Tossing the rifle back to the German, Gage sprinted swiftly across the space between them, now wishing he had killed Potts.
Shemaine stepped stiltedly toward him, trying not to wince as he came near. “I’m all right,” she managed rigidly. “ ‘Tis merely a flesh wound.”
Gage was not so certain. Blood had already soaked the side of her bodice and was beginning to darken her skirt near the waist. Gently lifting her in his arms, he spoke in concern, “We’ll see what damage has been done once I get you to the cabin.”
Shemaine winced in pain as Gage carried her up the path. To keep from crying out, she gritted her teeth as she clutched an arm tightly about his neck. Then she recalled the task that she had been performing before she noticed the horse’s whinny and issued a soft, fretful groan, drawing Gage’s anxious regard until she confided in some embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Mr. Thornton. I’m afraid I left the washing by the stream.”
“Forget the clothes!” Gage bade her gruffly. “They can float away for all I care.”
Unlatching the front door, he shoved it wide with a shoulder and carried her through the cabin to the back corridor, where he set her gently on her feet. Turning her around so her injury faced the light, he went down on one knee beside her and plucked at the blood-soaked cloth. The gown was still intact except for two small rents where the lead ball had gone completely through her bodice, but he was hindered from seeing the wound or the source of the bleeding. Taking hold of the fabric, he would have ripped it apart, but Shemaine stumbled away, immediately incensed that he should consider such a thing.
“I do not intend to stand here like a helpless twit and let you tear off my clothes, Mr. Thornton. I’m sure the gown can be washed and easily mended as it is, and I will not see such a serviceable garment ruined beyond repair.”
Gaze sighed in vexation. “There are other gowns in Victoria’s trunk, Shemaine, and I give you leave to take what you like of them.”
Though he reached toward her again, Shemaine stepped beyond his grasp, stubbornly shaking her head. “I’ll not impose upon your generosity, Mr. Thornton. You’ve given me far too much as it is.”
“Take the gown off, if you must!” Gage urged testily. “But I’ll not rest ‘til I’ve seen to your wound.”
“And that I will allow you to do, sir, but only in a manner I will feel comfortable with.” Shemaine peered up at him as she softly suggested, “If I may have a loan of an old shirt, perhaps one that opens down the front, then I’ll be able to accommodate you more readily.”
With a frustrated growl, Gage left her and, after a moment, returned from his bedroom with a homespun shirt. “You can put this on while I get some water from the well.”
Shemaine accepted the garment from him and waited as he took the pitcher from the washstand and strode out the back door, closing it behind him. Unfastening her bodice and chemise, she slipped them from her shoulders and then gritted her teeth against the pain as she pulled the cloth away from the wound. She cast an anxious glance over her shoulder to reassure herself that Gage was nowhere in sight as she lowered the garments to her waist. Ever so carefully, she slipped into the shirt, fastened it between her breasts, and rolled up the long sleeves to free her hands. While she waited for her master’s return, she found an old sheet in the storeroom and began making bandages.
A quick rap of knuckles against the back door preceded Gage’s entrance, and Shemaine waited self-consciously as he poured water into the washbasin and fetched more from the hearth to heat it. When he returned to her side and pulled the shirt up from her ribs, she turned her face away, blushing as she folded her arms carefully around her bosom. Without such precautions, the shirt would have allowed a liberal view of everything beneath it, for it was like a tent enveloping her.
Wetting a cloth, Gage gently swabbed and cleansed the bloody gash until he was able to determine the extent of her injury. He was relieved to see that it wasn’t as severe as he had first thought, only a laceration across a rib, deep enough to cause profuse bleeding, but hardly life-threatening. The only hazard would be if it became infected, but he intended to prevent such a likelihood by the use of the malodorous balm.
“It’s not serious,” he announced with relief, “but ‘twill require a tight bandage to stem the bleeding.”
Gingerly Shemaine pointed toward the strips of cloth she had wound into neat rolls, trying not to show how much his careful ministering had hurt her. “Will those suffice?”
