Page 14 of The Horseman of Sleepy Hollow
The swelling, tingling warmth returned to my body, centering between my thighs. I knew what it was—I had felt it before, when I was teasing Brom or Ichabod. I had indulged those sensations when I was alone at night, in my room. But somehow the private sessions were never entirely satisfying. After a brief ripple of pleasure, I was always left lacking, wanting.
The Horseman sank into the water again, rinsing away the soap and then using a bucket to lather and rinse his hair. With his back toward me, he climbed out of the tub, snatched a cloth, and began rubbing his body with it.
Good Lord in Heaven. This was a sweet torture beyond anything I had ever felt.
He began to turn around.
Quickly I scraped my face against the pillow, shifting my blindfold back into place.
"You are very quiet," he said. "But your breathing is quick, so you are not asleep. How do you feel?" His bare feet scuffed the wooden floor, and his wrist pressed to my forehead. "No fever yet. Good."
"I am fine," I managed. "A little pain—and—hunger."
"I will get you something to eat." A scuffle of cloth over skin as he dressed himself. A scraping of dishes and utensils. Then he undid the knots around my wrists. "Keep your blindfold on if you value your life."
"You would kill me, after saving me?" My lips curved in a disbelieving smile.
"Not of my own free will. But I might be made to do so."
"Madeto do so?"
He sighed. "I'm going to help you sit up, slowly. We must be very careful or your stitches will burst. Do you understand?"
"Yes." Questions burned in my mind, but they could wait until after food.
With the Horseman's hands supporting me, I managed to sit up, slowly and painfully. And then I became aware of another need, more pressing than hunger. "Do you have a privy? An outhouse?"
Another sigh. "You should not walk that far. I will bring you a bedpan."
"I cannot use a bedpan with all these skirts!"
"Then you should take them off."
My jaw dropped. I could take off the outer gown and keep my shift on, but the back of it was cut apart, ruined, and stiff with my dried blood. The shift would likely fall off if I moved too quickly—not that I planned to in my current weakened state.
"I will need something else to wear."
"I will find you something. Stand up," the Horseman ordered. "Hold on to me if you feel faint."
Rising to my feet sent waves of dizziness through my head, made worse by my lack of sight. I wavered and nearly fell. The Horseman caught me, swearing again. The growl of those foul words, right by my ear, nearly overwhelmed me. I fumbled for support, my fingers traveling across his chest to his arm.
"I will take the dress off for you, if you will permit me," he said. "We must hurry. You should not be on your feet for long."
I nodded my permission, clutching his shoulder while he worked my gown off my shoulders and downward. After some more wrestling and swearing on his part, I was able to step out of all the skirts and petticoats. The only bit of material left was my shift, and the simple drawers I had stitched for myself. Most women did not wear drawers unless it was their time of bleeding, or unless they were temptresses—but I preferred the undergarments. They made me feel secretly scandalous.
Only now, they were a barrier to what I needed to do. I could not bend over to remove them without reopening my wound.
"I will fetch the bedpan and some clothing," said the Horseman. "Sit down until I return."
While he was gone I fretted over my choices. Either preserve some modesty and remove the drawers myself, even if doing so opened my stitches—or brazenly ask this strange man to remove them for me.
He seemed respectable enough. He had not touched me beyond what was necessary for my physical health. But I had been taught that a woman's body was an irresistible invitation to sin, and that a man could not be blamed for what happened next if a woman should take the temptation too far.
The Horseman's steps returned, and something metal clanked to the floor by the bed. "There. The pan is near your feet, and there is a spare tunic of mine on the bed beside you. Put it on with the laces at the back instead of the front, so I can check your wound when I need to. I will leave you to it."
"Wait!" I reached out blindly, but missed his arm. "I need your help with one more thing. I am wearing drawers, and I don't think I can remove them without undoing your good work on my wound."
"Ah." He cleared his throat. "Very well." Something scrapes across the floor. "Here is a chair. Stand up and hold onto it so you do not fall over."
