The Lost - J. D. Robb [83]
“I remove bristles with tweezers and then rub the area with papaya to ease the discomfort. With stings from sea life it is wisest to stay still for a while to be sure that the sickness has not reached other parts of the body. There have been deaths from the worst stings. Of course, Sebastian does not have to worry about that, though I tell him he could lose an arm. I can usually find a way to keep him in bed.”
Now Esmé was trying to shock the girl. They were closer to enemies than lovers, and her idea of a cure for any of his ills usually involved as much pain as she could possibly induce.
“It sounds like an excellent treatment, Healer.”
Sebastian watched Isabelle’s demeanor, standing back, behaving as if she were in training and not the one who should be teaching. He could tell that it was not easy for her to be so subservient. Somewhere she had learned self discipline.
The burning along the right side of his rib cage made him swear. “Give me the papaya if you two are going to talk all day.”
It took less than five minutes to finish the treatment. He pulled his cotton shirt over his head but left the buttons undone. He could tell by the healer’s stony expression that she was going to dismiss Isabelle the moment he left. “I know what you are thinking, Esmé, and I tell you that you must work with her.”
Before he could walk out the door, Isabelle objected. “Mr. Dushayne, the healer will work with me when she can trust me and not one moment before. She is established here and I am the newcomer. Why should she believe that my ways are superior? Indeed, that is not always true.”
Sebastian shook his head. “As you wish. But that behavior will be seen as a weakness. Do not forget you are here to sing as well. Come to the courtyard of the castillo before the last meal of the day.” This time he left before either one of them could object.
Isabelle made a nasty face at his departing back and then closed her eyes and prayed for self-control. Her temper was one of her greatest weaknesses. One of many.
Now she had to decide which was more important, to convince the woman, Esmé, she had no interest in Sebastian Dushayne or to convince the healer, Esmé, that she was not going to compete with her.
“The master wants you.”
Isabelle could get really tired of that term for their boss, but Esmé’s statement did choose the subject for her. “Maybe so, but I do not want him.”
“You lie.”
“No,” she said, understanding the misunderstanding. “I can see that it sounds like it. He’s very appealing. Who wouldn’t want him? His eyes demand everything you have and he has a weary way with the world that makes a woman think he needs her. Of course I want him.”
“Then why say you do not?”
“Because, Mistress Healer, I do not want him on his terms. I want love too. I want to receive as much as I give. I want true sharing. And it’s clear that he does not know the meaning of the word.”
“Hmm. I think you want too much.”
“I’ve been told that before.” Isabelle shrugged, undaunted.
“Call me Esmé or simply Healer. And I will call you Isabelle. The next person who walks through the door, you will treat and I will decide if you stay.”
No sooner were the words spoken than a boy came hopping through the door, doing his best not to cry.
Isabelle turned to Esmé for permission. The woman nodded with a smile that Isabelle hoped was pleasure at her fawning but feared was satisfaction at Isabelle’s likely failure.
Patience, she reminded herself. Pretend that Esmé is this island’s version of the nun in charge.
After his own questioning glance at the healer and a second nod, the boy plopped down in a chair and put his foot up on a stool.
“I see you have a splinter,” Isabelle said after examining the foot without actually touching it. Beyond filthy, the soles of his feet looked calloused. Did none of the children wear shoes?
“A splinter. Yes.” The boy nodded.
“Tell us how it happened.” The boy explained and with her usual prayer for guidance, Isabelle went through the process of removal. She never once