“Aye, they’ll do nicely. Now lift up the end of the shirt and hold it out of my way,” he instructed. “I’ll have to wrap the bandages around your waist to keep them snug, and I can’t do that fumbling blind beneath the shirt.”
Gage left Shemaine to consider his directive as he went to fetch the noisome salve. When he returned, the ends of the shirttail had been gathered together and were neatly knotted between her breasts, leaving her midsection bare. He couldn’t help but admire the results, for the soft homespun cloth molded her bosom to perfection, hinting of the soft nipples and the youthful firmness of the full curves. Her waist was incredibly narrow, and though he could still count nearly every rib she had, her silken flesh stirred his admiration in ways similar to what he had felt the night the snake invaded. Except for her recent injury, her skin was just as delectable as it had seemed that evening.
“You’ll have a slight scar after this to remember Potts by,” Gage warned, placing his tall stool beside her and setting the container of emollient on top of it. “But it shouldn’t pucker. Once the redness fades, you’ll hardly notice it.”
“Do you have to put that ointment on me?” Shemaine wrinkled her nose in distaste as he opened the crock. “It smells awful.”
“Aye, but ‘twill help heal the wound and prevent infection,” he argued, glancing up at her profile in time to see the comical face she made to exaggerate her aversion. Her protestations were as winsome as those of a young child trying to cajole her parent. Though he leaned near that visage, she stared straight ahead, silently admonishing him by refusing to acknowledge his proximity. “And I’d prefer not to take any chances with such a valuable possession. You suit me well, Shemaine O’Hearn, and I’d rather not lose you. ‘Twould be impossible to find another bondswoman as beautiful and talented as you are.”
“You’re only being generous because I’ve been hurt,” Shemaine complained glumly, then caught her breath in a sharp gasp as he began to wash the torn flesh again. Feeling suddenly light-headed and nauseous, she swayed on her feet.
Gage hurriedly slipped an arm around in front of her as she slumped forward, and secured his hold on her with a hand on her far hip. The pressure of her scantily clad bosom against the inside of his arm was unsettling to his manly senses, so much so that he dared not move a muscle lest she fly away again like she had that night after his kiss. Huskily he asked, “Are you all right?”
Weakly shaking her head, Shemaine gave the only answer she could as she continued to cling to him. She felt as listless as a rag doll, and it was a lengthy moment before her lethargy began to ebb. Gathering strength by slow degrees, she managed to push herself upright, but she was nevertheless grateful that he kept an arm wrapped around her, lending her support.
“I’m sorry. I really don’t know what caused me to feel so faint,” Shemaine whispered in chagrin, and met his gaze shyly. His face was so close, she could have stolen a kiss with very little effort. A strange thought indeed at such a time!
Managing to convey a casualness he did not necessarily feel, Gage suggested, “You should lie down and rest after I dress the wound.”
“But what about the washing? And the cooking? And Andrew? He’ll be awake soon.”
“My men will have to do without me for the rest of the afternoon.” Gage offered her a subdued grin. “I intend to be at your beck and call ‘til sunrise.”
Shemaine elevated a lovely brow above a teasing smile as she searched his face. “So, you mean to do chores like any common servant, eh? Have you no ken,
sir? ‘Tis I who should be at your beck and call.”
The brown eyes sparkled with teasing warmth. “And if I were to call, Shemaine O’Hearn, would you truly come to me?”
“Of course, sir!” she replied with a small dip of her head. “You bought me, and I must obey.”
“But what if you were free of bondage, Shemaine?” Gage pressed. “Would you still come at my call?”
Shemaine found the brush of his breath against her face especially pleasing. Still, she stared fixedly at the desk as she sought to emulate a crisp detachment. “But I’m not free, sir, and will not be for seven years yet.”
“Seven years.” Gage sighed as his eyes stroked her face. “ ‘Tis a long time for a man and a woman to live together under the same roof and not be wed or close kin.”
