here, you look as if you could use a bit of a restorative.”
“Thank you, sir. I could. I didn’t like seeing what I did.”
“She is lucky you didn’t do worse.”
“Yes, sir.” Fitz downed the brandy.
And was that his imagination, or did her mouth twitch as if she held back a smile?
He placed the flask in her hands. “Drink.”
