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hands, he snorted with displeasure.
    “Do not bring me more soup,” he demanded. “I will not have it.”
    She shook her head. “No soup, my lord. I think you can now have something more substantial.”
    She put the bowl in his hands. He looked down at the contents…and curled his lip in distaste.
    “Porridge? You bring me a meal given to children, or the elderly and infirmed?”
    A hint of a smile came to her lips, and he suddenly realized what she was thinking. With that sly little look, she was silently reminding him that it was hi> who was infirm. She probably supposed that the meal suited him perfectly, cripple that he was. He had a sudden, furious impulse to dump the offending meal on the floor…or better yet, to throw it at her and see that smug little look wiped from her expression.
    But just as he neared action, she spoke in a soft way…and her voice took the sword from his hand.
    “I stirred in cinnamon for you. I think you will find the taste quite pleasant.”
    For you. There was something in those words that sounded so sincere. But he could not believe she was truly selfless in her actions. No one had ever done anything on his behalf without being coerced or paid. Why did she play at this game of kindness?
    He shook his head at his own foolishness. Looking down at the bowl in his hand, he was hesitant to act…but he soon took up the spoon and began to feed. He told himself that he was only eating this undignified meal because he was so very hungry. No matter that it tasted very good…that the spice of the cinnamon was a sharp, delicious taste on his tongue. The wench had been right before…about the ice for his foot. And she was right this time about the taste.
    But there was no need to give her more credit than she deserved.

Chapter 4
     
    In the barn, Cassia stood before Guy’s horse, brushing him down. She’d just brought him in from his walk, which she tried to do every day, so long as the weather permitted. She knew that he wasn’t accustomed to being lethargic. The fresh air was good for her as well, and she enjoyed spending time with the horse. He was a calm and quiet animal, and he seemed to enjoy the little attention she was able to give him. On=“0”>ng was certain…the beast didn’t match his owner in temperament.
    As she finished her work and headed back into the house, she sighed with disappointment, thinking of what little headway she’d made with the patient in her care, at least in the sense of his disposition.
    He’d been with them for nearly two weeks now. While his fever had broken, and he seemed to be regaining his energy, he was still suffering from a broken ankle, and there was little that could be done for it until it healed. Between now and then, he would have to endure it…and his own knowledge of his helplessness certainly didn’t make him a better patient.
    She was not foolish enough to believe he would become a perfect gentleman. That was wishful thinking, if ever there was such a thing. But she had hoped he would at least be civil, if nothing else.
    So far, there had been no sign of even that…and part of her wondered if there ever would be.
    The smell of fresh stew was strong as she came inside. Her father was stirring a kettle on the fire, and she saw him yawn…a sign that he would soon be retiring to bed. It was near the end of his day, and the end of his watch in the sickroom. With night coming, it was her turn to watch over the patient.
    “Has he been fed?” she asked.
    Robert shook his head. “I was just about to take him his meal. He has been calling for it.”
    Taking off her cloak and gloves, she went over and took the bowl from his hands.
    “I will take it to him.” She placed the bowl on a small wooden tray. Picking up the teapot, she filled a cup…and finding a nearby vial, she put in a few drops of medicine. Reluctantly, she carried the tray into the room.
    She was careful to set it aside, out of his reach. He’d behaved that first time