Cocking a brow, Shemaine eyed him curiously at very close range, wondering what he was getting at. If he meant to proposition her for her favors, then his timing was poor indeed. “I’ll be bleeding to death, Mr. Thornton, if you waste any more time talking,” she reminded him dryly. She was disturbed by his close attention, for she had not been able to forget his passionate kiss and its weakening effect on her. Indeed, her cot had become a place of torture of late, for she did little else but toss and turn as she sought relief from that burning desire that nearly consumed her. Feigning an impudence she did not necessarily feel, Shemaine inclined her head toward the salve he had left on top of the stool. “I hope you’re having second thoughts about using that awful concoction. ‘Twill certainly be all right with me if you ha—”
“I haven’t,” Gage interrupted. Stepping back, he spread the odorous dressing over her ribs, causing her to suck in her breath sharply. Taking up a bandage, he leaned forward and slipped his arms about her as he wrapped it snugly around her midriff. “Keep this on until morning, and then I’ll change it for a clean one.”
Shemaine rolled her eyes, looking up at him askance as she grumbled, “With more of that loathsome salve, I suppose.”
“I’ll use less in the morning if you abhor it so much.” Gage ripped the bandage slightly and then knotted it so it wouldn’t tear back any farther. It was certainly no unpleasant task to embrace his bondslave as he wound another strip around her waist and tied it off. Indeed, he was rather disappointed there were no more bandages left to apply.
“Potts will be more adamant about killing us now,” Shemaine gritted through a wince as she tried to accustom herself to the tight bandages. “He’ll seize upon his wounding as an affront to his pride and will hound us ‘til he catches us unawares. After his fight with the soldiers, you can believe he’ll be in a mood to annihilate us all.”
“Aye, and perhaps I’ll be more fortunate the next time and put a permanent end to his visits,” Gage rejoined gruffly. “I can understand now why you were so anxious about the man. He certainly seems intent upon doing you harm. Believe me, my sweet, we’ll get back to those shooting lessons as soon as you’re able.”
“This afternoon will not be soon enough,” Shemaine replied gloomily. She would never feel free again to roam the glade until Potts was either gone or dead.
Gage already knew what he must do, for the tar had left him no other choice. “If Potts is still in Newportes Newes, then I’ll find him and have it out with him. If he doesn’t take my warning seriously, I’ll have to kill him.”
“Morrisa will know where he is,” Shemaine replied, stepping gingerly away. “From the way Potts was hanging around the tavern, I doubt that much has changed since he did her bidding on the London Pride. In fact, it wouldn’t be at all out of character if Morrisa had encouraged him to come out here and kill me. ‘Tis what she has threatened all along.”
“Why does she bear you such a grudge?”
Shemaine’s brows gathered in a perplexed frown. It was something she couldn’t rightly answer. “I’m not sure I can lay the blame to anything specific, Mr. Thornton. True, I thwarted her efforts to rule over the women by encouraging Annie and the others to stand firm against her, but unless she’s demented, I can’t imagine that my refusal to submit to her dictates would be reason enough for her to want to see me dead.”
“Perhaps she’s jealous.”
“Oh, she wanted you, all right,” Shemaine readily acknowledged, subduing another grimace. “She vowed to cut me up if I left the ship with you.”
“Morrisa obviously considers herself a handsome woman and is intent upon having her pick among the men. She may resent being outdone by another woman.”
“I can’t quite lay finger to it, but I think there’s another purpose behind her motives. ‘Tis only a suspicion, but I’ve been wondering about her ever since she came aboard the London Pride.”
“Why is that?”
“Morrisa had never laid eyes on me before she was brought down to our cell in the hold. She had been at Newgate but in another section. After looking the women over, she asked which one of us was Shemaine O’Hearn. I didn’t care to identify myself at the time, and the other women played ignorant. Morrisa dubbed me ‘Bogtrotter’ and didn’t ask again. Later, she and I got into a fray because she demanded the food I’d been given. She pulled a knife on me, and I threw a pail of water in her face. The bosun came down to settle the squabble and called me by name. I rather gathered from the way Morrisa smirked that she had already figured out my name. She had certainly done everything she could to rouse the ire of Gertrude Fitch and Jacob Potts against me.”
