would
have lain awake in sheer agony, my thoughts racing until dawn.
And besides, there
was no sign of it on my body. No stain on my skin or night shirt.
I exhaled softly,
cautiously letting in a sense of relief.
But …
What if he had
cleaned me up himself?
My stomach turned.
Oh, God. Wouldn’t that make just as much sense? For Merrick was unfailingly
courteous, and in fact, hadn’t I found release, in any case, whether waking or
sleeping? Wouldn’t there be some sign, either way, if no one had got rid of the
evidence?
I felt a cold knot
of dread forming in my stomach.
Right. I closed my
eyes, grim. Hypothetically, if it had happened, how bad was it?
A chorus of my own
hungry moans echoed through my ears and the incident came back to me in a rush
that doubled me over, my face in flames. I hissed a string of vulgar oaths
under my breath.
What could have
driven him to do it? Could he not have foreseen how his act of pity would have
left me humiliated?
I clutched my
hair, willfully calming myself by the steady pound of my pulse.
Reason . Stick
to reason .
No. Merrick would
not have done something like that.
It was absurd to
even think of it. No man touched another man like that so casually.
The more obvious
likelihood, by far, was that my frustrated body – strung impossibly tight by these
two weeks without any stimulation – had found its own release in a dream. And
by some random fluke, there had been no real emission. All the better.
That was it.
Surely.
A commotion from
the front of the cottage dragged me suddenly from my fretting. I rose quickly
and dressed even faster, tripping and hitting the floor in the process.
When I finally
made it to the front of the house, Merrick was standing outside in his robe
seeing off a horse that galloped quickly down the road. He turned to me.
“Hope Smith is
delivering early in Mayriver,” he said. “I’ll need your help.”
I blinked as he
went past me into the house, then hurried after him, ready for instruction.
“Don’t they have midwives in the village?” I asked.
“They have one,
and she is busy. Watch what I gather.” He said the name of each thing he picked
up for his satchel, as though there were any chance I would remember it all in
this state. I nodded dutifully and followed him outside.
Weather was
suddenly there, of course, waiting for him. I watched Merrick mount the horse
and almost didn’t register it when he held his hand out to me.
“Behind me,” he
said. “Hold on tightly.”
I ducked my head,
remembering the feeling of his muscled shoulder in my grip the night before,
and clumsily got onto the horse behind him. When I put my hands to his waist,
he impatiently reached down to pull my arms completely around him. Flush
against his back, I closed my eyes for half the ride and tried not to think of
what had happened the night before – whether I’d dreamed it or not.
Chapter 9
Mayriver was a
gloomy little village to my eye, though to its credit it was neat and
well-populated. I saw a couple of charming young women, but no more than a couple,
and people for the most part looked solemn and surly. Perhaps it was the foggy
weather. But even with twice the fog, I imagined Merrick’s odd little cottage
in the woods would be more welcoming than this lonely settlement any day.
Hope Smith was a lovely
young woman in a great deal of pain. I understood nothing that went on in that
horrible room other than the screams and convulsions of the poor girl as she
strained to eject her miserable-looking little miracle. The whole way through I
thought how glad I was to be a man, and of how wretched we were for taking this
terrifying act for granted. I could hardly believe it when young Hope, damp and
exhausted on the bed, had the peace and poise to speak to the women in the
room, and to Merrick. She clasped his leather glove and thanked him tearfully
before he bid her goodbye.
A crowd of young
women were waiting to speak to him in the
have lain awake in sheer agony, my thoughts racing until dawn.
And besides, there
was no sign of it on my body. No stain on my skin or night shirt.
I exhaled softly,
cautiously letting in a sense of relief.
But …
What if he had
cleaned me up himself?
My stomach turned.
Oh, God. Wouldn’t that make just as much sense? For Merrick was unfailingly
courteous, and in fact, hadn’t I found release, in any case, whether waking or
sleeping? Wouldn’t there be some sign, either way, if no one had got rid of the
evidence?
I felt a cold knot
of dread forming in my stomach.
Right. I closed my
eyes, grim. Hypothetically, if it had happened, how bad was it?
A chorus of my own
hungry moans echoed through my ears and the incident came back to me in a rush
that doubled me over, my face in flames. I hissed a string of vulgar oaths
under my breath.
What could have
driven him to do it? Could he not have foreseen how his act of pity would have
left me humiliated?
I clutched my
hair, willfully calming myself by the steady pound of my pulse.
Reason . Stick
to reason .
No. Merrick would
not have done something like that.
It was absurd to
even think of it. No man touched another man like that so casually.
The more obvious
likelihood, by far, was that my frustrated body – strung impossibly tight by these
two weeks without any stimulation – had found its own release in a dream. And
by some random fluke, there had been no real emission. All the better.
That was it.
Surely.
A commotion from
the front of the cottage dragged me suddenly from my fretting. I rose quickly
and dressed even faster, tripping and hitting the floor in the process.
When I finally
made it to the front of the house, Merrick was standing outside in his robe
seeing off a horse that galloped quickly down the road. He turned to me.
“Hope Smith is
delivering early in Mayriver,” he said. “I’ll need your help.”
I blinked as he
went past me into the house, then hurried after him, ready for instruction.
“Don’t they have midwives in the village?” I asked.
“They have one,
and she is busy. Watch what I gather.” He said the name of each thing he picked
up for his satchel, as though there were any chance I would remember it all in
this state. I nodded dutifully and followed him outside.
Weather was
suddenly there, of course, waiting for him. I watched Merrick mount the horse
and almost didn’t register it when he held his hand out to me.
“Behind me,” he
said. “Hold on tightly.”
I ducked my head,
remembering the feeling of his muscled shoulder in my grip the night before,
and clumsily got onto the horse behind him. When I put my hands to his waist,
he impatiently reached down to pull my arms completely around him. Flush
against his back, I closed my eyes for half the ride and tried not to think of
what had happened the night before – whether I’d dreamed it or not.
Chapter 9
Mayriver was a
gloomy little village to my eye, though to its credit it was neat and
well-populated. I saw a couple of charming young women, but no more than a couple,
and people for the most part looked solemn and surly. Perhaps it was the foggy
weather. But even with twice the fog, I imagined Merrick’s odd little cottage
in the woods would be more welcoming than this lonely settlement any day.
Hope Smith was a lovely
young woman in a great deal of pain. I understood nothing that went on in that
horrible room other than the screams and convulsions of the poor girl as she
strained to eject her miserable-looking little miracle. The whole way through I
thought how glad I was to be a man, and of how wretched we were for taking this
terrifying act for granted. I could hardly believe it when young Hope, damp and
exhausted on the bed, had the peace and poise to speak to the women in the
room, and to Merrick. She clasped his leather glove and thanked him tearfully
before he bid her goodbye.
A crowd of young
women were waiting to speak to him in the
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