The Captain's Daughter, page 35
The hand on his shoulder woke him instantly. His eyes flew open, every nerve in his body alert and pulsating. It was Beth and she had just placed a dish of broth beside him.
‘It’s only me,’ she reassured him. ‘It’s midday. You have slept non-stop since Martha’s visit yesterday. I thought I should wake you. You should eat something, even if it’s only a spoonful or two.’
He sank back on the bed, relieved that he had recognised her. It seemed he could retain fresh memories if not recall old ones, although, he had to admit, Beth was not a woman a man could easily forget.
‘Not all night. I woke once.’
Her eyes widened and he realised he had unnerved her.
‘Rest assured, I did not have the urge to attack you while you were sleeping.’ He eased himself into a sitting position and took the bowl she offered him. She remained wary and he realised he had made light of a situation where she had felt frightened. He stared at the meal, frowning, unable to shake her worried expression from his mind. ‘I have to ask … did I hurt you?’
‘When?’
‘When I first arrived here. I hope I am not the sort of man who would lay a hand on a woman.’ He glanced up at her. ‘I want the truth.’
Beth fidgeted. ‘I had a right to defend myself …’
His stomach lurched at the thought that he may have harmed her.
‘… but no you did not harm me.’
He began to stir the broth with his spoon. An uneasy silence descended. Despite her reply, he could not help wondering if the only reason he had not harmed her was because she had stopped him in time.
‘As you cannot recall your own name, what shall I call you?’
Beth’s question caught him off guard. He did not want to pick a name at random and claim it as his own. His appetite left him as suddenly as it had appeared.
He rested the spoon in the bowl. ‘I want my own name.’
‘I have to call you something.’
‘Call me what you like. I won’t promise to answer to it.’ He returned the bowl to her, lay down again and covered his eyes with the crook of his arm. To accept another name meant he was accepting his present state and he was not ready to do that yet.
‘You have not eaten your broth.’
‘I have no appetite. I am afraid that your time has been wasted, but I thank you for the sentiment behind it. Water will suffice for now.’
Beth stood up with the bowl in her hands. He thought she would leave, but instead she hesitated as if she was unsure whether to insist or let him dictate what his body needed. To his surprise, she decided on the former.
She sat down beside him again. ‘Eat half of it and I will leave you in peace.’ She held out a spoon filled with the broth she had made. He looked at it as it hovered above his chest.
‘I am not a baby to be fed.’
‘Then stop behaving like one,’ retorted Beth.
He kept his lips firmly closed, but Beth would not be put off and the spoon remained. The aroma of the meaty broth wafted up his nostrils to tempt his appetite.
‘If you don’t eat it, it will spill and burn you. Let us stop playing games. You know, and I know, that to recover a body must sleep, eat and drink. So far you have done only two of those things since Martha’s visit.’
He shot her a glance. Being ordered to do something felt both familiar yet unusual, which was unsettling, but he also saw the wisdom in her words. He wanted to discover his identity and to do that he needed to be well. He sat up again and took the spoon and bowl from her. Their fingers grazed and jogged a more recent memory. They had touched before, when she had handed him the tankard of water, only he was too unwell for the sensation to affect him. This time it affected him very much. He glanced up at her, interested to see if she had felt it too. If she did, she hid it well.
He decided to concentrate on eating and soon settled into the rhythm of a hungry man.
‘I shall call you Luke until you remember your name. The Good Samaritan story is told in the Book Of Luke.’ He continued to eat as if she had not spoken as he had no intention of accepting the name. ‘I am talking about the Bible. Do you remember the story? It tells of a man who was attacked and badly injured, but who is later cared for by his enemy.’
He paused to look at her. ‘And you are the enemy?’
Beth almost laughed, until she realised he was serious. ‘Well, no.’
‘I have only your word for that.’
‘Which is more reliable than yours at the moment.’
He grudgingly accepted her retort. She had a quick wit, which was to be admired. He finished the soup and returned the empty bowl to her. When he was better he would be able to spar with her on more equal terms.
‘I will call you Luke. It is up to you if you answer,’ said Beth getting up. She was leaving and he realised he had not thanked her. He tried, but the words did not come easy to him.
‘The soup … it was good.’ His voice, barely above a whisper, stopped her in mid step. She hesitated, probably doubting she had heard the paltry compliment. She turned to look at him. Under her gaze he felt strangely exposed and vulnerable. He lay down again and stared at the ceiling as if he had not spoken and was just waiting for sleep. She turned away and he felt he had failed in some way. He forced himself to say the words he really wanted to say and this time he spoke more clearly so there was no denying his meaning.
‘I am glad I did not hurt you when I entered your home.’ Beth turned and as she was leaving, he lifted his elbow to watch. She was smiling. Hopefully she would now believe her intruder was not so very dangerous after all.
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Victoria Cornwall, The Captain's Daughter
