Julie Anne Long by The Runaway Duke

Author:The Runaway Duke [Duke, The Runaway]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2012-06-12T13:04:35+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

The bath was Connor’s idea.

“How well do you swim, wee Becca?” he asked, laughing, when she staggered from her room in the morning, scowling and blinking away her sleep.

The hunting box fortunately had two rooms, the main room featuring two bunks and an actual bed, a hearth, a table and benches, and the rather bedraggled stuffed head of a buck mounted on the wall. The second room was tiny and seemed to be for storage of such useful things as brooms and snares and old powder horns, but it also featured a bed. Apparently the previous Dukes of Dunbrooke had believed in comfort for all members of their hunting parties.

Rebecca had done a cursory bit of dusting and chasing of spiders with the broom while Connor slept the day before, and had given the beds a good smacking with the broom, as well, which had at least rearranged the dust. Fortunately the structure was snugly built, and there was no evidence that rodents had moved into the mattresses.

But it would hardly have mattered if they had. Rebecca had fallen into bed like a rock shortly after she and Connor had shared one of the meat pies from the Thorny Rose, and slept even through the sound of Connor’s impressive snoring in the next room.

Connor had already made tea and sliced the second meat pie into pieces for each of them. Never shy when it came to meals, Rebecca nearly lunged for her half.

“Swim?” she finally asked, through bites. And then she stopped chewing.

“Connor, you divided this pie evenly. You should have given yourself a larger slice.”

“Why is that, wee Becca?”

“You need nourishment to heal quickly.”

Connor gazed at her for a moment, bemused. It was a sweet and curious feeling to be fussed over.

“My thanks, wee Becca, but I think God favors those who share selflessly, aye?”

Rebecca snorted. She studied him objectively for a moment.

“You really do look much better this morning, Connor. Your eyes are clear and your color is good.”

The corner of Connor’s mouth quirked.

“Thank you, Dr. Tremaine. Though how you can see my color through my beard is beyond my ken.”

“How does it feel?”

“My arm? As though it may fall off.” When Rebecca blanched, he quickly amended, “Better, it feels better this morning, truly. I am healing quickly, I promise.” He added, unable to resist teasing her, “My eyes are clear and my color is good, you know.”

She made a face at him.

Truthfully, the ache in his arm had acquired the rhythm of a storm tide: rushing in to torment him, then ebbing deceptively, then rushing in again. It was malevolently consistent. He’d experienced worse, however. Favoring his arm seemed to help. Talking about it did not.

“I will snare a hare this afternoon, for supper, wee Becca. I promise I shall eat the better part of it, if that will ease your mind. We can even make a stew, if we can find a few edible mushrooms.”

“Poaching?” Rebecca sounded half aghast, half thrilled.

Connor almost laughed. His string of crimes was certainly lengthening.

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