“Thanks.”
“The cut on your head is shallow; I don’t think it needs stitches. Just keep it clean.” He ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling it. “You’re not hurt anywhere else?”
The mark on her arm had settled to a low, dull ache. Her first instinct was to tell Mason that she was fine and deal with the injury herself. But, logic argued, Old Keira probably knew what to do to keep infection out. You don’t.
Her hesitation was enough to answer Mason’s question. He placed his mug back on the floor. “What is it?”
“Just, uh, a cut on my shoulder.”
“Let me see.”
She shrugged out of the jacket, and Mason released a low hiss between his teeth. “This is nasty, Keira. You should have said something.”
“It doesn’t feel too bad.”
He bent close, examining the cut without touching it. “It’s almost to the bone. I can clean and stitch it, but honestly, you should see a proper doctor.”
“No, thank you.”
“I can drive—”
“Nope.” She put a little more force behind the word.
Mason’s lips tightened, but after a second, he nodded. “I don’t have any anesthetic, so it’ll hurt. Are you okay with that?”
One of the blessings of losing her memories was that she had very few experiences to make her wary of pain. “Bring it on.”
Mason drew his chair closer, then lifted the case onto his lap. He flipped open the lid, revealing a mix of equipment and supplies that could have belonged in a hospital.
“I thought you weren’t technically a doctor,” she said as he tugged on a pair of gloves.
His grin was tight. “After about six months of training, my entire extended family decided that I was qualified enough to treat them for free. I’ve learned to be prepared.”
She laughed, but her mirth was cut off when an antiseptic-doused swap touched the exposed flesh. “Ugh. Could you poke it a little harder, please?”
“Sorry. I know it hurts.” He looked appropriately contrite but continued dabbing at the cut.
Keira bit the inside of her cheek and turned toward the fire. She focused on the dancing flame, forcing her whole attention toward it in an attempt to push the pain into the back of her mind.
“You’re turning out to be a very interesting person.” Mason tossed aside one swab and fished out a new one. “The cut’s clean. There aren’t any jagged edges or tears—just a straight slice through.”
“Yeah? What does that mean?”
He arched an eyebrow as he worked. “It rules out a lot of accidental injuries. I’m guessing this was made by either a large shard of glass or a knife. And…it was probably deliberate.” His green eyes flashed up to gauge her reaction.
She grimaced. “So by process of elimination, I’m probably either a drug lord or a professional assassin.”
His shoulders shook as he tried not to laugh. “Probably.” After discarding the second swab, Mason tore open a little plastic pack that held a needle. “We’re nearly there.”
Keira squeezed her eyes closed as the needle cut into her and the thread drew her skin back together. It hurt less than the antiseptic had, but she didn’t want to see her arm being turned into a craft project.
“Keira?”
“Hmm?”
Mason seemed to be speaking carefully. “I hope it’s not rude to ask, but do you have food?”
“Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” The answer came out automatically. Keira suspected she’d given it hundreds of times before.
He narrowed his eyes at her, and she knew he’d looked through the cupboards while making tea.
“Well, I have money. I was planning to go into town a bit later. Buy some supplies.”
He nodded, but the cautious tone lingered. “Enough money?”
“Plenty.” Twenty counts as plenty, right?
Mason looked relieved. “Good. Make sure you eat well. You lost a lot of blood from this, and you’ll need energy to make more. And don’t be afraid of asking for help if money gets tight, okay?”
“I will,” she lied happily. She knew Mason’s offers came from concern, but her subconscious screamed at the idea of accepting charity. Even staying in Adage’s cottage felt unnatural. Well, I guess that’s a good response. It means I probably wasn’t a thief…or that I was the worst thief ever.
Mason tied off the sutures and cut the thread. “There. These can come out in a few days. Does it feel okay?”
She flexed her arm. “Much better now that it’s not flapping open all the time.”
He made a face and dug a bottle out of his case. “Painkillers,” he explained as he tipped two into a smaller empty bottle and handed it to her. “Take one now and another tonight before bed. I don’t think you’ll need more. You’ve got a pretty high pain threshold.”
“Yeah?”
“Not a single scream. Count me impressed.” He made to close the case, but hesitated. “You’re not hurt anywhere else, are you?”
“Nope.”
He raised an eyebrow.
She held up her hands reassuringly. “Promise.”
“Good.” The cheerful, warming smile was back, and he locked his case.
Keira expected him to get up and leave, but he stayed sitting. One hand came up to rub the back of his neck as his eyes flicked over her. She could feel his gaze touching on all of her vulnerabilities—the unkempt hair, the stitches just below her shoulder, the protruding bones—and desperately hunted for a distraction.
“More tea?” she asked.
“Thank you, I’m fine.” He inclined his head to one side. “Keira?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you still be here tomorrow?”
That question didn’t have a simple answer. Sitting by the cottage’s fire, surrounded by well-loved furniture and sipping a hot drink, she’d easily forgotten how uncertain her future was. She took a moment to form her reply. “I…don’t know. It depends on whether my memory comes back. And whether Adage invites me to stay another night.”
“He will.”
Keira thought she saw something in Mason’s face, but it was gone before she could fully identify it.
He rose and returned his cup to the sink. “In that case, I’ll come by tomorrow to check your arm.”
“That would be nice.” She was surprised to realize how much she meant it. “Thank you.”
He extended his hand.
She shook it, and this time, it was easier not to squirm at the contact, even when he didn’t immediately release it.
Mason’s smile extended into his eyes. “Take care, Keira. I’ll see you again soon.”
Chapter Five
Starve or get shot at? Keira pulled a face as she stared through the cottage window at the puddles dotting the graveyard. Starve…or get shot at?
She’d showered once Mason was safely gone. The clothes still felt grimy, but at least her hair no longer looked like a home for small critters. Now, she only needed food.
Keira’s gut instinct said the strange figures that had chased her wouldn’t stay in the town now that it was daytime, but for all she knew, her gut was an appalling liar. Her brain argued that safety should be paramount, and that all it would take was one moment of lowered guard to get sniped. On the other hand, she was really, really hungry. She’d been standing at the window for close to an hour but hadn’t seen anything more interesting than a small flock of birds fighting over a grub.