Redemption (Book Two of the Shipwrecked Series)
Page 16
Midway through stitching the gaping wound closed I glanced up from my concentrated work to see that the green eyes of my patient were not only open, but that he was contently watching me stitch closed the angry tissue. A bit startled, I stopped my work.
“Hello there, um, how are you feeling?” I asked uncomfortably, not quite sure of the proper etiquette required when addressing one’s patient mid stitch.
“Mmmph,” he made that familiar Scottish noise that I had heard as a response that could mean, yes, no, or anything in between.
“I’ve decided that ye are no an angel,” he said flatly. “Ye must be here to finish me off!” he chastised with a faint smile.
His eyes were a deep captivating green and when he smiled, there was a dimple that appeared on his left cheek right above the masculine angle of his well-set jaw. Although Devon McClain had the physique of a warrior, his demeanor was not what I would expect from a Scottish barbarian. He was teasing me. His easy smile made me forget what I was supposed to be concentrating on. I regained my composure and shifted my eyes back to my stitchery.
“Well, if that’s the thanks I can expect, I’ll stop right here with you only half sewn up and leave you to your own devices, you drunken sot!”
“Aye, don’t be fashed lassie. I ken it must be done, and I thank ye for yer efforts. I’d rather be stitched up by a lovely lassie any day than be under the needle of auld Nathan.” This jab missed the ears that it was intended for, and Devon’s eyes glanced over his shoulder, looking to the empty space where Nathan had been only moments before. “Had enough of holding me down, did he?” Devon asked in reference to Nathan’s disappearance. “I’ve a mind for such treatments on horses, and I ken tell that you are doing your best tae be gentle about it. Carry on lass,” he said, lowering his head back down to the table and raking his hand through his unruly hair. “Damn, my head hurts something fierce,” he said, raising his left hand to rub his forehead.
“That’s because you are drunk,” I stated matter-of-factly. “Could you please stop moving so that I can finish this?” I asked, my voice coming off harsher than I had intended.
“Och, sorry, lass. I ken that yer tired, ye’ve done a braw job tonight fixing up my men. I owe ye a great debt of gratitude,” he said sincerely, green eyes holding my gaze.
“You’re welcome,” I said, appreciating his appreciation of my efforts. He had easy quality that caused me to like him right away. Impulsively, I set the needle down on his chest. The glimmering firelight reflected off of the metal causing it to sparkle against Devon’s skin. I leaned forward over his chest and placed my fingers on his temples, making slow circles as I applied pressure to ease his headache.
“Ye are an angel for sure,” he whispered, closing his eyes to enjoy the massage. “Mmmm. That feels sae good,” he said, body relaxing beneath my hands on the table. I could feel the tension leaving his body as I massaged his temples and forehead, releasing the headache from his body.
As I leaned over him making slow, rhythmic circles with my hands, I noticed how solid, how warm he felt beneath my fingertips. My heart fluttered a little faster in response to him. The intimacy of our close bodily proximity made me come quickly to my senses. I drew my hands slowly away from his warm skin, straightening up on the bench.
“Thank ye, lass,” he said quietly, eyes still closed in relaxation. He opened his eyes and they lingered on me as he smiled slightly, causing me to look away nervously. “Better get on with it,” he coaxed, smiling a slight lopsided smile as he glanced down at the needle that I had left on his chest.
I tentatively began my work again as he lay still as a board upon the table. He shot me a debonair smile of encouragement as I poked the needle through the swollen flesh of the wound.
“Well lass, now that you’ve seen me in such an undignified state and tortured me with yer wee needle, may I ask your name?” I’ve not seen ye around here before, and I’m like to know all of the fair lassies,” he followed the inquiry with a wink. I was beginning to bet that indeed, he probably did know a great number of the lassies in the keep.
“I’m Kate,” I replied, trying to maintain my concentration on stitching.
“What!” he exclaimed as he jerked up from the table, causing my needle to stick him neatly in the chest. “Kate? As in Kate Berkshire?” His face contorted as if he didn’t believe me.
“Uh….yes, that would be me.” I felt guilty each time I feigned Ms. Berkshires stolen identity. To hide my unease, I snatched the needle that was stuck in his chest and removed it quickly, applying pressure to the place where a crimson bead of blood had begun to pool. I panicked for a split second thinking that perhaps he had met the real Ms. Berkshire, and knew my claim of being her to be false.
His face broke into a genuine smile and his torso began to shake with a fit of such hysteric laughter that my hand fell from his chest, and blood once again began to pool at the site of the needle prick.
“So, yer Kate?” he managed in between chuckles. “Really?”
In lieu of an answer to his question, I placed my hands on my hips, and shot him what I intended to be an intimidating stare.
“Aye lass, my Da would have been right pleased with this arrangement. Too bad he couldna have lived long enough tae meet ye. You’ve a fire in yer eyes and my by estimates, yer young enough tae have been his daughter. He’d have been right pleased indeed!” Devon chuckled.
I could imagine the scene rolling through his drunken mind of his elderly father with a wife young enough to be his daughter.
I pushed Devon back onto the table, grabbed the needle and jabbed it a bit too harshly into the tender skin of his flesh wound. I was exasperated that he found my situation so humorous, but more than anything, the danger of assuming Ms. Berkshire’s identity hit home with a weighted blow. What would happen to me if I was discovered to be an imposter?
He regained his composure and flashed a mischievous smile. “And here I was enjoying yer attentions sae much, thinking ye an angel and such and ye were tae be my step-mother! Ha! My Da must be rolling over in his grave!”
“Lay back you drunken lout, I’ll never finish sewing this up if you keep laughing.” I placed a firm hand upon his chest and used my fingers to hold the wound together in preparation for the final stitches. “I doubt very much that your Dad would like you to join him in the grave due to a nasty infection,” I threatened.
Between his occasional muffled giggles, during which I had to pause so as not to stick him with the needle again, I was able to finish closing his wound. As I pulled back to admire my amateur work, I saw that my patient was once again fast asleep. I had been so absorbed in my work that I had not noticed that the hustle and bustle in the hall had died down and only a few maids remained to tidy the mess. There was a steady muffled hum of the breathing men who had been left in the hall settled into the rhythm of well deserved sleep.
I grabbed a woolen blanket from the hearth and placed it over Devon’s sleeping form. His chest slowly rose and fell and a hint of a smile remained on his face. I carefully tucked the blanket about him and brushed a fallen clump of hair from his eye. A feeling of peace from a job well done came over me and I let out a well deserved sigh. I placed a quick kiss right above his eye where the hair had been. His skin was warm and weathered beneath my lips. I froze above his sleeping body, embarrassed by my action. What had come over me?
“Good night, step-mother,” he whispered, catching me off guard. I could hear the smile in his voice.
I felt the color rise to my cheeks. He had known I was there the whole time and had most certainly felt the kiss that I had placed on his forehead. One never uses their best judgment under the grips of sleep deprivation. Kissing Devon McClain had most certainly been a bad idea.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Excerpt from The Imposter