The Highwayman's Footsteps by Nicola Morgan Read Free Book Online

condition.
    Hurrying to where she lay, I touched her shoulder. She jerked awake, and tried to sit up, wincing as she did. Too late, she reached out for a pistol, before realizing who I was.
    Grabbing it before she could touch it, I moved them both out of her grasp. “Be calm: it is only Will. I have brought physic for you.” I felt her brow. It was no cooler than before. I offered her water.
    I will spare the details of her wound and how she suffered when I bathed it in the apothecary’s potion. I could only imagine how it must sear her flesh. I bound it in a clean cloth and tied the knots as tightly as I could.
    Picking up the other bottle, I raised her head and helped her take a mouthful from it. I could not tell whether she took the right amount but the time for fretting about such things was over – she needed the remedy and too much would make no difference.
    It was time now for the leeches. I would not place them on the wound, even if the apothecary were standing over me.
    As I lifted the jar from inside my bag, I knew something had broken. I could feel the crunch of rough-edged pottery. Carefully, I laid it down on the ground. The lid was in several pieces, although the container itself was intact. I had no hope of keeping leeches without a tight-fitting lid, as they could squeeze themselves through even the narrowest cracks, their boneless bodies capable of extraordinary escapes. There was no choice – I must use them now and then dispose of them. Without enthusiasm, I selected the thinnest two of the oozing black creatures, guessing that the thinnest must be the hungriest. They immediately tried to attach themselves to me, sliding wetly up my fingers towards the fleshy parts of my hand. I used my other hand to scrape them back into the container, which I placed on the ground beside the girl. I gently shook her shoulder.
    â€œI am awake,” she said, with difficulty. Then, after a pause, “Why do you not kill me? I would have killed you.”
    â€œWould you? I do not believe so,” I said. “Besides, I could not have left you. I could not have left even an injured animal.” No, indeed, I thought, recalling how I had helped the horse escape its mortal agony.
    â€œAnimal!” she retorted, but cutting short her laughter as she winced. “I am ill,” she said after a pause, trying to speak smoothly over her pain. “You should go. Take your money and return to your family. It’s clear that you are a gentleman’s son.”
    â€œI cannot.”
    â€œWhy?’
    â€œI will not say. You did not see fit to trust me sufficiently to let me fetch your horse. How should I trust you with my story?” She smiled at that and her eyes opened. Black they seemed, deep and black like coal, yet like ice in moonlight. I had a strange sense of her strength: although she lay helpless and sick and in pain, nevertheless she seemed stronger than I. It was as though she cared little what happened to her and she would meet her fate with that same slight smile. How I wished I might care so little.
    â€œWho are you? Where are you from?”
    Her questions seemed small but were more than I wished to answer and so I did not. Glancing at the leeches crawling up the sides of the container, I spoke firmly. “I must let some blood. For the fever. I have leeches.” Her eyes closed again. “I must place them on your arm. Above your elbow.”
    She said nothing. She was lying on her back, her head on the bare floor, where it had slipped from the makeshift pillow I had made for her. Refashioning the pillow, I lifted her head to make her more comfortable. For a moment I wondered at myself, how I was touching a girl, how I had seen the flesh of her ribs, how she lay in front of me helpless as a kitten.
    But none of this seemed to matter. She was nothing more than an injured person, and I the only one who could help her. When, in the daylight now, I saw her well-made