make you better." He smiled. "I soaked the lancet in vinegar, too."
"You're the doctor." She gave him a weak smile.
He sat next to her on the bed and eased her arm across his muscular thigh. "The doctor who wants to see you well again."
* * *
Christian stayed at the Chamberlains, visiting her several times every day. Once Gwen improved, he returned to his own house, his visits less frequent, and then, he came every other day. Still weak but with a normal temperature again, she lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling. She didn't dare admit how much she missed his deep voice, his gentle hands, his sympathetic yet assured manner.
On a warm morning of the third week, he strode into her room. Dressed in deerskin leggings and a dark green shirt with a wide collar open past his throat, a black ribbon securing his hair, he appeared more distinguished than ever. Gwen looked into his dark eyes that seemed to see through her yet held a million secrets.
Raising up in bed and adjusting the pillow behind her, she wondered if he would always affect her like this. As he neared her bed, she broke into a smile, lifting her hand to him.
"Hi, Christian."
"High?"
When would she learn to watch her language? "Just a greeting."
"Oh."
He lowered his tall frame onto the chair beside her bed, taking her hand and wrapping his fingers around hers. Leaning forward, he studied her for a long moment. "You had me worried for a while."
"Worried? You're not the only one." She fingered a lock of hair that brushed against her bodice, pleased with herself for changing into a clean, white cotton nightgown with white ribbons at the throat: dainty and feminine, the way these eighteenth-century men liked their women. What a difference from the men of the twenty-first century.
She managed a light laugh, so happy to be well again, but especially to have Christian by her side.
Christian smiled then, a slow smile that spread across his face and reached his eyes, those dark eyes whose secrets she could never unravel. "But you're better now. You'll be up and about in no time."
"Thanks to you."
Another smile. "I'll think of some payment you can make." His face flushed, and he stared down at his boots. "I mean..."
Gwen squeezed his hand. "Why, Dr. Norgard, I do believe you're embarrassed."
Christian looked up from his boots and chuckled, a rich, throaty sound that drove every logical thought from her mind. Then a gradual change came over his face, an expression of such intensity she wished she could interpret its meaning. He smoothed his forefinger over her palm, his touch centering on the soft, fleshy part at the base of her thumb.
On a pretext of adjusting her pillow, she drew her hand back, afraid he'd sense her passion. She fiddled with the ribbons on her nightgown, trying so hard to maintain a nonchalant attitude, to pretend her heart wasn't beating triple time because of his nearness.
"Well..." Christian stood, prompting her to stare up at him. "I'll leave you to rest now," he said, heading for the door. There, he stopped and turned her way, his hand on the knob. "Be back soon," he promised with a mock salute, then left the room.
She followed him with her gaze. She wished she could call him back to talk about everything and nothing, to listen to his voice that still echoed in her mind. Wild, crazy notions flitted through her head, passionate fantasies of Christian that would never be satisfied.
* * *
A few days after her recovery from the flu, Gwen sat on the front porch, basking in the light breeze that caressed her face, the glorious colors and scents of the flower garden surrounding her. Dazzling white clouds floated by in a sky so intensely blue it took her breath away. How good it was to be alive, to breathe in the fresh, clean aroma of the grass, to hear the robins chirp in the trees. She'd never take these things for granted again, never take her life for granted. Besides, she enjoyed her solitude on this pleasant
"You're the doctor." She gave him a weak smile.
He sat next to her on the bed and eased her arm across his muscular thigh. "The doctor who wants to see you well again."
* * *
Christian stayed at the Chamberlains, visiting her several times every day. Once Gwen improved, he returned to his own house, his visits less frequent, and then, he came every other day. Still weak but with a normal temperature again, she lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling. She didn't dare admit how much she missed his deep voice, his gentle hands, his sympathetic yet assured manner.
On a warm morning of the third week, he strode into her room. Dressed in deerskin leggings and a dark green shirt with a wide collar open past his throat, a black ribbon securing his hair, he appeared more distinguished than ever. Gwen looked into his dark eyes that seemed to see through her yet held a million secrets.
Raising up in bed and adjusting the pillow behind her, she wondered if he would always affect her like this. As he neared her bed, she broke into a smile, lifting her hand to him.
"Hi, Christian."
"High?"
When would she learn to watch her language? "Just a greeting."
"Oh."
He lowered his tall frame onto the chair beside her bed, taking her hand and wrapping his fingers around hers. Leaning forward, he studied her for a long moment. "You had me worried for a while."
"Worried? You're not the only one." She fingered a lock of hair that brushed against her bodice, pleased with herself for changing into a clean, white cotton nightgown with white ribbons at the throat: dainty and feminine, the way these eighteenth-century men liked their women. What a difference from the men of the twenty-first century.
She managed a light laugh, so happy to be well again, but especially to have Christian by her side.
Christian smiled then, a slow smile that spread across his face and reached his eyes, those dark eyes whose secrets she could never unravel. "But you're better now. You'll be up and about in no time."
"Thanks to you."
Another smile. "I'll think of some payment you can make." His face flushed, and he stared down at his boots. "I mean..."
Gwen squeezed his hand. "Why, Dr. Norgard, I do believe you're embarrassed."
Christian looked up from his boots and chuckled, a rich, throaty sound that drove every logical thought from her mind. Then a gradual change came over his face, an expression of such intensity she wished she could interpret its meaning. He smoothed his forefinger over her palm, his touch centering on the soft, fleshy part at the base of her thumb.
On a pretext of adjusting her pillow, she drew her hand back, afraid he'd sense her passion. She fiddled with the ribbons on her nightgown, trying so hard to maintain a nonchalant attitude, to pretend her heart wasn't beating triple time because of his nearness.
"Well..." Christian stood, prompting her to stare up at him. "I'll leave you to rest now," he said, heading for the door. There, he stopped and turned her way, his hand on the knob. "Be back soon," he promised with a mock salute, then left the room.
She followed him with her gaze. She wished she could call him back to talk about everything and nothing, to listen to his voice that still echoed in her mind. Wild, crazy notions flitted through her head, passionate fantasies of Christian that would never be satisfied.
* * *
A few days after her recovery from the flu, Gwen sat on the front porch, basking in the light breeze that caressed her face, the glorious colors and scents of the flower garden surrounding her. Dazzling white clouds floated by in a sky so intensely blue it took her breath away. How good it was to be alive, to breathe in the fresh, clean aroma of the grass, to hear the robins chirp in the trees. She'd never take these things for granted again, never take her life for granted. Besides, she enjoyed her solitude on this pleasant
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