“Who might have told her about you?”
“I can’t imagine why anyone would have talked to her about me. We were all strangers. Except for the gaoler and the bosun when they were taking account of the prisoners, there was only one other who ever asked me to identify myself outright and that was a turnkey at Newgate. The first time he came to my cell was shortly after I signed on to come to the colonies.”
“Did he ever try to harm you?”
“I’m not totally sure about that. I just know he watched me a lot.”
“Perhaps he admired your beauty,” Gage suggested, having seen her effect on some men.
Shemaine scoffed. “I really don’t think I was a particular favorite of his. Shortly before they came to take us to the London Pride, I was caught in the midst of a row between some of the prisoners, and I very nearly got my head bashed open when one of the toughs started beating it against a stone wall. The turnkey witnessed the whole thing but never tried to stop it. It was only when the gaoler heard the commotion and came to investigate that I was able to gain my release.
“Then, several nights later when everyone was sleeping, a noise awakened me, and when I opened my eyes, I saw the turnkey creeping toward the corner where I lay. He had a short rope in his hands, and the way he held it made me think he meant to strangle someone, whether me or a prisoner nearby I cannot say. The only way he could get to us was by stepping over the convicts sleeping on the floor of the cell. When he trod on a woman’s hand, her outraged shrieks brought the gaoler at a run. The turnkey gave him some lame excuse about seeing a rat. It seemed a feeble story to me. It certainly made the gaoler laugh. He jeered something about a fool trying to hang a rodent and told the turnkey to get out. The next day, I was taken to the ship, and I never saw the turnkey again.”
“Could the turnkey have been acquainted with the thieftaker?”
Shemaine lifted her shoulders in an attempt to shrug but immediately regretted the motion. She walked stiffly to his stool instead and braced a hand against it for support.
“Perhaps I’d better carry you upstairs so you can rest now,” Gage suggested. “You also might consider wearing a nightgown for the rest of the day. ‘Twould be more comfortable for you.”
“ ‘Tis unsuitable to wear nightclothes so early in the afternoon,” Shemaine argued. “It’s barely half past three o’clock, and your men are still here.”
“They’ll be leaving soon,” Gage countered, “and if anyone else should come, I’ll just have to explain that you’ve been wounded and need your rest.”
“I’ve heard some of the talk,” Gage conceded. “Mary Margaret thought we should do something to silence it.”
Shemaine’s soft brows slanted upward, conveying her skepticism. “And did Mary Margaret perhaps advise you just how we might go about accomplishing that deed, sir?”
His eyes flicked briefly upward to meet hers. “She said we should thwart the gossips by getting married.”
Shemaine was aghast that such a well-intentioned woman had so little diplomacy. “Well, that may be suitable for Mary Margaret to suggest, seeing as how she’s always seeking to make a match between couples, but did she take into consideration that you might not want to take a condemned convict to wife? I find it most disconcerting that she could even recommend such a solution to you. The impropriety of the woman! Truly, sir, I would be mortified to have you imagine that I may have put her up to suggesting such a thing. Why, the idea is so farfetched, it’s ludicrous.”
Gage lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug. “Actually, Mary Margaret wasn’t the first to conceive of the idea.”
Shemaine was dumbstruck, unable to imagine another who would be so bold. “Well, I don’t think Roxanne would have made such a suggestion, not when she’s made it apparent that she wants you for herself.”
“Nay, ‘twould hardly be Roxanne,” he affirmed with a chuckle.
“Calley, then,” she stated with conviction.
“Not Calley either.”
Shemaine looked at him in growing confusion. “Might I ask who took such liberty, sir?”
The door of the bedroom opened, and Andrew came out to the parlor dragging a rocking horse behind him. Gage went immediately to his son’s assistance before any damage could be done to the furniture. He lifted the boy into the padded buckskin saddle as Shemaine stepped to the door of the kitchen to watch.
Petals on the River Page 31