Read Christine Dorsey - [MacQuaid 02] for Free Online Page B

duty to prepare your bath?”
    It obviously wasn’t a question he expected her to answer, for with an expression of contempt he turned back toward the fire. And Rachel decided a bath was not in the offing. Not that she wished for a “soaking in the creek” as he put it. She would simply wait until she returned to Queen’s House.
    If only she could wait till then to eat. Unfortunately Rachel was near faint from hunger. It had been so long since she’d eaten, she couldn’t remember what her last bite of earthly food was. But she knew it must have smelled a bit more tempting than the odors coming from the pot. Still, she wanted nothing more than to behave like a charwoman and devour every last bite.
    She watched, her mouth watering as he spooned the cooked meal into a shallow wooden bowl. And waited for him to hand it to her. Then watched in shock as he settled himself on the floor, crossing his legs and using a spoon to shovel the food into his mouth. It was only after several bites—bites that Rachel could almost taste—that he glanced up.
    “Help yourself,” he said, inclining his head toward the pot.
    Help herself? She’d never helped herself in her life. The very thought. But it seemed unlikely that he would wait upon her. And memories of her earlier fare being fed to the dog were still vivid.
    Rachel’s sigh of resignation was heartfelt. There were several shallow scooped bowls stacked on a crude shelf, along with a few bent and dented spoons. Rachel chose one of each, then moved with as much dignity as she could toward the caldron of bubbling gruel. The pot was hot, which she should have known, of course, but she could tell he watched her and that made her nervous. Leaning forward she managed to scoop several spoonfuls into her bowl without touching the pot before a new odor struck her.
    At nearly the same instant she was knocked from the side and tumbled onto the floor in what was becoming an all too familiar way.
    But this time he was rolling her and slapping at her legs, and Rachel couldn’t keep from screaming. When he stopped her cheek was pressed to the dirt, her nose inches from her spilled bowl of gruel, and she could not suppress her anger. Jerking around, she pushed up on her elbows, her eyes blazing.
    “What do you think you’re—”
    Rachel’s mouth clamped shut, then opened on a shriek. “I’m on fire!” Smoke curled up from her skirt hem and she realized it was burning silk that she smelled. “Help me!”
    But even Rachel realized her pleas were unnecessary. He’d already smothered the flames and was plucking at the scorched fabric, mumbling a string of curses under his breath.
    “For God’s sake, woman, don’t you know enough not to catch yourself afire?”
    “Of course, I do. It’s just that I never—What are you doing?” Rachel struggled to shove what was left of her overpetticoat down as he flipped it up.
    “Would you stop?” With one hand he pinioned her ankles, stopping her from kicking at him. “I’m only checking to see if you’re burned.” His eyes met hers. “Hold yourself still.”
    His tone was low, almost gentle, and seemed to brook no argument. At least Rachel couldn’t seem to form one as his hands and gaze roamed over her legs. He removed her shoes, her dainty silver and blue shoes that were now dirt-caked and singed. Then his long fingers felt beneath her skirts, untying her garters. Her stockings were silk, white, with decorative clockwork of pale blue. At least they had been before... before everything that had happened to her. Now they were dirt smudged and scorched, with holes the size of half crowns burned through revealing reddened skin.
    Rachel held her breath as he rolled the stockings down her leg.
    “Am I hurting you?” His gaze met hers again, the green now as dark as a holly leaf.
    “No.” There was some pain to be sure. Now that the initial fright was gone, she was aware that several areas on her skin felt hot. But that wasn’t what made