prevent atrophying?”
“Therapeutic manipulation of the musculature often does wonders. Let’s see the leg, Captain.”
“No.”
The doctor stood there with his pudgy hands grasping his hips. “I’m waiting. Don’t think you’ll foist me off now. Curiosity and all that.”
“I will walk,” Alex said emphatically.
“We’ll see.” He helped Alex to stand and shed his pantaloons, then assisted him to the bed.
“Hmm,” Raine said as he examined the scar, then moved the leg about as he expertly palpated tendons and ligaments. He wasn’t quite so loquacious now, limiting his remarks to that same wordless sound all doctors make. Alex recalled making it himself more times than he could count. Usually when he didn’t want to say what he was thinking.
After a few pertinent questions regarding the treatment, both by the doctors and what Alex had attempted since, Raine stood away. “Well, that’s that.”
“That’s what?” He made himself ask, knowing the answer.
The doctor ran a hand over his balding pate and shook his head. “You have read all the ancient texts, I’ll wager. And while some insist positive thoughts can affect the outcome of infirmities, no amount of wishful thinking will let you flex that knee at will. It’ll buckle on you every time you put weight on it. I don’t need to tell you that.”
“I will walk,” Alex said mulishly as he grabbed his pants to dress.
“Never said you wouldn’t do that,” Raine argued. “Only that the knee won’t work. It is fair wrecked and nothing can fix it.”
Alex managed to push himself to a standing position and held on to the metal footboard. “Thank you for the opinion,” he said with no sincerity and held out his hand.
Raine shook it firmly. “Good luck to you, son.” He hesitated a second, then asked, “Where were you trained?”
“Royal College of Physicians at Edinburgh.”
“Excellent training then. War is hell, eh? May I ask why you went and why, when there is so much to be learned from battle wounds, you did not practice your art there?”
“Personal reasons.”
“You Scots are a dour lot and that’s a fact. You be good to that girl,” he said, and waited for Alex to nod. Then he was gone.
Alex glared down at his leg. He supposed he had accepted the truth somewhere inside him long before now.
He spent the better part of half an hour struggling to get his boots back on. One success at a time, he decided. He sat there on the bed in sartorial splendor until Michael came to fetch him.
Alex refused to get in the chair. “Find me two forked tree limbs, anything to serve, will you? I have got to be on my feet.” The compulsion was so great it wouldn’t be denied.
Michael rushed out, so eager to please it made Alex dizzy. He was gone for quite a while and was running when he returned. “Look!” he exclaimed, holding out a pair of crutches. “Amalie’s idea! I went to get her unused ones to make a pattern, but I think we can use these. See what she suggested? Won’t they work for now?”
Alex considered the odd-looking things. They obviously were made for a woman. The fittings for the armpits were quite small and very heavily padded with soft pink fabric. On the bottom tip of each, Michael had extended the length at least a foot by forcing on two long metal pipes.
“I dismantled the waterflow from the roof cistern,” Michael proudly informed him with a thump to one of the cylinders.
“I’m sure your father will thank you for that,” Alex said with a wry frown.
“C’mon, try ‘em out!”
Tentatively, Alex took them and placed them just so. After a few awkward attempts at balancing, he got the hang of it. The pads were too small, the handholds too narrow and his left leg swung uselessly, slightly bent at the knee. But as he took his first real steps around that small chamber without hopping and grabbing on to the furniture, Alex felt freer than he had for months. “I must see that sister of yours and thank her,” he said with a huge grin.
“Aye, Cap’n!” Michael crowed. “Follow me!”
She was waiting in the hall beside the large curved staircase and was seated in a chair almost identical, save for size, to the one he had just abandoned, hopefully forever.
“You look patently ridiculous lunging about on those pipe-rigged contraptions, Napier,” she said before he could even greet her.
“And you look entirely too comfortable riding around in that thing,” he replied, frowning at her chair. “But not for long.”
He swung the crutches forward and heaved himself closer. Then again, and once more until he reached her side.
“From my heart, I thank you.” Bracing himself carefully, Alex leaned down, reached for her hand to kiss it. But she raised her face as he did it and kissed him soundly on the mouth. Such a sweet mouth it was, too. Eager and soft, tasting of berries and cream and…
Her chair rolled backward under his weight. Alex tumbled back and landed flat on the floor, spread-eagled and helpless as an upturned tortoise. The clang of metal pipe bouncing on marble echoed through the cavernous hall.
“Napier! Sir, are you hurt?” she cried, leaning sideways in an attempt to touch him.
He turned his head and groaned. “Ow, run fetch me a compress, quick!”
To his great surprise, she very nearly did. Elbows up and hands gripping the arms of her chair, she rose several inches from the seat before she remembered and dropped back with a groan.
Arms outstretched and flat on the floor, Alex laughed with delight. “You nearly did it!”
“Wretch!” she shouted down at him. And rolled right over his fingers.
“Ow!” he cried, this time for real, clutching his hand and curling up to a sitting position.
Michael and the doctor rushed to him and helped him up. But Amalie did nothing save sit there frozen, both hands covering her mouth, her bright eyes wide.
“Fat lot of good those sticks will do me one-handed!” he snapped.
She had the grace to look sorry even if she wouldn’t speak. He let Michael and Dr. Raine help him back to the small room off the hall and sit him down again on the bed. He tried to flex his fingers, but they were already swelling.
Raine examined them carefully, bending them anyway. “Not broken, just bruised. Good thing the girl’s not hefty!”
She was a small mite, thank goodness. He could only imagine the damage if she were of any greater size.
“Amie didn’t mean to do it,” Michael assured him.
“Mmm-hmm, the gentlest of souls, I know,”
