“Three others. My favorite is Mysteries of Udolpho but I also enjoyed The Romance of the Forest.”
“I’ve read Udolpho three times. I bought it because it was the thickest one on the shelf.” She looked away. “I shouldn’t be telling you all this. You’re my prisoner. I couldn’t care less what books you read, or if you read at all.”
“Why were you hiding them?”
“That’s none of your business!” She turned and stalked from the room.
Caleb watched her go. In spite of himself he was intrigued by her. He had never known anyone to be so defensive about reading a book. Who had forbidden her to read? It was obvious someone had. Why else would she be hiding them in her own house? Caleb’s family were all voracious readers and he couldn’t imagine his sister reading in secret or hiding a book. Most of the girls he had known in Pollard’s Crossing read to some extent, some more than others. It wouldn’t have occurred to any of them to defend their right to read.
He moved his body lower in the bed. She was a mystery, his jailer. Under different circumstances, he would have enjoyed solving that mystery a great deal. Now, he only wanted to get out of here and either join his regiment or be sent home.
Home. It was like thinking of heaven. The war hadn’t reached Pollard’s Crossing, according to his parents’ letters, so it would be waiting for him just as he left it. He was determined to survive this hell of a war and go back home again. Just now survival meant rest. He could smell Megan cooking food in the other room and his stomach rumbled expectantly. He had to get his strength back and heal quickly so he could be on his way.
Chapter Three
Caleb watched as Megan sat on the side of the bed and started untying the bandage on his arm. She was trying to ignore the fact he was looking at her. “Tell me about yourself,” he said.
She glanced at him in surprise. “There’s nothing more to tell. You already know I’m promised to Seth Brennan and that I’m going to use you to get him back.”
“There’s more to you than that. Have you lived in the settlement all your life?”
“Of course. I was born there. So were my brother and sister.”
“You didn’t mention a brother yesterday. I gather he’s off fighting on the Confederate side?”
For a long time she was silent. “We don’t talk about Owen. And no, he’s fighting for the North.” She closed her mouth as if she had said too much.
Caleb was intrigued. “He’s on my side? Then why are your parents Confederate?”
“When Owen joined up Papa disowned him. As far as the settlement is concerned, Owen is dead.”
His voice softened. “Are those tears in your eyes?”
“No.” She turned away abruptly and reached for the pan of clean water.
“I can do this for myself,” he said.
“I don’t want to take a chance on you pulling the wound open. You’ve lost too much blood as it is.” She gently washed the wound clean and put another bandage around it.
Caleb automatically caught the quilt as she tried to pull it away. Her dark eyes met his. “I have to keep you clean. As for modesty, I’ve seen you already.”
Caleb surrendered the quilt. When she removed the bandage, he caught his breath at the pain. This wound was far more severe than the one on his arm. For a moment his senses reeled as if he were about to pass out.
“You’re still weak,” she said. “That’s why I’m doing this for you.” She kept the covers over as much of him as possible as she probed the swollen flesh circling the wound. “This one doesn’t look so good.”
He raised himself on his elbows and looked. Again his head spun. “Is the bullet still in it?” He dreaded her answer. If it was, she would have to cut it out.
She shook her head. “The bullet went clean through. I don’t think it even nicked the bone, at least not as far as I can tell. I had hoped it would mend as quickly as the other one. Of course it’s still fresh. It’s too soon to know if it’s going bad.”
Caleb had seen many wounds and he knew this one could be a problem. He had also seen too many amputations in field hospitals. “Promise me something. Don’t cut off my leg. If it goes bad, I might pass out and not know what you’re doing. Promise me.”
“I don’t plan to cut off your leg, Captain Morgan. I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to do that.”
“Neither do most army doctors. If I’m going to die, I’d rather do it with all my parts intact. Promise me.”
Her eyes met his. “I promise.”
He lay back with relief. “During the first part of the war I was assigned to oversee the wounded and be certain they received medical treatment. I saw things in the hospital tent that will give me nightmares for the rest of my life.”
Megan lifted his leg enough to slide the fresh bandage beneath and tied it into place. Caleb bit back his pain. “I know that hurts,” she said, “but we have to keep it clean or it will go bad.”
“How do you know that?”
“I don’t know it for sure, but cleanliness can’t hurt. When I cut myself, it seems to heal quicker if I keep the place clean.”
“I know some army doctors who should take lessons from you.” He tried to shift himself into a more comfortable position. There wasn’t one.
“Besides, I want you to heal fast so I can get Seth back sooner.”
“Tell me about him.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“You don’t seem eager to talk about yourself and I’m trying to have a conversation.” Caleb needed to know all he could find out about his captor if he was going to escape.
“There’s not much to say about him, either. We grew up together. Everybody has assumed all my life that we would marry.”
“Is that why you’re marrying him?”
“Of course not. I love him.” She frowned slightly, as if she were considering the question. “What about you? Are you married?” She ducked her head. “I was thinking that if you are, I could get word to her somehow that you’re alive. I’d want someone to do the same for me.”
“No, I’m not married.”
She looked at him with her level gaze. “Why not?”
He smiled at her straightforwardness. “I never met a woman I wanted to talk to all my life.”
Megan put her head to one side. “That’s a funny way to put it. Talking is really important to you, isn’t it?”
“Isn’t it to you?”
“The men in my family rarely talk to their wives and daughters. They talk to each other, I guess, but only about crops and hunting. Things like that. What would you have to tell a woman that would take the rest of your life to say?”
“That I love her, for one thing. I wouldn’t marry her unless I did and that’s something that needs to be said often, assuming it’s true.”
Megan frowned and let her hands drop into her lap. “I never in my life heard Papa tell Mama he loves her.”
“Most likely that takes place at night when they’re alone.”
She laughed. “You never lived in a cabin, did you? There’s not much privacy.”