Forever My Love(6)

"Go… get someone…" Alec gasped, sweat trickling from his brow into his eyes.

"Your arm—"

"I think it's dislocated… it'll have to be set… dammit, go!" He could not stand the acute pain much longer, and in his belly gnawed the dread of having the bone set. He had seen men howl before at the process, and now he knew exactly what they had been howling about.

Mira walked toward him, her eyes moving over him in quick analysis.

"I think I can help you. Around here they come to me for heal—"

"I told you to leave," he snarled.

"Can you move your fingers?" she persisted quietly, and Alec leaned his head against the tree trunk, re­garding her through cloudy eyes.

"If you're thinking… of getting back at me… for yesterday," he muttered, "forget it. I'm still capa­ble of…" He blinked hard in an effort to focus on her. "I can still—"

"I understand," Mira said wryly, feeling an unwanted flicker of sympathy for him, the bad-tempered brute. "But I assure you, I paid little attention to what you said yesterday." She began to draw closer to him, keeping her voice low and gentle. "Of course I will go to fetch someone, just as you asked. The pain is only in your shoulder? If you'll just let me make you more comfortable…" Slowly she approached him, won­dering if Falkner had fallen unconscious, for his eyes were closed and his face was pale.

She was close enough now to see the damp strands of ebony hair that clung to his forehead, the taut clenching of the muscles in his jaw. The black lashes lifted as he looked at her, and his gaze caused a flare of anxiety in her stomach. Despite his weakened con­dition, she could not help but sense his considerable physical power. The wisest thing to do would be to

leave him and go back to the manor—although he might have a thought or two about the damage she could do to him, she had much the same thought in reverse!

But there was no one who could help him as well as she could. The local physician was inept and clumsy, a drunkard. And although there was no reason in the world why she should feel any compassion for Alec Falkner, she did not like the idea of him suffering needlessly. Kneeling beside him, Mira stroked the hair off his forehead.

"Let me make you more comfortable," she said, and before Alec could make a sound, her fingers brushed over his injured shoulder in an exploratory touch. "Ah… I see what the problem is. It's not bad at all… I don't think it's broken."

Alec's good hand flew to Mira's waist, biting into the soft flesh hard enough to make her wince.

"Don't touch it—" he began hoarsely, and she took hold of his shoulder with one firm hand, his upper arm with the other.

"Let me."

"No… it's not…"

"Shhh—I know what to do," she murmured.

"Damn you, don't touch…"

Alec's protest died away, and he gasped as he felt her rotate his arm gently into place, her hands seem­ing to have some intricate knowledge of how the mus­cle, bone, and nerves were all connected. He winced, his fingers splayed in midair as the shoulder snapped into place. Suddenly the pain, the nauseating pain, abated rapidly. His eyes opened slowly, the pupils dilated until the gray was nearly consumed by unre­lieved black. Alec stared at the intent face so near his, his lips parted in amazement. At first he was numb… then tiny needles of sensation pierced his arm. A shiver raced through his body at the onslaught of relief.

"Relax," Mira said, her hands slipping through the open neck of his shirt to the tightly knit surface of his shoulder. "You could still do damage if you move." Her fingertips sought the ravaged nerves deep inside his flesh, massaging with a surprisingly confident touch, soothing. He would not have expected her small hands to be so strong. Sighing, Alec loosened his hand and let it rest on her back, his eyes closing.

"How did you do that?" he whispered, a flood of lassitude sweeping through him.

"I've always been good at this kind of thing," Mira said, working on his shoulder with an engrossed ex­pression. His skin was smooth, stretched tightly over well-exercised muscles. Black hair was spread over his chest extravagantly, like luxuriant fur. Now I know, she thought wryly, how it feels to take a thorn out of a lion's paw… in such a situation, one's compassion was overridden by doubts about one's own wisdom. "More because of necessity than real talent," she con­tinued, "but I do have—" •

"According to Sackville, you have a greal deal of talent," he interrupted. "Although at the time we were not discussing the art of healing." Her fingers loosened, and his arm tightened around her waist. Immediately his tone became beguiling. "No… don't stop."