I shrug. "Promised my sister I’d give you a hand. And you heard my father last night. The older he gets, the fewer scruples he has. Truth is, lassie, you aren't safe here."
Her eyes widen ever so slightly. I’ve spoken the truth, though.
“So this has nothing to do with you not trusting me?"
I swing my legs over the couch and lean over, resting my elbows on my knees. I hold her gaze for a moment.
"Should I not trust you? Do you have a reason for me not to trust you?"
She rolls her eyes. "Of course not."
But she's brushing me off. She’s hiding something. I’ll find out what.
“Good,” I say, pushing myself to my feet. Christ, but I’m tired, my whole body sore and fatigued from lack of sleep. “Would hate to have to punish you.”
Her mouth drops open. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?” she says, but before I can elaborate, and I really want to elaborate, there's a light knock at the door, and Islan comes into the room.
“Good morning,” she says brightly. For a fairly snarky lass, she’s usually chipper in the morning.
“Morning,” Fran says.
“Morning,” I mumble.
“Did you sleep alright?” she asks Fran, kicking the door shut behind her. Her arms are laden with folded clothing, and she's got little bottles of things that look like soap and various toiletries as well.
“Aye,” Fran says, but she yawns, belying what she says.
“You?” she asks me. I grunt in reply, not in the mood for chitchat. My mind’s still on the book I read the night before.
The author described every detail of this very room, from the crown molding to the fireplace. She even knew about the little trapdoor near the wall where we used to hide biscuits and sweets when we were children. Mum never allowed such things, but we’d sneak them in just the same. She was never the wiser.
It isn’t one of my sisters, is it?
I look at Islan with different eyes. It would explain how Aisla escaped, wouldn’t it?
“Breakfast’s in the kitchen,” Islan says brightly. “You hungry?”
Fran frowns and shrugs. “Don’t seem to have much of an appetite.”
“You’ll have to eat something,” I snap. I have no idea why she makes me so short-tempered. I’m usually a little more easygoing.
“Is that right?” she asks, rolling her eyes at me again. Jesus, the woman’s smart mouth will land her in trouble before she knows it.
“Aye,” I tell her. “You can't take those bloody pain meds on an empty stomach."
"Not a problem," she says. "I have no intention of taking any more of those stupid meds. They make me high, and I don't like being out of control like that."
For some reason she holds my eyes when she makes the statement. Something tells me that she absolutely likes being out of control, just maybe not that way.
Jesus, are these stupid books already getting in my head? Why would I even think such a thing?
"Now, Fran," my sister says. "I don't always agree with my brother’s bossy ways, but in this particular instance I think that he may have a point. If you're going into town to see the doctor, you could undergo more testing, and you'll be a lot better off if you have a little food in your belly first.”
“I’ll try to eat something, then,” Fran says, frowning again. Then she softens a bit. “I do thank you all for your hospitality. Really, you've gone above and beyond the call of duty. I'm not trying to be a difficult patient at all, I'm just trying to figure out how to get better quicker. I don't like relying on medication if I can help it."
"That particular one was obviously not a good fit for you," I tell her. "We can call the doctor and get something else. Easy enough."
She nods. "Okay. Let me get changed first, and then we can go to the kitchen to get a wee breakfast."
