Behind the Courtesan

chapter Ten

“I’m coming!” Matthew’s voice yelled from beyond the kitchen.

The sudden sound made Sophia jump and she only just managed to suppress a shriek as she stood at the bottom of the stairs leading to the tap. When he came into view, Sophia cleared her throat to let him know she was there since he walked with his head down, eyes on the floor.

“Ah, there you are.”

“Here I am.” She didn’t know what else to say. Had Blake told his side of the story yet? She knew the longer she hid, the worse the situation would become, but she was a coward and it had taken a nap and a bath before she had the courage to show her face. Seems she needn’t have bothered. There wasn’t a soul around. Where were the patrons? Where was Blake?

Bang, bang, bang, bang came from the closed door leading into the tavern. She hadn’t heard the thumps when coming down the stairs, but Matthew must have.

“Where is everyone?”

“Blake is in his office with the doctor. Could you please go and try to talk some sense into him while I tell the village dinner will not be served.”

“Why?”

“Blake refuses to see just how injured he is and wants to go about business.”

Sophia stepped forward. “No, I meant why will dinner not be served?”

“Sophia, he may have broken ribs and he certainly has a head injury that affects his balance. Blake couldn’t walk a straight line, let alone prepare a meal.”

“I’ll do it,” she said.

“What?”

Bang, bang, followed by, “Open the door!”

“I will cook the meal.”

“Don’t be silly, Sophia. You can’t do it.”

“And why not?” She tried to hold her foot still but her traitorous toes tapped and gave away her frustration.

“Don’t give me that look. I know what you think you can do, but it was a long night for you too. You need to rest and so does Blake.”

She touched her fingertips gingerly to her hairline. “You have no idea what happened out there.” If he did, he wouldn’t stand and argue.

“We can talk about this later. Wait there and I’ll tell these men to go home and eat their wives’ cooking for a change.”

She didn’t wait to hear what Matthew said next, didn’t wait to hear the villager’s responses, angry or sympathetic, over Blake’s convalescence. This perception they all clutched to so tightly that she was useless grated on her nerves and made her furious in more ways than Blake’s insults alone.

Bursting into his office, she was about to tell him exactly that but then she stopped dead, the breath stalled in her lungs.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” the doctor assured her in a rough Scottish accent.

“Don’t tell her that,” Blake said with a frown.

A multitude of black, blue and purple bruises covered his side, back and shoulders and what Sophia had at first assumed a graze must have been deep enough to be stitched, the thread almost camouflaged by discolored skin on all sides. The fact he sat with only a blanket over his lap, hairy legs swinging from the edge of the desk, barely registered as she took another step into the room. She couldn’t take her eyes off his torso, not because of the injury or his nakedness but because she didn’t want to meet his eyes.

“See, you’ve scared her.” Blake’s tone teased, but his usual mischief was strangely absent. No. His voice held something like worry. She still couldn’t lift her gaze.

“I’m so sorry,” Sophia whispered, the hot prick of tears back and threatening.

“This isn’t your fault,” Blake reminded her.

The doctor slipped from the room, but still she stared at his chest, at the mess and ruin.

“Sophie?”

In that moment she felt more like the frightened and helpless Sophie than she had in all the years she’d spent away as Sophia.

“Look at me.”

She shook her head, squeezed her eyes shut.

“You didn’t do this.”

“I could have... We should have... Oh God.”

“We did everything right,” he said with that uncanny ability to guess her thoughts. “You did everything right.”

A warm hand closed around her elbow and with only the slightest of pressure, Sophia was hugged for the second time that day. Despite how much pain he must have felt, his arms wrapped around her strong and tight, pulled her close until she had no choice but to rest her head against his shoulder. She didn’t dare return the embrace for fear she would hurt him.

She didn’t want to think about any of it anymore, what she could have done versus what she did. She had to hold those thoughts at bay until she was alone. Sophia concentrated instead on the words as he spoke them.

“So, the pie is already made, all I have to do is bake the biscuits and something sweet to top it off.”

“No,” Sophia said.

“All right, they don’t need sweets anyway. Pie and biscuits it is.”

He tried to lighten the mood and distract her but she wouldn’t let him. “No. You will not bake anything.” She stepped out of his embrace and toward the door of the office. “You will not step one foot into that kitchen.”

“You sound like Matthew,” he huffed. His genial mood disappeared with a whoosh of breath. “The inn has to open. I cannot afford to miss even one meal.”

“And you won’t. But you can’t make it.”

Understanding dawned but was quickly followed by a familiar glower. “Whatever idea you have in that head of yours, you can think again. This is my inn and I make the decisions.”

“It is your inn, but unless the doctor says you can turn cartwheels in the yard outside, you are going to bed to rest.”

He spluttered. He choked. Then he coughed.

“No cartwheels then?” Sophia glowered back even though Blake’s eyes were now filled with more pain than anger. “I didn’t think so.”

The door opened and Matthew entered, followed closely by the doctor. She ignored her brother for the moment and narrowed her eyes at the other man. “How long must Blake stay in bed?”

The red-headed physician looked from her to Blake and then back to her. “One week.”

“Be damned!” Blake surged to his feet.

Sophia stepped back as the blanket fell from his lap and averted her eyes even though he wore smalls. “I’ll get started in the kitchen,” she said and slipped from the room. As hard as she tried, she could not completely ignore the pained cry from Blake, the curses from Matthew or the laughter from the good doctor.

Her own brief smile fading, Sophia entered the kitchen. Could she really do this? Sure she’d helped a little, so she knew the layout of the kitchen and where everything was, but could she really serve a dinner at an inn? And should she? If word were to get out, her reputation would be... What? It certainly couldn’t hurt her as a courtesan.

So why didn’t she move? Her legs were heavy as though weighted down by rocks and her fingertips tingled as her breaths became shorter, faster.

One, two, three.

Would the townsfolk eat a meal prepared entirely by her own hands?

She nodded her head, rolled her sleeves to her elbows and stepped toward the stove where the fire had gone cold. She would do it because Blake would become her friend again. She would do it because she was a resourceful, independent woman who needed acceptance from no one. And she would do it to prove to herself that she could. That she had come far from the frightened, battered and scarred fourteen-year-old who’d left this place and not glanced back. If the villagers didn’t like it, they would go hungry or go home.