Before The Storm (The Matlock Fitzwilliams #1)

Prologue

Richard climbed onto the chest and sat.

The top was warm from the sun through the window. It smelled like lemons.

He swung his boot, one, then the other. It bumped the wood. He did it again.

He looked at the rip. His knee showed.

It was wet. It was red.

He touched it. Wet. Sticky.

She took his hand away and cleaned his finger.

“Master Richard—”

He looked up. She was not smiling.

He pulled his lip up with his free finger. She shook her head once.

“No,” she said. “Not that.”

She dipped the cloth into the bowl and wiped his cheeks.

He shook his head, then pointed.

She got down. “Boots first.”

He lifted his feet. Wiggled his toes in the air.

“Now, your trousers.”

He placed his hands, lifted his bottom. The other knee was smooth.

She rose. She gave them a small shake and laid them across her arm.

“There goes the afternoon,” she said. “I’ve just mended the seam on the other pair.”

She set it across the chair.

“I’ll be stitching while Cook has her supper.” She looked back to him. “Sit as you are.”

He did.

She set the bowl aside and reached up.

She thumbed at the bottle. The smell came. He wrinkled his nose. The linen turned dark.

“Now—this may sting.”

She touched his hair, then put it against his knee.

He looked down.

Siobhan pulled the cloth away. She sniffed—turned and coughed.

He pushed his finger into the wet.

She gasped.

She wiped his finger on the cloth. Again.

“Doesn’t it hurt?” she said.

He shook his head. Pushed his finger into the wet.

Again.