The Tempest by Charlotte Hawkins Read Free Book Online Page B

his temper suddenly flared at the weakness she had found in him.
    “Do not do that again!”
    She withdrew her hand, the smile falling away from her face. Now came that familiar look of distance in her eyes. It was the look she’d worn several times, particularly that night after she’d dumped the water over his head. She’d sat in her corner, not looking at him, not speaking to him. He might as well have been invisible for all the attention she had paid to him. Now she looked at him that way again.
    Quickly finishing up her linen wrapping…and binding it a bit tighter than usual…she did the very same thing she’d done that night. Leaving the room in silence, she was gone for quite a long time. He waited, wondering where she was and what she was doing. A slight feeling of regret came over him…but he pushed it away.
    Hadn’t he spent enough time wallowing in guilt over a woman? And what had it gotten him other than months of living in hell? Crossing his arms over his chest, he was damned determined not to give in to his remorse…even as the feeling grew stronger with the passing of one hour, then another. But in the end, he found he couldn’t tolerate the silence nor the empty room a moment more. He opened his mouth to call her name. But he hesitated briefly.
    I will not cry out for her like a fool. I don’t feel that remorseful at hurting her feelings.
    “Cassia!” It wasn’t a furious shout, but neither was it kind. He hoped he didn’t sound either too demanding or too soft. Somewhere in the middle was what suited his current mood. And would she answer at all? Would she pull one of her little tricks and say nothing, leaving him stranded? It would be just like her, the little hardhead that she was, to teach him a lesson in obedience that he didn’t want to learn. With each passing moment, he was becoming more frustrated that she didn’t come back, or even bother to see what he needed. Growing angry, he was about to call out and demand her presence…but she suddenly appeared in the doorway. And she had brought something with her.
    “These are for you to use. A woodcarver made them for us to serve patients.” She brought him a pair of crutches, and at the sight of them, he scoffed.
    “You will have me hobbling around like a cripple?”
    “You will use them or you will be a cripple!”
    As before, her sudden rise of voice took him by surprise. But this time, there was no soft apology afterwards. With her brow stern, she came to his side and yanked away the blanket that covered him. Tossing it aside, she took firm hold of his arm.
    “I have let you lay about long enough. Your muscles will soon suffer from ill use.”
    With a strength he’d never seen in a woman, especially one of her slight stature, she hefted him to a sitting position. Her manner was almost rough, as was her way of speaking. It was the first time he’d seen her so unkind, and it left him at a loss. He looked perplexed as she ranted, yanking his arm around her shoulders to support him.
    “The sooner you are up, the faster you shall heal. And then you can return to your precious Sheriff and your vile treatment of the whole human race. The only gratitude my father and I request is that you never make us lay eyes on you again. Now put your foot on the floor and stand up!”
    Forceful as she was, he found himself doing exactly what she said, and without argument. He was too stunned to fight her. And in a moment he found the crutches under his arms. His one good foot was on the floor…his bad foot was lifted instinctively. The poles supported his weight. And he was standing on his own, for the first time in more than a month. He could feel his leg wavering slightly, his arms shaking a bit as his body adjusted to the strange distribution of weight.
    “Now you will walk.” She spoke firmly. And he gave her an look. She’d forced him to stand, and he’d managed. But now she was demanding that he walk as well?
    “How in the name of all