Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

G race changed into her day dress that she was using as a night gown. It was not as difficult as it had been yesterday, for which she was grateful. She leaned into one of the posters at the foot of the bed using it for balance, while she climbed into bed. It took a little more maneuvering with her sore hands, but she wanted to try it for herself. By the time she situated herself and drew the covers up to her chin, she was exhausted.

A knock sounded at her door. "Do you need anything?"

The sound of his voice made her smile. "I do not believe so," she said back to him. But then she spotted the shelf of books. She would dearly love to read something, more exhilarating than the book on the natural world and botany he left on the table beside the bed. "Actually, I could use your assistance."

"Is it safe for me to enter? "

Heat rose in her cheeks, and she was grateful he was a gentleman. "I am covered, sir."

He opened the door gingerly, then seeing she was up to her neck in the bed covers, he stepped in a little more boldly. "I am at your command, Grace."

"I wonder if there is a volume that would be suitable for my reading this evening," she said, glancing toward the small bookshelf. She doubted he had a gothic novel or any such thing, but some volume of fiction would be diverting, even if it was an adventure story buried beneath the volumes on the natural world and the scientific journals.

He cleared his throat. "I confess, I do not have the selection or the quantity of books that I should have here." He looked like he'd say more, but he didn't. He crossed the room, scowling at the bookcase.

She wanted to assuage her host. "You have a beautiful collection of books. The spines and the covers—they all look magnificent."

He turned to her. "I confess I am lost when it comes to suggesting books. Most of these are practical for … this part of the country. In a different home and place, I would collect books differently."

"I can't imagine why you didn't think to buy a whole library, in case you one day stumbled upon a woman in the woods who wanted to read." She smiled at him, showing him she was teasing. "I was hoping for something other than a botany lesson."

He rattled off a few titles, and she was about to give up on the idea of a book. After all, she felt she could sleep better tonight. Perhaps she didn't need a book after all. "I have a small collection of Shakespeare's sonnets lying around here somewhere," he said, looking rather uncomfortable.

"That would do nicely," she said. "I did not see that one on the shelf."

"I believe I know where it is, I shall be back momentarily." He bowed formally before leaving the room. True to his word, he was scarcely gone from the room before he returned again. A worn red leather-bound volume was tucked in his hand, along with new bandages and ointment.

He looked almost reluctant to hand over the little book and put it down on top of the botany book on the small table. "It will be difficult for you to hold the book and turn the pages after I rewrap your hands. Shall I read to you again tonight?"

"If you wouldn't mind, I would enjoy that," she said.

"I do not mind. But first, let us attend to your hands."

She held out her hands to him, and he gently unwrapped the bandages from her hands.

"Your hands are looking better." He opened the small jar and applied a small amount onto each cut and scrape.

"They hurt less than they did last night." Grace held still as his fingers gently caressed hers. A tingling sensation spread through her hands where he'd touched her, but she couldn't tell if it was simply because he'd applied the ointment or if there was something more .

"Less pain is a good sign. You shall be right as rain in no time." He took care rewrapping her hands, and when he settled into the chair he'd occupied last night, the tingling in her hands stopped.

"Shall I see how your ankle is healing?" He glanced to the end of the bed.

"I would appreciate that," she said.

He moved the covers aside and checked on her ankle. He felt around her ankle and her toes. It was very tender and there were a few places where the pain felt sharp. She did her best to brave the inspection.

"What do you think?" she asked, awaiting his thoughts.

He adjusted the position of the poultice and rewrapped her ankle. Settling the covers over her feet once again, he sat in the chair next to the bed. "I think it will take time. We shall see how it looks in the morning." He picked up the volume of poetry. "Do you have a particular favorite?"

She shook her head, which was still reeling from her ankle and toes being examined. She had plenty of favorite poems, but right now she could not think of a single one. "Turn to a page and begin reading. Sometimes that can be very diverting, especially if it's an unfamiliar one."

His lips twitched, but he took the ribbon out from its marked place. He closed the book and then reopened it, letting it fall open. He frowned at the page. "I do not think I like this game."

"Which one did you pick? "

"It fell open to the page that was previously marked with the ribbon."

"It must be a favorite then," she said encouragingly.

He sighed, flipped a few more pages, and then began reading a different poem.

Grace closed her eyes, not focusing on the specific words, only the cadence of Ollie's voice as he read the poetry with more fervor than he had the book on botany on the previous night. Her intuition had been right. He read with feeling in such a way that captured her.

His voice was commanding, then gentle, full of feeling and passion, as he read words about love and words about loss. She dared one glance toward him as she moved her pillow to be more comfortable. He held the book aloft, but his eyes were not on the pages as he spoke. He'd been reciting the poetry from memory! She closed her eyelids again and listened to each inflection and word he spoke until sleep overtook her.

Oliver recited two dozen sonnets, more than half of them from memory before Grace's breathing changed, and he knew she was fast asleep. He read one more, a tragic one, the first one he'd opened to. It was full of heartbreak and sorrow; loss and loneliness.

He took out the light from the bedroom and pulled his large blankets onto the settee. The small furniture was not meant to be laid on by a man with any kind of height, but he would make the best of it again.

After readying himself for bed, he rubbed the growing whiskers on his chin. He had a small shaving set with him, but normally when he came out into the woods, he was by himself at his hunting lodge. It didn't matter if he went a week or two without shaving. But with Grace around, he'd felt a little more self-conscious about it. Did Grace care that he had a beard? Would she notice if he'd shaved? Would she care? These and other questions rolled around in his head, muddling his mind.

