He reached down and gently tipped her face up to his and they gazed into each other’s eyes, then his dark head bent over hers and their lips met in a long, tender kiss.
Martha snorted in her sleep and stirred, awakening, and in moments the two were standing in separate parts of the room, Kate bending over her old nurse, assisting her to stand, Jack leaning casually against the wall, his face in shadow again.
It was probably the port anyway, Kate told herself for the umpteenth time as she separated curds from whey in the kitchen, making cottage cheese. They’d barely spoken since that night. In fact, he’d obviously been going out of his way to avoid her. Kate realised he was regretting the impulse which had caused him to kiss her. And, though she could never regret anything so magical, she knew sheshould.
So she had decided to forget the conversation by the fire, the wonderful embrace that had sent her to bed floating on air. It was not an easy resolution, but she was managing quite well, the memory of his kiss occurring to her no more than a dozen times a day before being firmly banished. It was very wearing, being wanton.
“Señorita Kate, Major Jack, he say he is ready for your torture treatment to begin. This morning.” Carlos grinned. “He no try to ride today, no hurt himself.”
Kate was stunned. Jack had listened to her after all! He was prepared to trust her. She grinned back at Carlos, delighted, then hastened to prepare everything before Jack could change his mind.
Holding the small pot of hot, aromatic oil carefully, she mounted the stairs and walked slowly with Carlos towards Jack’s bedroom door. She was absurdly nervous. Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself. You’ve done this a dozen times or more. There’s no reason to behave in this missish fashion, just because you’re in an English country house and not a Portuguese cottage or a tent in Spain.
Yes, a small voice answered her silently. But this is Jack…
She pushed open the door. Jack lay on the bed, dressed in a nightshirt, his lower body swathed in a sheet. He looked at her, glanced down at the sheet, clutched it more firmly around himself and his colour darkened.
“This is a damned stupid idea. I’ve changed my mind,” he announced. “Leave the stuff with Carlos. I’m sure we can work out what needs to be done.”
Kate perceived he was thoroughly embarrassed by her presence. All her nervousness dissolved like magic and she tried not to smile. “Now don’t be foolish. I told you before, it is not simply a matter of rubbing in a few oils. It is a special technique that must be taught.”
She noted his heightened colour and said softly, “You must not worry that I am here. I have performed many much more difficult tasks. Try to imagine that I am simply one of those who tended your wounds in Spain.”
He snorted. His imagination could not do it. Kate was small and slender, with a smooth, clear complexion, and soft pink lips. The last person to touch his wound in Spain had been a big brawny soldier, bald, toothless, tattooed and with the most extensive vocabulary of obscenities that Jack had ever encountered.
He braced himself as she reached for the sheet and clutched it tighter.
“Now don’t be silly,” she said firmly. “I must be able to see the leg, if I am to apply these oils to it in the proper way.” She flushed slightly and said in a lower tone, “I told you before, I am not unacquainted with the male form. It will not embarrass me to view your leg.”
Jack found he could not release the sheet. It was not so much that he was worried about offending her maidenly modesty, he realised, it was not wanting to see her look of revulsion when she saw the mess that was his leg.
Briskly she twitched the sheet away. Jack clenched his teeth, awaiting her disgusted reaction. She bent over it silently. The leg was white and hideously criss-crossed with violent red and purplish scars. The muscles were shrunken and slightly twisted in places, as if pulled out of alignment by the puckered scarring.
She examined it carefully, not letting her feelings show. He truly had been mauled about but, apart from the dreadful scarring, it didn’t look too bad. She ran her hand gently down the leg, feeling the lines of the muscles. She felt him flinch under her touch and quickly met his gaze.
“Did that hurt?”
He was watching her, an odd look in his eyes. She had shown no sign of horror or disgust, no sign of sympathy or pity either.
“Did I hurt you, sir?” she repeated.
“Er…your hands are cold. I did not expect it, that’s all.”
“Oh.” Kate continued to examine the leg.
“Now, Carlos,” she said, “I am going to work first on these muscles.” Carlos bent his head over the leg curiously. “See how they are pulled tight by the scarring here. That is what makes it so hard to bend. Now, a little of this oil just so, and then…” She applied it to the leg and began to massage it in. Jack Carstairs groaned slightly and shifted awkwardly.
“Is the oil too hot, sir?”
“No, no…it’s not that,” he muttered, not meeting her gaze.
Kate continued the treatment, explaining softly to Carlos all the time. Her small strong fingers rubbed and pummelled and pushed at the shrunken muscles. Jack lay on the bed, his face a mask of control. Kate alternated small intensive localised movements with long, soothing strokes up and down the whole leg, pulling and pushing with a strong, smooth, rhythmic action. During one of these movements Jack uttered a muffled moan. Kate’s head went up abruptly. This action was meant to be soothing and relaxing, not painful.
“Am I hurting you, sir?”
Jack flushed. “No, no…er…don’t you think Carlos can take over now?”
“No, sir, not yet. I thought it would be best if I took him through a complete treatment first. It should take no more than fifteen or twenty minutes.”
