CHAPTER 9

BY YOUR SIDE

"Ichabod!" tears streamed down my cheek and I flung myself in his arms the moment he opened his door. His presence relieved so much and I felt on the verge of an emotional explosion.

"Melanie," he grasped my hair in his hand and rested his chin on the crown of my head. "Jesus, Melanie." He muttered rocking me gently. He led me inside and to the sitting room where he motioned for me to sit on a long davenport that rested against the wall. "My God, what happened?" he asked when he saw a better look of me in the light. I choked on my words and before I could get a complete, comprehendible sentence out of my mouth, he put a finger to my lips. "Shhh… you can tell me later, let us get you cleaned up first." I nodded, and he left for an instant and returned with a wash basin and a cloth.

"I should fetch the doctor," he said setting the basin on the end table and gently sitting down next to me. "No," I argued. "Really, there's no need for a doctor." I struggled to get the words confidently out of my mouth.

"You're certain?"

"Yes." I forced a smile on my lips, which caused my head to erupt with pain. Ichabod didn't say anything, but gently pulled my hair back from my face and began to wipe the blood from the gaping wound. I gasped as the cool water stung the raw flesh. "Sorry, but this will probably be quite painful," he warned and I bit my lower lip in anticipation as the cloth returned to the lesion. A few minutes later he spoke. "Your cheekbone is definitely broken. It will be bruised and swollen for a few days, but it's a clean break so it should heal quite normally." Next he examined my wrist and came to the conclusion that wasn't broken, but badly sprained.

He wrung out the cloth over the basin and when his eyes turned back to me, shock was apparent in his features and he muttered something to himself. "Melanie, your…your dress is practically in shreds, and…and My God…" he curved his fingers and brought them to my neck imitating to scratch me. "Why those are from fingernails!"

He then noticed the unfastened button on the back of my dress. He brought his hand to it and paused, looking into my eyes. "May I?" he softly asked. I nodded my head and he carefully slid what was left of my dress from my body, leaving me clad only in my summer camisole.

"Mary Mother of God," he quickly breathed as he rose to his feet. "Melanie, Love, who did this to you?" he demanded as he gazed upon the yellow and black bruises that splotched my arms, neck, and chest.

"Rexroth. William Rexroth, my landlord," I answered with an airy whisper. Many more bruises also ascended my legs and thighs. A look of horror filled his eyes. "Did he?" he whispered and gulped in anticipation.

"No," I shook my head.

"Bastard," Ichabod muttered. "I'm starting to revise my decision about you seeing the doctor. I think it would be wise for him to examine you."

"I'm fine," I assured him. "Really I am. I've been better, yes, but all I need is a good night's sleep and I'll be fit for another day."

"If you insist," he sighed. "But you're to be staying here tonight. I'll be damned if you returned to that shack again." I didn't disagree with him.

Walking over to where I was sitting, he bent down and lifted me into his arms. I hadn't the strength nor will to object. I felt his strength beneath me as he carried me upstairs, my head resting on his shoulder breathing in his reassuring masculine scent. In Ichabod's arms I knew I was loved. I knew I was safe.

Ichabod gently laid me on the bed in the all too familiar room I had occupied previously. He lighted the lamp on the desk and a faint flicker of desire filled my heart as the soft line of light accented his shadowy figure. He was dressed in black pants with equally black unlaced, knee-high riding boots, and a loose white shirt that hung half open barely hinting at he soft skin of his chest. His dark hair was tousled and appeared to be the only untamed feature about him. No doubt I had awoken him with my urgent banging at his door.

He picked up the wooden chair near the window of the room and placed it by the head of my bed. He sat down and taking my hand, he leaned forward and whispered "Sweet dreams, Melanie." I could feel his breath against my ear and slowly drifted into a content and deep slumber, oblivious to the fact that Ichabod himself dozed in the chair, still holding my hand.