“And the title of Robin Hood? You are the one they seek, are you not?”
He peels a strip off the apple, pops it in his mouth and chews. I wait for my answer, but he only motions for me to lift the sack from my leg.
“I must examine this wound as well as the arm,” he says, “to be sure it does not fester.”
When I lift the sheet, my leg is bare. That gives me pause. I am not prudish, but I have been raised in a world where even a doctor will avoid unclothing a lady. Nicolas doesn’t bat an eye at my naked leg. He munches another slice of apple, hands me the rest, wipes his hands on his trousers and goes to work.
As a testament to my mental confusion, there is a moment where I think it is excellent that the future world has overcome excessive modesty. Then I remember that we are in the past, and I must acknowledge, with chagrin, that my century’s notions of modest are largely our own. In this time period, a doctor obviously thinks nothing of asking a woman to bare her thigh if that’s where she was wounded.
I also reflect that, while Nicolas claims his studies were interrupted, he seems as much a doctor as my sister, which is to say fully trained and only lacking the formality of an education. That might also explain the sword. I recall my father jokingly lamenting that he did not live a century earlier when doctors often carried swords as a sign of their status.
“Thank you,” I say. “You have saved my life.”
“It is only fair recompense for you saving mine.”
He doesn’t look up from his ministrations. Pain throbs through my leg, but I nibble at the apple and ignore the pain as he works.
“You appear on the road to full recovery,” he says as he straightens. “You are strong and very healthy.”
I tense and force myself to say, coolly, “Yes, that is one way of putting it.”
He frowns, as if confused, but I do not explain. I have certainly heard such comments often enough.
Well, you are certainly a healthy young lady.
By which they mean, of course, that I am plump. At one time, that was considered a measure of health. Now, though, insult always taints the words, and perhaps I am being sensitive, but I have had one too many doctors chortle about howhealthyI am after only a cursory glance at my figure.
“I am in very good health,” I say as I flip the sack-blanket over my leg again.
“Healthy and fierce,” he says. “In my business, we often do not use our real names, and so I shall call youcrécerelle. It is a small hawk I saw in the Americas, which they call a kestrel. It is very small and very fierce.”
He is complimenting me, at least on the fierce part, and yet I am still annoyed about the healthy comment, and so I find something else to grumble about. “You locked me into a closet.”
“It was for your own—”
“If you are about to say it was for my own good, I beg you to reconsider, Dr. Dupuis, foryourown good.”
I expect a scowl. That is my usual reward for such “impertinence.”
Nicolas only smiles and shakes his head. “Having seen you with a sword, I shall heed the warning,” he says as he stands. “If you feel ready to move about, there is a cart in this barn. I will use it to convey you back to Thorne Manor. Then I must be off. I have lost a day I could not afford to lose.”
“A day?”
“That sounded uncharitable. You were in dire straits, and you did save me. I appreciate the warning, however it arose, and I have sworn not to question you on that. Your reasons are your own.”
“My reasons?”
He gives me a hard look. “Come now, crécerelle. We both know you cannot see the future. You came upon the information another way. Perhaps by accident. Perhaps by involvement.”
I prop myself on my elbows. “You think I aminvolvedwith the scoundrels who tried to kill you?”
“More likely Lord Norrington himself. He is not known to consort with pretty young maidens, but I suspect even he would make an exception for one such as you.”
He waves off my squawks of protest. “I have said I will not pry, and so I shall not. I am only thankful that you chose to warn me, in however a convoluted manner.”
“Convoluted?” I straighten. “Fine. You do not wish to argue, and neither do I. As you said, you have tarried long enough. Be off with you. I can manage from here.”
He sighs. “You are easily offended, crécerelle.”