“Technically, you would have been dead by now, too. I’m not letting you out of my sight, Megha. If Amma can find you and punish you, she will. She wants her precious son to be viewed as a grieving widower, not a divorced man. She’ll come to Hubli and drag you home so she can finish you off. Is that what you want?” His eyes searched her face for a second, looking for a reaction. Perhaps satisfied with the alarm flashing in her eyes, he said, “I didn’t think so.”
He was right. She was the one who’d come to him looking for help, and not the other way around, so she didn’t have a right to get defensive with him. She was stuck in Kiran’s home then, at least for a day. But after that?
Evidently interpreting her silence as submission, Kiran motioned her to follow and led her to his bedroom. When he noticed the uncertain expression on her face he laughed, surprising her once again by shifting from grim annoyance to wry amusement in an instant. “Don’t worry, Megha, I plan to sleep on the sofa. You can use my room.”
“I’ve imposed on you enough, Kiran,” she protested. “I can’t throw you out of your bedroom, too. I’ll take the sofa.”
He nudged her inside. “Don’t argue.”
Kiran peeled back the bedspread and instructed Megha to lie down. She obeyed reluctantly, looking small and helpless against the stark white sheets in his large bed. Her face looked flushed. He knew it was from the embarrassment of lying down before a man other than her husband and also from baring her legs. He noticed she had beautiful limbs, long and slim and shapely. Several angry red scratches were evident in places. There would be scabs forming soon. He hoped they wouldn’t leave behind scars, marring the beauty of that smooth, creamy skin.
Then his eyes came to settle on her feet. Her right sole appeared raw and bloody. He lifted the foot in his hand to examine it. “Oh no, Megha, there’s a cut here.”
Megha’s gaze dropped. “I know my feet look disgusting. I must have stepped on broken glass or something on my way here. I had no time to put on my chappals,” she said, referring to the slip-on footwear commonly worn in India.
He turned on his heel. “Stay right there. I’ll get some bandages.”
She put up a hand to stop him. “Kiran, I think I might have left trails of blood all over your flat. My foot has been bleeding for some time now.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
She looked contrite. “I may have ruined your beautiful carpet, too.”
“I’ll clean the floor and carpet later. Your foot needs attention first.” He hastened out of the room.
Within a minute he was back with a white, rectangular plastic box tucked under his arm. In his hands he carried a glass of water and two white tablets. Putting them in Megha’s hand, he handed her the water. When she lifted a questioning brow, he said, “Pain relievers—they’ll help to remove the soreness from your muscles. You fell down and hurt yourself, didn’t you? And all that running—you’re going to be sore by morning.”
Nodding, she swallowed the pills and set the glass on the nightstand. Meanwhile he flipped the plastic box open and pulled out a tube of antiseptic ointment, a bottle of alcohol, and a variety of bandages and gauze. He sat on the edge of the bed, lifted the offending foot and placed it in his lap. What a dainty little foot, he thought, noticing her toes curl. No fancy nail polish or pampering with pedicures and lotions here. Although the skin was rough from all the abuse her feet had suffered, the toes and arches were nicely shaped, and the nails neatly cut.
Megha kept her eyes averted. She was probably embarrassed about her foot resting on his thigh. Such close contact between the two of them was strange, he had to admit. And disturbing. Right now, his thigh was tingling, sending out a few sparks from her closeness.
He thought of something as he examined the seriousness of the wound. “Have you ever had a tetanus injection?” He hoped to God she’d had a dose of tetanus sometime within the last few years. If not, he’d have to drag her to his doctor friend’s clinic right away. Tetanus infections could become fatal.
To his relief, she said, “I accidentally cut myself with a kitchen knife two years ago and our family doctor gave me an injection.” She held up an index finger to show him her scar.
“At least tetanus can be ruled out then.” Suppressing his male reactions, he quickly soaked cotton balls with alcohol and swabbed the wound. She winced a couple of times.
He glanced at her. “Sorry, I know it stings like hell.”
“That’s okay.” She observed in silence as he worked on her wound. Her expression didn’t reveal much.
Kiran fell into deep thought, wondering what was going through Megha’s mind. She had run for miles in the dark, probably fallen several times, then climbed over a wall, and managed to find her way here. Good heavens. He’d probably never know the depths of the horrors she had lived through during the night.
He inwardly fumed at the atrocities she had suffered. As if running from certain death wasn’t bad enough, she had to fight off a drunken brute on the streets in the middle of the night. She was a brave girl. It took guts to do what she had done. Well, at least she was here now, in one piece and relatively safe. From now on he would protect her. If he’d had any doubts earlier about what to do with her, they had vanished now.
As he attended to her, he knew exactly what he had to do. He’d keep her here, where he could keep a close eye on her.
He liberally applied the ointment on her sole and put an adhesive bandage over the cut. Then he wound a strip of gauze around the injured area and secured the bandage. Satisfied that everything was in order, he pressed her foot, giving it a gentle massage and making sure the dressing wasn’t too tight. Then he swabbed her legs, arms and hands with alcohol before smoothing a light film of ointment over them, all the while admiring the satiny texture of her skin. “There, that should make it better,” he said, spreading a little of the salve on her scratched chin and withdrawing his hand before he was tempted to caress her face or do something entirely inappropriate.
Megha refused to look him in the eye. He could tell she was discomfited by his closeness, perhaps even a little puzzled by what she considered extreme coddling on his part. In the kind of background she was used to men didn’t do things like this for women. But he wanted to do it for her—take care of her, heal her and ease her pain. There was something about Megha that touched the very depths of his heart and soul.
But then, what was that other, guarded look in her eyes? “Megha, what’s the matter? You’re not scared of me, are you?” She shook her head. “Don’t worry, I would never dream of taking advantage of you.”
This time she met his eyes. “I’m not scared, Kiran—I’m touched by your compassion. Suresh would never have done this for me. Even when I had a miscarriage, he didn’t bother—” Her eyes widened, as if realizing she had inadvertently said something she hadn’t meant to.
“You had a miscarriage?”
She nodded with obvious reluctance.
“When?”
“I…uh…a few days ago. In fact, it happened the day you and I ran into each other by the riverbank—very late that same night.”
He digested the information for a minute. He clearly remembered that evening, every tiny detail.
