Starcatcher, page 41
“How noble,” he sneered. “And when he couldn’t find such a man, he decided to buy a convict. I imagine I was cheaper.”
She decided not to take his bait. “Sit down,” she ordered him sternly, and was astonished when he did so after only a moment’s hesitation. Taking one of his wrists, she gently explored the lacerations with her fingers. He would probably always have scars, but she knew any sympathy she might have expressed would be rejected. So she tried not to allow any feelings to show as she washed the wounds, then soaked fresh cloths in the still steaming water. Allowing the cloth to cool only slightly, she wrapped first one wrist, then the other, tying the poultices securely with narrower strips. He held himself perfectly still throughout the procedure and made no sound.
“Your ankles. Do they need tending? John said they might.”
“I donna need anything from you,” he said arrogantly. Then his nose twitched. “What is in that potion?”
“Wild garlic,” she said. “It is good for healing open wounds.”
He looked doubtful, and it occurred to her that he would probably make a liar of her through sheer force of will.
“You’ll see,” she said, trying to sound confident. “Now let me look at your ankles.”
He didn’t move.
She sighed. “All right. I will leave some cloth and the mixture. Use it or not, as you choose.”
He didn’t answer.
She tried again. “There is stew and fresh bread in the basket.”
He still didn’t answer.
She started for the door. Then, determinedly, she stopped and turned back. “John said you can read. Would you … teach me and the children?”
He stared across the barn at her, and she could see him weighing his response. “Do I have a choice?”
“Yes,” she said softly. “John needs your help in the fields. Anything else would be … a favor.”
“Why does your husband not teach you?” Sutherland asked.
She bit her lip for a moment, then nibbled on it; it was a habit she’d developed long ago and hadn’t been able to break. She didn’t want to admit that John couldn’t read or cipher, that something in his head prevented him from seeing things as others saw them. His tutor had called him stupid—he had told her that—but she knew he wasn’t. He was a shrewd judge of men, yet he had always felt inferior among them because he wasn’t able to read.
John. Tears started to well up in her eyes. She was losing him. Slowly but surely. His face was growing more ashen by the day, his breath was becoming more ragged, and the foxglove didn’t seem to help any longer. They needed this hostile stranger so badly, and she knew that he felt no loyalty to them whatsoever. And why should he?
His eyes were still questioning her. She thought about lying to him, but lies always meant more lies. Yet John was ashamed of his lack.
“He doesn’t have the strength after working all day,” she finally replied. It was a truth, if not the truth.
The Scot’s gaze seemed to thrust right through her, and she thought he was seeing everything. But his face, that stone-hewn visage, never changed.
“You should eat,” she said to him. “Then get some more rest.”
“At your order, mistress,” he said with mock servility.
She started to leave, then hesitated once more to speak over her shoulder. “I’ll fetch you for supper tonight.”
“I would rather eat here,” came the growled response.
“My husband wants you to join us.”
“Ah, he thinks to make me a member of your foine family,” the Scot said. “Well, tell your husband it willna work. My body might have been sold, but no’ my mind. Or my soul.”
Fancy took a slow, deep breath. “I will expect you,” she said, then left before he could taunt her any further.
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About the Author
Patricia Potter is a USA Today–bestselling author of more than fifty romantic novels. A seven-time RITA Award finalist and three-time Maggie Award winner, she was named Storyteller of the Year by Romantic Times and received the magazine’s Career Achievement Award for Western Romance. Potter is a past board member and president of Romance Writers of America. Prior to becoming a fiction author, she was a reporter for the Atlanta Journal and the president of a public relations firm in Atlanta. She lives in Memphis, Tennessee.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1998 by Patricia Potter
Cover design by Mimi Bark
ISBN: 978-1-5040-0112-0
This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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