Free A Most Delicate Pursuit by Pamela Labud Page A

pride.
    “Tell me about your childhood,” he said, mumbling beside her.
    “Michael, you shouldn’t be awake. You need to rest.”
    His breath became ragged. “Can’t,” he told her.
    “It’s the pain, isn’t it?”
    Opening his eye, he gave her a watery glance. “It’s a bit achy. One of the best treatments I’ve found in the past is to engage in a lively conversation.”
    “Now?”
    “Please,” he said. “Tell me about yourself. Your childhood, for instance.”
    “And that will help?”
    Michael grimaced. “It will indeed.”
    Seeing the brave face he put on, Bea couldn’t refuse him. If only she’d had something to ease his pain.
    “Oh. Let’s see. My childhood was quite normal, boring, I would say. We lived most of it in a small cottage. Um, I think you know of it.”
    “Ah, yes,” he told her. “I went with Amelia to fetch your mother the night of Ash and Caroline’s wedding. A good night, that was, eh?”
    Bea smiled. “It was grand, wasn’t it? Or, perhaps not such an event as the ones you’ve attended, but I found it most enjoyable, seeing my sister wed.”
    “I did enjoy seeing Ash leg-shackled as well. Though I have to admit, I was rather jealous of him. To have a fine wedding and a wife such as Caroline.”
    Bea drew a breath. “But that’s possible for anyone, isn’t it?”
    She heard him hesitate. “For most, certainly, and for you, absolutely.”
    “But not for you?”
    A silence fell between them, hovering there as if some ghost had entered into their presence.
    “No,” he said at last. “Not for me.”
    “I don’t understand. You’ll make a fine husband, I’m sure.” She slipped out from behind him and then knelt down beside the cot, pulling the blanket back to get a better look at his wound. The dressing was stained with dried blood, but it appeared to be secure.
    “Me? A fine husband? That’s something I’ve never heard from a woman before.” He chuckled, but it looked as though that caused him even more discomfort.
    “Well, you would be if you’d cease your gambling, dueling, and womanizing.”
    “Never,” he quipped.
    He coughed and huddled on his side. She could tell that his movement was very painful, but she suspected the injury to his shoulder was only part of it.
    “Here, try to stay still,” she said, fearing that if he moved too much, he would tear his wound open and start it bleeding again. And she had only so much of her shift left, after all.
    “You are too kind,” he said, though his breath was coming shorter and she saw that he was becoming more and more restless.
    “No, I’m not. I just could never face Ash if he learned that I hadn’t taken good care of you.”
    He laughed at that but said nothing. He seemed to drift off after that.
    Not knowing what else to do, she tore another piece of her shift. After soaking it in the cool water, she started wiping his brow.
    He grabbed her wrist. “You’ve no need to trouble yourself.”
    “Nonsense. Let me try to ease your fever a bit.”
    He smiled up at her. “Ah, Beatrice, you are my angel.”
    She laughed at that. “No, I’m not. You forget, it’s because of me that you’re in this tangle to begin with.”
    Bea felt a catch in her chest. He’d called her his angel. His words both warmed her and thrilled her. “As you have been my brave knight,” she whispered.
    After she’d spoken, she saw that he’d ceased moving and had fallen to unconsciousness. Pressing her hand against his forehead once again, she realized that his brow had become warmer still. As she watched, his breathing changed from the quick, gasping breaths to slow and deep. Perhaps there was hope after all, she thought.
    It was like that until the first rays of daylight filtered through the thatch above them. Though he’d not so much as shifted since he’d fallen asleep, his pallor still remained wan, but at least he was no longer moaning.
    Rising from her spot beside him, Bea went to stoke the fireplace yet again.