The Headmistress of Rosemere by Sarah E Ladd Page A

slowed. His shoulders relaxed. He eased his back against the chair.
    She pulled the candle even closer, and the heat from the nearness of the flame seemed to hurl fresh fire on the wounded skin. She dipped a piece of linen in water and looked up at him. “This might be unpleasant.”
    Miss Creighton worked lightly, quickly, cleaning his arm, her manner as calm and cool as if she did this type of work daily. He fixed his gaze on the wall ahead of him, trying to think of anything else besides the discomfort . . . or the nearness of his nurse.
    She carried the scent of smoke and snow, of mud and river water. She was so close he could feel the warmth of her breath onhis arm. He stole a quick glance at her, for she was but inches away as she bent over his arm, but her eyes were focused solely on her task.
    She looked up only to reach for a jar of white ointment. She removed the cloth covering and dipped a fresh linen inside. “This is Mary’s liniment that she keeps on hand for burns. Linseed oil and lime water. ’Twill probably sting.”
    William jerked his head up and breathed sharply through his nose as the ointment met the wound, careful not to mutter a word unfit for feminine company. The word hurt was an understatement, for surely a branding iron must be pressed against his skin.
    Miss Creighton winced at his evident pain. “I fear this is not your week, Mr. Sterling.”
    William wiped perspiration from his brow with his free arm and shifted. He managed a grunt through gritted teeth. “Oh?”
    Satisfied that the ointment was properly applied, she pulled a strip of linen from the basket. “This is twice you have been in my kitchen during the dark of night with an injury.” She looked up, and for the first time since he’d arrived, she looked him directly in the eye.
    William drew as deep a breath as his parched throat would allow. “Yes, I thought of that. Most people would be in a hurry to be rid of such a burden.”
    But as quickly as she glanced up at him, her gaze returned to her work. “I would hardly call you a burden, Mr. Sterling. Anyone would do the same, for were you at fault for either? I’d say after your rescue of Emma tonight, you are quite a hero.”
    He would have laughed had his lungs not been damaged from breathing the smoke. A hero? Him?
    She smoothed the strip, her tone as calm and steady as if they were discussing business affairs. “I’ll wrap this around your arm. It will help keep it clean. I am afraid I am not skilled at this. I cannot recall ever having a burn like this here at Rosemere, not in recentyears, anyway. But I suppose there are enough people at Eastmore who know more of what they are doing to properly tend it.”
    William stared at the top of her head as she bent over his arm, her hair damp and curling from the wild wind and sleet. Apparently she did not know of his recent change in circumstances, for he doubted anyone besides Martha might actually know what to do for such a burn. And why should Miss Creighton be aware of his situation? Her world began and ended with the school. Why should she pay heed to him?
    She lifted his arm and held it in her free hand to begin to wrap the bandage around it. Warmth radiated from her, and her movements felt strong and sure. Her braid fell forward, grazing his folded sleeve and taking his mind where it probably had no business going.
    “Can you tell me what happened with Emma?”
    William tried to focus on her words, but between his pain and her nearness, his concentration, even on something as simple as a string of phrases, was blurry. He cleared his throat and focused his gaze over her shoulder at the wall. “Your boy came to alert us to the fire, and I took the path over Wainslow Peak. I heard her scream coming from the stable, so I went in and there she was.”
    “Wait.” Miss Creighton held up a hand to stop him. “Emma was inside the stable?”
    “Yes.” William felt like his words would get the child in trouble. “She was