He knew he'd flustered her. For just a moment, before her face had gone blank again, he'd seen the shock, the wariness. Then she'd sighed, and even those flitting emotions had disappeared.
"Yes, well, you hit your head quite hard." She finally said, and had his lips quirking.
"In any case, I'm grateful for all you've done. You treated me yourself when it would've been easier to call the doctor." He said, grateful when she reached over, grabbed a glass of water. Lifting it to his lips, she watched him drink, easing the burn in his throat.
"What doctor? I said this was my island. No one else lives on these grounds. You chose a very inconvenient spot to crash your ship, sailor." She said, glancing out the window, across the sand to where the waves now rolled gently to the shore. And there, on the rocks just out to sea, were a few jagged remains of a small ship. And for just a moment, she saw a different ship wreck, a different set of rocks, and a different beach. And it reminded her why this man must leave as soon as possible.
"There's…no one else here? You live here alone?" He asked, watching her as she stared out the window, and at her small nod, his heart ached for her.
"It must be lonely." This time she looked at him, raising a brow.
"It is how I prefer to live. You're welcome here until your wounds are healed, Brody. Then I'll arrange for you to be brought back to the mainland. Your family must be worried." She said, lifting another glass to his lips, and this time he tasted the sweet tonic that had helped heal him. The same tonic, he remembered, that had sent him into sleep.
"No…No, they're not worried. I'm grateful, Violet." He felt sleep pulling at him again, and instead of fighting it he let it take him this time. So it was with a sigh of his own that he closed his eyes and let the dark swallow him.
While he slept, Violet showered, slipping into a summer dress. Quigley wound around her feet as she stood in the kitchen, brewing a pot of tea and stirring broth on the stove. He'd be hungry when he awoke, she thought, and tried to think of him as a patient instead of a man. As a patient, her main concern was healing him. As a man, her main concern was keeping misfortune from snatching him before she could get him off the island. Healing was much easier.
While the tea steeped and the broth simmered, Violet distracted herself with mindless tasks, wiping down the counters, setting out food for Quigley. She was pouring tea into cups when she heard a sound behind her.
Glancing over her shoulder, she nearly fumbled the teapot, felt her heart skip a beat. Propped in the doorway, a blanket wrapped around his waist, his chest covered in bandages and bruises, was Brody, his face pale from the effort of standing, his breathing heavy.
Narrowing her eyes, Violet set down the teapot, her face set in stern lines of disapproval. "Now what is it you think you're doing? You're in no shape to be standing up. Get back to the couch, sailor." She said, and the look he sent her could only be termed a pout. Imagine, she thought, a grown man pouting.
"I'm tired of lying down. Can't I sit at the table, Vi?" He asked, looking ever so pathetic, and she sighed, rolling her eyes as she walked over and pulled out a chair.
"Fine, you may sit at the table. But don't start crying when you fall flat on your face. It's too soon for you to be moving about." Because she was afraid that he actually would fall over, she walked over to him, wrapping an arm around him and taking most of his weight as she led him to the table, settled him down in the chair.
"I'm grateful, Violet." He said, slouching in the chair, and she sighed, walking over to take a cup of tea and bring it to him.
"So you've said. You've a strange way of showing that gratitude, sailor. You'll have some broth." She said in a tone that gave way for no arguments, and when she carried a thick bowl of steaming broth over to the table, his stomach rumbled in a way that had her lips curving, just the slightest bit.
"Eat it all now, like a good lad." She said, placing a spoon in his hand, and watched until he took the first spoonful. Satisfied that he would eat, she nodded, carrying her own tea over to the kitchen window. Because her back was to him, she didn't know he stared at her as he ate. Perhaps, if she had, she'd have been prepared for his question.
"You're always looking out the windows. Why not just go outside?" He asked, and instead of replying she sipped her tea, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear.
"I go out when it pleases me. But I've you to see to at the moment, so it wouldn't do to wander too far. What had you sailing by my island in the first place, sailor?" She asked, and he noted vaguely that she never used his name. Deciding not to mention it, he shrugged, and immediately regretted it as the movement sent pain shooting through him.
"I was just doing some pleasure sailing, and the storm came out of nowhere. It's like it was only around the island, and everywhere else was nothing but smooth waters and clear night sky. The waves grabbed my boat, pulled me into the storm, into the rocks. It's a dangerous land you've surrounded yourself with, Violet." He said, and she shrugged, an elegant movement of her shoulders.
"It's what I prefer. It usually deters visitors." She spoke softly, and then turned to him, putting her back to the sunlight that shone in through the glass.
"I found some pants in the attic that should fit you, and some shirts. You will shower when you're done eating, and when I redress your wounds, you can see if they fit." He nodded, spooning up more broth.
She was very good, he noted, at changing the subject away from anything that had to do with herself. It would be interesting, very much so, to see what would get her to tell him something about herself. But for now he simply sat and ate, allowing the warm broth to soothe the ache in his throat and fill the hole in his stomach.