Petals on the River (21 page)

they can pester the devil himself til he screams.
 
In this case,

however, I think the roles have been reversed."

The amber-flecked brown eyes gleamed back at her, reflecting the

firelight as well as a warmth that burned from within.
 
"Have no fear,

Shemaine," he urged.
 
"The ointment can be washed off after I've

massaged it into your skin, but even before then, it begins to lose some

of its odor."

Shemaine settled into the rocking chair and cautiously submitted herself

to his care as he knelt before her.
 
Allowing him to fold back her

sleeves didn't seem terribly difficult for her to bear, but she was

leery nevertheless as he dipped his thin fingers into the ointment and

began to rub her slender wrists, spreading the salve.
 
He worked it into

the reddened skin with a slow, gentle, circling motion of his thumb

until the odor actually began to fade, amazing Shemaine completely, for

in its stead a far more subtle scent reached her nostrils as her master

bent his head forward while concentrating on his task.
 
It was a

strange, pleasant blend of odors, the homespun cloth of his shirt, the

leather pants he wore, the soap he had recently used to wash his hands,

and a clean, masculine smell, all combining to form a warm, thoroughly

intriguing essence that quickened her awareness of the man.
 
Shemaine

realized she was affected in ways she had never dreamt possible, for her

womanly senses responded to his gentle touch, awakening like the

unfolding petals of a flower.

"I wouldn't use the leather cords to hold your slippers on anymore,

Shemaine, at least not until your ankles heel," Gage advised as he

unwound the slender thongs from around her feet.
 
"They might hamper the

healing process."

He lifted a bare foot in his hand, quickening the pace of Shemaine's

heart.
 
Her eyes were wide with uncertainty as she met his gaze, but he

seemed totally unconcerned as he dipped his fingers in the balm again.

"You'd better lift your hem," Gage cautioned.
 
"Otherwise it may get

stained."

Hesitantly Shemaine pulled her chemise and gown up a modest degree, and

though Gage waited, there was no further response.
 
Arching a

challenging brow, he peered at her again until she grudgingly dragged

the hems a bit higher.
 
Still dissatisfied with the limited area she had

left him to work in, Gage sighed in frustration, rested her bare foot on

his thigh and, with his clean hand, pushed her skirts up almost to her

knee, drawing a startled gasp from her.
 
Ignoring her nervous confusion,

he took her foot in his hand again and began spreading the balm around

her ankle.
 
He massaged it in gradually, rubbing his thumb around in

ever-encompassing circles, over the top of her arch down to her toes,

beneath the sole of her foot.
 
Cupping her small heei in the palm of one

hand, he gently kneaded the whole of the foot with the other.
 
His

deliberate, methodical strokes soon calmed her, and Shemaine found

herself slowly relaxing in the rocking chair, leaning her head back

against the curved top.

"You have a nice voice, Shemaine," Gage commented softly as he began to

rub ointment over her other foot.
 
"Victoria used to sing to Andrew,

too.
 
Even as a small babe, he seemed to listen intently before he

drifted off to sleep, but there has been no one to sing to him since the

accident.
 
I'm not very capable in that area."

"You're so gifted in many other ways, I find myself in awe of your

talents," Shemaine replied, lulled by his tender ministrations and the

warming fire that framed his wide shoulders and fine, dark head.
 
"If

you didn't have any flaws, Mr.
 
Thornton, you wouldn't be human."

"Oh, I'm human all right," Gage averred, caressing her small dainty foot

with his hands.
 
His thumbs combined to work their magic scrolling

leisurely over, around and under.
 
It crossed his mind that he hadn't

seen anything about his bondslave yet that wasn't worth admiring, even

her delicately boned feet.

"We're all human." Shemaine sighed.
 
"None of us is perfect, and we

should not expect perfection from those around us.
 
Indeed, if we

understood our own flaws better, we'd be more tolerant of the faults of

others and be less inclined to take offense at the slightest

provocation.
 
If men could forgive with the same fervent spirit with

which they wage war, I think we'd be able to live more at peace with

each other.
 
Still, there are those who are so evil they must not be

tolerated."

Gage's hands moved up to massage her ankle.
 
"Did you meet someone like

that on the London Pride?"

Shemaine knew the time had come to tell him of her enemies. "There were

several aboard the London Pride.
 
Gertrude Fitch, the captain's wife,

was one.
 
