Healer's Touch (Deadly Touch #1) [Complete]

Chapter 21: It Wouldn't Kill Her

Click.

A woman entered the room, helped Llew from the bed, and led her to the washroom. Llew could now walk, but her mind was once again groggy, something for which, this time, she was grateful. She felt bruised, and sick, and dirty, and, and... she didn't know what else. Numb.

The woman had already filled the copper tub with steaming water. She unbuttoned Llew's dress and helped her into the water, then sponged her gingerly across the shoulders and down the arms. The slightest downward slide sent a violent shiver through Llew, and the woman abandoned her efforts, dropping the sponge into the water and taking a seat on the wicker stool by the wall, leaving Llew to take care of herself.

Llew sat in the water, unmoving and unthinking. Water dripped from the drenched tips of her hair. It was as long as it had been that evening in Cheer, the night she'd killed a man. She needed to trim it. Damn hair. It didn't take much to look feminine again, and that only led to trouble. Stupid hair.

The house filled with the baby's wail again, so ghostly, yet so real and chilling. Still, she didn't move, just sat staring into the water, seeing nothing. Thinking nothing.

The wailing continued.

The woman stood, hovering over Llew for a moment hesitantly, then left, pulling the door closed behind her. Closed, but not locked.

Llew's eyes burned, tears filling them and overflowing, dropping into the bathwater. She made no sound. Her shoulders bounced with her silent sobs.

She noticed the chill of the water first, and then that her mind was clear of its fog; she could move her limbs of her own accord. And she was alone.

Her head came up. She was alone. Her head was clear. Her body was under her control.

She stepped from the bath, shook out the towel from the floor and pressed it to her face, chest, a shoulder. And then she began to rub, to scrub herself dry. Not just dry. She wanted to wash him from her, but he was still there, clinging to her, his breath warming her ear, his groans filling her head. Her own moan echoed too, startling her. She viciously scrubbed at her ear with the towel. She'd rub it off if she had to.

She stood and gripped the edge of the bath, fighting against the sobs racking her body. Anger flooded through her and she kicked the tub, stubbing her toe. Stupid. Stupid, she chastised herself while she squeezed the throbbing toe in bunched fingers, trying to squeeze out the pain. She cursed herself for allowing him to paralyse her with so much hurt and then to exacerbate it by injuring herself – not that a stubbed toe would stop her. The simple fact was that her head was clear of fog, her muscles were hers to control, and she was alone, unsupervised. What in the empire of hell was she still doing there?

She dumped the towel and pulled the dress over her head, suppressing the revulsion. It was the dress she'd been wearing and likely one her mother had worn too. If she got out of here, she would never wear a dress again. She pulled on the knickerbockers the woman had brought to the washroom. Llew would gladly have worn five layers of the ugly, scratchy, frilly things, if she thought it would offer her some protection.

She opened the door slightly and peered around the door frame, checking the hallway. The house still rang with the baby's wail and it sent a shiver through Llew again. She'd never seen children in the house and couldn't imagine Braph as a father. In many ways, it was less disturbing to think the villa haunted. But still... That noise...

The short hallway between the washroom and her room was empty. She pulled the door half-open and stepped through.

The rhythmic chug of hidden machines provided the chilly wails with background percussion. Braph was in his room, evidently so focused on his task he couldn't spare anything to keep Llew under a haze.