He took the small volume of sonnets and replaced the ribbon into the proper page. He had it memorized by heart, and as he said the words softly in the darkness, Apollo whimpered and laid his head on his master's chest. Oliver patted the dog, scratching him between the ears. "You, my friend, are supposed to be my dog. And you've been spending so much time with Grace."

The dog's soulful eyes stared back at him.

"I suppose I cannot blame you though," Oliver said. "She is rather remarkable, is she not?" He closed his eyes but could not get her out of his mind. He changed positions, trying to get comfortable on the settee, but the tossing and turning lasted for three-quarters of an hour. He sat up and lit a candle. Apollo peacefully slept next to the settee, clearly with nothing on his mind to keep him awake.

Oliver stretched, loosening up his muscles that protested against the cramped position on the settee. "I'm going to the stable, Apollo."

Apollo didn't wake or respond as Oliver stepped over the dog.

The storm still raged, and Oliver pulled his great coat around him. He ducked his head, trying to avoid the freezing stings of the snow and ice. Once inside the stable, he shook off the snow that had accumulated on him. He lifted the small lantern off its hook and lit the candle in the stable.

The horses whinnied, and Oliver spoke soothingly to them as he looked around the area for the item he needed.

In the corner, there were several sticks. Oliver looked for one about the right size for Grace and pulled it from the stack. The rough wood needed some work, but he was determined to help her.

He sat on a stool and grabbed his knife. Stripping off the outside layer of bark was an easy enough task. He focused on smoothing off any of the rough splinters as he exposed the wood.

Poseidon neighed.

Oliver looked up. "I'm working on a gift for Grace," he said, as if answering the horse's question.

Poseidon stamped, tossing his mane.

"It's not time for food," Oliver said to his horse. "I am only here making a crutch for Grace. She is the woman you helped; you remember."

The horse only neighed more loudly .

Oliver put his knife down, then stood and walked over to Poseidon's stall. He stroked the animal's nose. Oliver sighed. "I apologize for interrupting your sleep. I couldn't sleep either." He pulled a sugar cube from his pocket. Poseidon accepted the treat with a grateful whinny. Honey's ears perked up, and she looked at Oliver expectantly. Oliver pulled a cube out for her.

Oliver returned his attention to the stick. "I read her poetry tonight, Poseidon. Can you imagine that?" Oliver looked up, but Poseidon was paying him no attention now that he had received the desired sugar cube. "I haven't read poetry aloud in ages."

He spent the next hour concentrating on smoothing out the stick. The height was about right, but he would have to size it to her in the morning before he finished it completely. The crutch would do no good if it wasn't precisely the right size. He found another piece of wood, wrapped it and fastened it with a leather strap to the top of the stick.

"What do you think, Poseidon? Will she like it?" Oliver asked, holding the stick out at arm's length and giving it a critical inspection. He hadn't worked on a project like this since he was a boy, and immediately he felt his inadequacy at such a task. It would be functional, especially when he sized it for her, but … there was something missing.

Oliver stretched his muscles. The idea of sleep had fled from him long ago. He wanted to complete this for Grace, but there were some finishing touches he needed to make. Sitting back down he started making light marks on the smooth wood.

By the time he was finished, it was almost morning. He fed the horses before leaving the stable and headed back to his lodge. Apollo was in the same position he had been in when he'd left hours before.

Oliver lit the fireplace, then pulled his blanket from the settee to the chair, where he was finally tired enough to sleep.

Oliver awoke to the sound of Apollo whimpering. Opening one eye he saw his dog by the bedroom door, wagging his tail. He made his way over to Apollo, whispering to see if Grace was awake before he opened the door.

"I am dressed," she said.

Oliver opened the door and found Grace on the chair, her night dress folded neatly on the table. "How are you?" he asked.

She smiled brightly at him. "I think I am doing a little bit better. I am still sore."

"That is to be expected, I think."

She nodded, pulling her hair over one shoulder. Waves of curls seemed to tangle together. She glanced into the mirror. "I'm afraid my hair is quite a frightful sight. It is normally not so unruly. But I cannot do a twist with my hands bandaged. I can barely get in and out of my dresses."

He smiled, trying to put her at ease. They were both in an unprecedented situation. "Your hair looks beautiful down."

"It's highly improper to have one's hair down," she said.

"Your secret is safe with me," he said.

"Thank you, Ollie."

"Shall I help you out to the settee? I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise? For me?"

He nodded, then picked her up and carried her to the settee. The crutch leaned against the wing-backed chair, and he brought it toward her. "I made this for you," he said, his pulse racing faster.

Her eyes widened. "You made this? For me? When?"

"Last night. It's not quite finished yet. I need to make sure that it's sized for you." He helped her to her feet and wrapped his arm around her, supporting her weight so she didn't have to put extra pressure on her ankle. He tried not to notice how perfectly she fit into his side. He put the top of the crutch to the ground to see how high up the crutch came. It was only about two inches off. He could easily trim the excess off. Grace was the perfect height to fit in his arms.

"You made this last night? Do you not require sleep?"

The question caught Oliver off-guard, and he was momentarily tongue-tied, still thinking of Grace in his arms.

Grace glanced around the room, her gaze falling first to the settee and then to the chair, which still had Oliver's blanket on it. "You did not sleep because I have displaced you from your bed," she guessed.

Oliver shook his head. "That is not the reason. I only thought it would help you. It is a little too tall, but I will take care of that after breakfast."

Grace sat down on the settee. She held the crutch, turning it around so that the bottom of the crutch touched the floor. "Did you do all of this carving too?" Her fingers traced the designs he'd put at the top of the crutch.

Heat prickled the back of his neck. He wanted to justify his poor craftmanship, but instead he just nodded.

"It's very beautiful, Ollie. Thank you very much."

"You are quite welcome, Grace."