Jacob Potts was another.
 
But Morrisa Hatcher was the most

clever of the three.
 
She worked her wiles to incite the other two,

promising her favors to Potts, who, in turn, seemed capable of

motivating Mrs.
 
Fitch to take action against the rest of us with his .

conniving lies.
 
Anyone who didn't kowtow to him or Morrisa was

susceptible to being punished, mainly because of some mandate Mrs. Fitch

managed to wheedle or harass from her husband.
 
Although Mrs. Fitch

thought herself to be clever, she was actually the most gullible of the

three.
 
Potts at least knew what he'd be getting in exchange for doing

Morrisa's mischief.
 
It was a vicious cycle, but Morrisa was the one to

benefit from it the most.
 
She seemed far more dedicated in her desire

to reap havoc on her adversaries, most especially me.
 
But twas obvious

all three harbored resentment toward me and wanted to see me dead."

Gage noticed that Shemaine seemed suddenly on edge, as if fearful of

something beyond his ken.
 
"And do you think they will continue to seek

your death?"

"Although Mrs.
 
Fitch might long to see my demise, she would not

outwardly seek it here in the colonies.
 
Tis one thing for her to reign

supreme on a ship owned by her father, but quite another to answer to

British authorities in a strange land.
 
As for the other two, they will

continue their quest as long as they are here," Shemaine avouched with

certainty.
 
" Tis what they have promised.
 
Morrisa will send Potts to

do the deed and then laugh in glee when he does."

"Is he a man I saw on the ship?" Gage questioned, rubbing her leg again.

"James Harper banished him to the cable her just moments before you

came aboard.
 
He's a huge man, half again your size, with strawcolored

hair, ruddy cheeks and a rather large, bulbous nose."

A twinge of his lips gave hint to Gage's amusement.
 
"Your description

leaves me wondering if Potts haunts your dreams at night. You've

obviously memorized him quite well, Shemaine."

"I'd recognize him a fair distance off, to be sure."

"Hopefully, you'll have time to warn me if you see him coming."

"But you will teach me how to fire a musket fairly soon, won't you?"

she pressed anxiously, knowing there would likely be days when he would

be gone and she'd be left to defend herself if Potts came looking for

her.

Gage raised a brow with blatant skepticism as he asked a pertinent

question.
 
"Do you really think you have it in you to kill a man,

Shemaine?"

"If Mr.
 
Potts finds me, I may have to," she reasoned.
 
"He'll kill me

if I can't defend myself."

"Usually when any of the men or I spot a boat coming to shore, one of us

goes down to meet it, but I must confess there are times when we get too

busy to even look through the windows of the cabinet shop. Just ring the

bell by the front steps or scream your head off if you see Potts.
 
I'm

sure one of us will hear one or the other and come running."

"I don't think you understand what you or your men would be up against,

Mr.
 
Thornton," Shemaine answered careffilly.
 
"The man is a brute.
 
A

huge beast of a man!
 
It would take two like you fighting together to

best the monster."

"I can usually take care of myself or anything else that belongs to me,"

Gage assured her, but he made allowances for his inability to accurately

perceive trouble before it happened or to see clearly into the future.

"But just in case, I'll teach you how to fire a musket."

Shemaine sighed in relief, having obtained what she had wanted. Leaning

forward, she watched as he rubbed a towel down her legs to remove the

excess ointment.
 
Then he sat back on his haunches, allowing her to

lower her skirts, and began wiping his hands on the towel, seeming

perfectly at ease on the floor.

Shemaine was amazed that she was already experiencing some relief from

the rawness of the sores.
 
"I do believe, Mr.
 
Thornton, that among your

many other talents, you're also a very fine physician.
 
My ankles feel

better already.
 
Thank you very much."

Gage dipped his head slightly in acceptance of her gracious comment, but

it was not so much what she said that enthralled him as it was the

inflection she placed on certain words, especially his name, for her

syllables sounded as magical and pleasing as the silvery tinkling of

tiny bells on a breezy morn.
 
Well aware that he had all but insisted

she call him by his given name, he had to admit that when the more

formal address came from her lips, it stirred his senses no small

degree.
 
Her pronunciations, as articulate as they were, had definitely

been influenced by the brogue of Shemus O'Hearn "Your ankles should be

looking better in a few days," he predicted.
 
"In a month's time, the

redness will likely be gone, and perhaps by then I'll be able to afford