Page 2 of Magic Touch
"Not at all, Miss O'Dwyer. It's easier to be honest in my experience." I loathe that damned painting the king requested. I can hardly stroll down the street without some stranger calling out or wanting to hear about my time at war. Annoying and invasive, it is as much a part of my life now as the pain. However, Esme O’Dwyer’s recognition doesn't offend me at all. That's something to examine later.
"Indeed." She pauses, looking down at her hands, which are fidgeting on the counter. "Would you like me to try to remove your pain?"
This stunning woman could certainly make me forget my leg for a while, but I'm sure that isn't what she's offering. "I'm afraid I still don't understand."
Her lips pull up in the most alluring smile. "Did Mr. Preston not tell you what I am?"
"A healer."
Searching my face, she cocks her head. "I'm a witch, Sir William."
"I don't believe in such things," I remark automatically even though part of me feels bewitched by her already.
Her low laugh shoots lust directly to my groin. "Your belief in a thing does not discount its existence. I am here. I am real. And I am most certainly a witch. However, I'm happy to brew you a nice tea that should ease your pain for a time. I can also mix a sleeping draught if you like."
Yes, that's exactly what I'm here for, but I don't want the encounter to end so quickly. "What other treatment did you have in mind?"
"I might be able to heal you."
"Heal me?" I can't wrap my head around what she's telling me. I've been to dozens of surgeons and doctors, and none would even attempt going back into my leg. Managing my pain is all anyone offers.
Hands on her hips, she laughs again. "I would put my hands on your leg and try to draw the injury out and heal whatever damage was done."
Her hands on me? The idea is so wickedly appealing that it takes all my wits to process the rest of what she's saying. "You wish to touch me?"
Shaking her head, she rounds the counter, marches to the door, and throws the bolt. She returns to me. "Follow me, please."
What else can I do, but as I'm told? We leave behind the shelves and remedies with their earthy scents and follow into a brightly lit kitchen with a large window and yellow roses in a vase on a wooden table.
It's small but bright and cheerful as opposed to the mysterious darkness of her shop. I find myself nonsensically afraid to touch anything and hold my hat in both hands in front of me.
"Please sit, Sir William." She points to one of two wooden chairs by the table.
I admire the roses and do as instructed while she stokes the fire smoldering in the cooking hearth and heats a teakettle. At the wooden counter, she takes bits of this and that from different canisters and puts them in two teacups. The water boils, and she pours the tea and brings me a cup.
"You said tea would not help me." I stare into the cup as the water turns darker.
Sitting in front of me, she sighs. "Sometimes a cup of tea is simply a cup of tea. I thought it might put you at ease."
"Oh." I'm a fool. "Thank you." I sip the tea, and it's quite nice. Far better than I would have expected from someone who lives in this part of town. As an apothecary of sorts, I suppose she has more opportunity to buy finer leaves.
Her grin is like a reward for good behavior. "Is it your right leg?"
"How did you know that?" My heart thrums wildly. What have I gotten myself into? Yet, being near this beautiful woman is like a drug and far better than the laudanum on my bed stand. If she wishes to touch me, I cannot deny it, and perhaps I can still leave with a curative that may help me sleep.
Eyebrows high, she says, "It is the leg you favor when you walk."
Closing my eyes, I take a long breath. "I'm not usually this much of an idiot." It shouldn't matter if she thinks I’m a fool, but it does.
"May I touch your leg, sir?" Her moss-green gaze bores into mine.
"It's unseemly." My words can't do justice to my thoughts. I want her to touch me. I want all of her touching me, and that is not at all gentlemanly. In fact, such base thoughts about a woman I’ve just met are completely out of character.
She nods. "May I do it anyway? I promise I shall do no harm. It is our most sacred rule."
"Witches?" It may be nonsense, but I can’t help the rush of curiosity. My heart beats a bit faster and my skin tingles pleasantly.
"Yes."
