She leaned over him. “I have a salve—”
Without opening his eyes, he shushed her.
“I could run back to the vill—”
He snapped his fingers. “No.”
She had to try again. “It will help you feel better.”
“What would help me feel better is—” He paused as if for dramatic effect.
“Yes?” she prodded.
“If I would stop fighting with men younger than I am.”
Gemma sat back, confused. “You make a habit of fighting?” That was contradictory to her image of him.
His eyes opened with a frown. Golden eyes. Annoyed eyes. “No, I don’t make a habit of it. However, today was not wise.”
“Why did you do it?” He pinned her with a look that said she should know why . . . that, possibly, he was defending her, a thought so disconcerting she heard herself begin to rattle on. “You know he could have called you out. Then you would be honor-bound to fight a duel and kill someone. Or be killed. That doesn’t make sense, does it? When I reflect upon the matter, what happened was actually much better . . . if you are going to go around doing something like this.”
His gaze changed from annoyance to pity.
She frowned back at him. “So if you knew it was a foolish thing to do, why did you do it?”
“Because I wanted them to stop harassing you.”
He had been defending her.
She’d suspected it. She wanted to be furious. She was making her own way, and yet, something shifted inside her, just as it had the other night when he’d carried her through The Garland. It was hard always being alone. Hard not trusting, even after the harsh lessons she had learned. She knew she should be wiser about men . . . especially this one who seemed to do the right thing.
Ah, yes, but how many times had her trust been betrayed before?
Gemma hardened her jaw, trying to drum up anger. “I can defend myself.”
He appeared as if he could see right through her, to what she wasn’t saying—and perhaps even why she said it. He closed his eyes. “You could.” There was a beat before he tacked on, “Except you were outnumbered. Besides, I am responsible for that lot.”
“Couldn’t you have just told them to stop?”
“I tried that more than once. The time came to take action.” He sat up, wincing as his rib cage moved. He reached for the shirt he had carelessly tossed aside. He pulled it over his head and she felt a twinge of regret. “Of course, today I discovered six years is a considerable age difference. I’m always one to learn a good lesson when it presents itself.” He bent at the waist, stretching his back forward.
“How are your ribs? Is anything broken?”
“Thankfully, no. He did give me a good bruising.”
“He did. I can wrap your ribs for you.”
“Not necessary.” And then he groaned.
“I’ll be the judge of that, if you will let me help.”
“Mrs. Estep, I’m—”
“A doctor. A trained doctor. I know. You are a pest about it.”
“I’m a what?”
Now she had his full attention. And she was not going to repeat herself. Instead, she reached out to press her fingers on the pulse at his neck. He tried to duck her and she lightly tapped him. “Don’t be silly.” He gave her another frown, except this time he let her feel his pulse. “Strong and steady,” she observed. “I was concerned.”
“I told you I was fine. Just bruises. In fact, now after it is over, I have to admit it has been a long time since I’ve ever felt more alive.” He said this last almost to himself.
“And you beat him.”
His head lifted. The corners of his mouth rose in a cocksure grin. “I did, didn’t I?”
“So why did you walk into the pond?” she pressed.
He fell back onto the ground. “You are relentless,” he said bluntly.
True. “Why did you walk into the pond?”
“Because the spring water is cold. Not only did it feel good after that fight, I also hope it will stave off some of the bruising. And, because I smelled like egg.”
Eggs she’d thrown.
Was he angry with her?
He gave her a side glance. “Don’t look that way.”
“What way?”
“Like you are about to be flogged. I was jesting. Well, not about smelling like eggs, but that I hold a grudge.”
“About any of it? Including losing The Garland?” She had to ask . . . because it would be nice to have a true truce between them.
He seemed to weigh his answer, his sharp gaze considering her, and then he said, “Mrs. Crisp had piles and instead of telling me, she told you.”
“Oh, yes. Is she better?” The change of topic confused her.
“How would I know? Most of the women in this parish aren’t talking to me anymore. And I don’t understand it. I’m a good physician.”
“One of the best I’ve met,” she admitted.
“And yet Mrs. Crisp would rather suffer than speak to me? And why does cream relieve piles? Where did you find that notion?”
Gemma shrugged. “From my gran, who had it from her gran. Someone learned cream helps and so we share it. I have no idea why it works.”
His brows came together as he digested this. He grunted a response before saying, “And my other question? The one you don’t want to answer.”
How did he know?
“Well?” he demanded. “I’ve come to expect honesty from you, Gemma. Do they tell you they don’t want to speak to me?”
“No,” she said, startled by the thought.
“Would you not talk to me about your health?”
“I would heal myself,” Gemma answered.
“If you weren’t a healer,” he clarified with some exasperation. “Would you be shy?”
“There are men who are shy,” she said in her defense. “They don’t like to talk to women about private parts of their body.”
“Health comes before modesty.”
Gemma gave an exasperated sigh. “Not if there is a choice. And,” she said, pausing thoughtfully, “is this why you are so angry with me? Because I told Mrs. Crisp to use cream?”
“I’ve been very clear why I’m angry—”
“You are jealous.”
The words just came out of her. There was no conscious thought and yet, there it was, the truth. The damning, disappointing truth.
He looked as if she’d slapped him. Of course, he scowled.
“Yes, go ahead, frown at me,” she said. “That is all you do, as if that is some sort of explanation for your bad moods. And you know what?” she continued, rising to her feet. “I have no idea what your true question is. Seriously, I don’t. So I can’t give an answer. Are you angry that I gave someone advice that worked or that I sold someone foot soaks? Or are you angry that I am encroaching on your sacred territory? Oh, dear, that’s a disaster,” she said with a mock shudder. “Or that some women are very modest and feel uncomfortable talking about private matters? I have no control over what anyone thinks. I imagine it is different for every patient. Male and female. But I believe you know that. And if you don’t, then I question your powers of observation. However, what I am not here for is your grumpiness. No matter what I do, you find fault.” She shook out her skirts and started for the horse. “I’m going to ride back. You can take another dive in the pond—”