The Lost - J. D. Robb [82]
The castle was huge and still seemed deserted. Making her way down an enclosed set of winding stairs, Isabelle came out onto what looked like the inner courtyard, surrounded on all four sides by a covered passageway supported by elegant arches that ran in a square. The only break was where the great iron doors stood closed tightly against the pitiful village just outside the gate.
Doors and windows set in smaller arches lined the walls on the other side of the passageway. Benches in some dark, worn wood gave evidence that there were times when the courtyard held a crowd.
Isabelle crossed to the giant door, at least twenty feet high and almost as wide, and was in front of it when she saw a small door set in the wall nearby open from the other side.
A boy, no more than ten, came into the courtyard, all confidence and good nature. “Good day to you, mistress. Mistress Vermille says I am to take you to Mistress Esmé, the healer.”
“Thank you. But I need to see where my cottage is first.”
“No, no. I am sorry, mistress, but you must see the healer first. You have no choice.”
Isabelle was not surprised and only a little irritated at this command performance. Clearly power plays existed on little islands in the Caribbean too. There was no other reason she could think of for the healer to insist on seeing her before she had even set foot in her cottage.
Isabelle followed the boy who said his name was Cortez. He pointed out the village’s most significant sites, which were cottages that all looked the same to Isabelle.
Whitewashed with palm-l eaf roofs, well kept and so small it was hard to believe that one housed a barbershop and a beauty shop, another a dry goods store and a third the produce shop. She could smell bananas and realized that she had not eaten anything since she had arrived here.
“Cortez, can we stop here so I can buy a banana, please?”
“No, no, you cannot buy.”
Just before she lost a hold on her temper, the boy produced a coin. “I will buy you the best and biggest banana there is.” He popped into the store and a minute later came out with a lovely, firm, yellow banana big enough for two. Indeed, Isabelle broke off a quarter and shared it with him and they continued down the street in companionable silence.
Cortez took the peel and Isabelle brushed her hands on her pants just as they reached a house that was set back from the street. Larger than the rest, it had an actual door and two windows.
Cortez did not have to tell her that this was the home of the healer, Mistress Esmé. A woman came to the entrance when Cortez pulled the bell. She gave Isabelle a long look that made her feel dirty and uneducated.
“I am Esmé, the healer, and you are the nurse.”
“Isabelle Reynaud,” Isabelle answered even though Esmé made the word “nurse” sound like a lower life-f orm.
“I told you, master, she will not do at all,” Esmé called over her shoulder. “There is no place for a nurse in our village. What can she do that I cannot?”
Isabelle stepped past the woman and into the entry hall, having faced this prejudice before and determined to prove her worth. She stopped short when she realized that Sebastian Dushayne was stretched out on a bed, his shirt off, his arms up against the headboard.
Four
Sebastian Dushayne laughed at the dismay he saw on Mistress Isabelle Reynaud’s face. This woman must have come from a convent to be so shocked by the sight of a man without his shirt on. He hoped seducing her, introducing her to the world of carnal pleasure, took a very long time. It was hard to tell with the innocent. For some their naiveté was only skin deep; for others it was a way of life.
Letting go of the bedposts, he sat upright. “For God’s sake, Healer, finish this or I will be in misery all day.”
“You should not have gone swimming today. You know that after a storm the fire worms are found in unexpected places.”
“Yes, yes, now come and finish taking the bristles out. They hurt like hell.”
“How do you treat them?” Isabelle asked, walking closer to him, her expression now very serious. She