Free Cates, Kimberly by Briar Rose Page B

"Sometimes pain can be like a—a gateway, and once you pass through it, you discover something wonderful waiting on the other side."
    He should have bristled the way he always did over platitudes, but there was the slightest curve to her mouth, the shadow of her own sadness and loss. Was she saying it to comfort him? Or was it like a mantra she repeated to herself over and over, hoping someday she'd believe it?
    Redmayne stared into those blowsy-rose features, the soft oval face, the smudges of dark brow, the halo of flyaway cinnamon curls, and those eyes, those remarkable eyes. It was as if a current passed through her fingers into his, a soft pulsing that warmed places he wanted to stay cold, greening places he wanted to keep deadened and numb.
    "I would prefer that you refrain from touching me, Miss Fitzgerald." The words were out before he could stop them, cool and careless, yet revealing far too much for comfort.
    She withdrew her fingers, burying them in her skirts almost guiltily.
    "We are, after all, barely acquainted," Redmayne said, attempting to deflect that disturbing gaze. "And an officer of my stature must do all he can to protect his reputation—particularly here in Ireland. Stories— especially of English atrocities—grow more swiftly and wildly than a storm at sea. I wouldn't want anyone who heard of our... ahem, contact, to misconstrue my intentions."
    She blushed. "Captain Redmayne, I've found that people will believe what they choose to, whether good or ill. There is nothing I can do to prevent that."
    An astonishing bit of practical wisdom from Mistress Stars-in-Her-Eyes, Redmayne thought as she continued.
    "I'm certain that plenty would think the worst not only of you, but of me for helping you."
    Something else he hadn't stopped to consider, though no man could serve three days on this island without being aware of the hatred the inhabitants harbored toward anything English. And if one of their own consorted with the enemy... Rhiannon Fitzgerald was in danger not only from those who had hoped to assassinate him but from those who had been her friends before she took a wounded soldier into her care.
    How could he have missed something so vital? His particular brand of genius had been the ability to see every facet of a situation at once, consequences or possibilities beyond the grasp of most men's intellect. But this consequence would have stared the rankest fool smack in the face. Still, he'd overlooked it.
    When had his wits gotten so untrustworthy? Perhaps the bullets had put a hole in something far more dangerous than his shoulder. Or was it this shatterbrained fairy maiden who had affected him so strangely? Some charm in one of the bitter potions she'd forced down his throat? He knew he should never have eaten that vile-tasting gruel.
    She stood up, tucking a straggly lock of hair behind one dainty ear. She looked lopsided, mussed, creases from the sheet still pressed into her cheek. Why did he feel a ridiculous urge to reach up and try to smooth those faint lines away? Hellfire, forget Miss Fitzgerald's worthless nag, he'd find something to use as a crutch and walk the thirty miles to the garrison. Perhaps he'd get lucky and die of exposure on the way. Far less perilous to be at the mercy of the elements than of one small, untidy Good Samaritan.
    "Miss Fitzgerald, it is imperative that I get back to my garrison at once."
    "So that whoever set up the ambush that all but killed you can finish the job before you're strong enough to defend yourself? I think not." Her chin jutted up a notch. "I've never yet allowed any of the creatures entrusted to my care to go free before I was certain they were strong enough to survive. I'm not about to begin now."
    Redmayne's eyes narrowed. She saw him as one more of her infernal wounded beasts. The knowledge ate like acid into his pride. Something clenched in his gut. Emotion. Anger. Shame.
    Fear.
    He yanked himself away from it, knowing in that panicked instant