Forever My Love (Berkeley-Faulkner #2)(5)

Mira walked through the woods leisurely, swinging a cloth bag as she made her way carefully over the ground. She spent a great part of each morning outside, picking herbs and digging up roots to use in powders and salves. Her dress was a simple and old one, its pale blue color reduced by vigorous washings to a nondescript gray. The hem was cropped to a point between her knees and ankles, almost up to her pantaloons, revealing more of her legs than any respectable woman would ever show. She took care that no one

ever saw her in this outlandish outfit. It made moving much easier, not tangling around her legs as longer skirts tended to do.

Pausing at the distant thunder of hooves, she listened until the sounds stopped abruptly, and she wondered if someone had been thrown. Considerations of her appearance kept her from going immediately in the direction of the hoofbeats. She had no desire to invite ridicule or even worse attentions from whoever might have fallen. But neither could she ignore the possibility that someone had been hurt. After walking for a few minutes, Mira came across a riderless horse, its eyes wild and its sides quivering. The veins in its muzzle and neck were distended and pulsing. The horse stood there as she approached it in a gentle manner, her voice soft.

“Poor animal… my poor one, I won’t hurt you. Qu’est-ce que c’est le probleme?” Instinctively she reverted to French, for it was more fluid and calming than the staccato sound of English. “Ou est ton maitre?” Cautiously she took hold of the reins and wound them around a branch before moving in the direction that the horse had come from.

Alec dragged himself against the papery trunk of a tree, his breath hissing through his teeth. His arm, sticking out at an odd angle, had been either broken or dislocated. He felt as if some giant hand had wrenched the limb backward from deep inside his shoulder. The brilliant pain of it caused points of light to dance in front of his eyes, and Alec began to wonder hazily if he should allow himself to pass out. He retained a feeble hold on his consciousness, looking at the broken fence through slitted eyes. Slowly he became aware of an approaching figure. It was her… Mira. Mira in some kind of strange dress, her dark hair gathered in a thick braid that fell to her waist, her expression tinged with an emotion he couldn’t identify. How or why she was there, he did not question

“Go… get someone…” Alec gasped, sweat trickling from his brow into his eyes.

“Your arm—”

“I think it’s dislocated… it’ll have to be set… dammit, go!” He could not stand the acute pain much longer, and in his belly gnawed the dread of having the bone set. He had seen men howl before at the process, and now he knew exactly what they had been howling about.

Mira walked toward him, her eyes moving over him in quick analysis.

“I think I can help you. Around here they come to me for heal—”

“I told you to leave,” he snarled.

“Can you move your fingers?” she persisted quietly, and Alec leaned his head against the tree trunk, regarding her through cloudy eyes.

“If you’re thinking… of getting back at me… for yesterday,” he muttered, “forget it. I’m still capable of…” He blinked hard in an effort to focus on her. “I can still—”

“I understand,” Mira said wryly, feeling an unwanted flicker of sympathy for him, the bad-tempered brute. “But I assure you, I paid little attention to what you said yesterday.” She began to draw closer to him, keeping her voice low and gentle. “Of course I will go to fetch someone, just as you asked. The pain is only in your shoulder? If you’ll just let me make you more comfortable…” Slowly she approached him, wondering if Falkner had fallen unconscious, for his eyes were closed and his face was pale.

She was close enough now to see the damp strands of ebony hair that clung to his forehead, the taut clenching of the muscles in his jaw. The black lashes lifted as he looked at her, and his gaze caused a flare of anxiety in her stomach. Despite his weakened condition, she could not help but sense his considerable physical power. The wisest thing to do would be to

leave him and go back to the manor—although he might have a thought or two about the damage she could do to him, she had much the same thought in reverse!

But there was no one who could help him as well as she could. The local physician was inept and clumsy, a drunkard. And although there was no reason in the world why she should feel any compassion for Alec Falkner, she did not like the idea of him suffering needlessly. Kneeling beside him, Mira stroked the hair off his forehead.

“Let me make you more comfortable,” she said, and before Alec could make a sound, her fingers brushed over his injured shoulder in an exploratory touch. “Ah… I see what the problem is. It’s not bad at all… I don’t think it’s broken.”

Alec’s good hand flew to Mira’s waist, biting into the soft flesh hard enough to make her wince.

“Don’t touch it—” he began hoarsely, and she took hold of his shoulder with one firm hand, his upper arm with the other.

“Let me.”

“No… it’s not…”

“Shhh—I know what to do,” she murmured.

“Damn you, don’t touch…”

Alec’s protest died away, and he gasped as he felt her rotate his arm gently into place, her hands seeming to have some intricate knowledge of how the muscle, bone, and nerves were all connected. He winced, his fingers splayed in midair as the shoulder snapped into place. Suddenly the pain, the nauseating pain, abated rapidly. His eyes opened slowly, the pupils dilated until the gray was nearly consumed by unrelieved black. Alec stared at the intent face so near his, his lips parted in amazement. At first he was numb… then tiny needles of sensation pierced his arm. A shiver raced through his body at the onslaught of relief.