Free Untamed by Pamela Clare Page B

5
     
    A malie stepped carefully around mud puddles as she made the long walk to the hospital, so lost in her own thoughts that she scarcely noticed the rain-fresh scent of the morning breeze or the bright blue sky or the soldiers at morning muster. She had hoped to be free of this duty. She had hoped to be free of him . Now that he was out of danger, she’d hoped never to see the Ranger again. She’d asked Bourlamaque to let her return to her customary duties, but he’d refused to release her.
    “Monsieur Lambert tells me Major MacKinnon asked about you yesterday evening. He believes MacKinnon has warmed to you. You might yet be of some use to us in the infirmary.”
    “But he is healing and no longer needs—”
    “Continue to tend him, as you have done so well.” Bourlamaque’s tone allowed no argument. “Now that he is awake, be attentive. Listen to him, and then report back to me all that he says.”
    “You wish me to…to spy on him, monsieur?” The idea had seemed so absurd to Amalie that she could scarce speak it.
    Bourlamaque had chuckled. “ Non, sweet Amalie. It is not in your nature to deceive. I wish only for you to be exactly what you are—young and beautiful and innocent. He is a man who has seen much war, a man who knows he has come to his end. In his despair, he will seek solace in your gentleness. He will trust you and tell you things that he would never tell me. All you need do is inform me each day of all that was said. Can you do this?”
    Ashamed of her own reluctance after all Bourlamaque and the men at Fort Carillon had done for her, she’d nodded. “Oui.”
    Oh, how she wished Bourlamaque had not asked this of her! How could she explain to him that caring for the Ranger had already left her feeling beset by blame? Must she now compound her guilt by spying upon him? For that’s what it was no matter how delicately Bourlamaque had tried to paint it. She was to soothe his desperation with kindness in order to win his trust, then report all he told her to her guardian.
    But why should the Ranger tell her anything? In her experience, most men deemed women unworthy of purposeful conversation, let alone confidences.
    She opened the hospital door and stepped inside, giving her eyes a moment to adjust. A small fire burnt in the hearth, chasing away the early-morning damp. Two of Monsieur Lambert’s young attendants bustled about, one cleaning chamber pots, the other gathering soiled linens for the laundresses. Six soldiers lay on their little beds, some sleeping, all but one of them still recovering from the Ranger attack.
    And this was what she needed to remember. Major MacKinnon had commanded the Rangers who’d harmed these men. He’d attacked this fort, and not for the first time. He had French blood on his hands—perhaps even her father’s blood.
    One of the attendants turned toward her. “Bonjour, mademoiselle.”
    “Bonjour.” She walked between the beds to the supply cupboard and took out two rolls of fresh linen, refusing to notice the beating of butterfly wings in her belly.
    You have no reason to fear him, Amalie.
    All she had to do was tend his simplest needs—food and drink—and listen considerately while he spoke. It was an uncomplicated task, not difficult at all. So why did she feel like running away?
    She walked to the back room, found the door slightly ajar, and heard a man’s voice coming from within.
    “If you think this is painful, Major, wait until the Abenaki—”
    Amalie pushed open the door to find Lieutenant Rillieux standing over the Ranger, the heel of his boot pressed cruelly against the wound in the Ranger’s thigh. Jaw clenched in obvious pain, the Ranger glared at him with undisguised hatred, but didn’t make a sound.
    Aghast, she rushed in. “Monsieur! Que faites-vous?”
    What are you doing?
    Startled, the lieutenant jerked his leg away and turned toward her. A slow smile spread on his face. “I am just giving him the merest taste of what is to