I also reflect that, while Nicolas claims his studies were interrupted, he seems as much a doctor as my sister, which is to say fully trained and only lacking the formality of an education. That might also explain the sword. I recall my father jokingly lamenting that he did not live a century earlier when doctors often carried swords as a sign of their status.

“Thank you,” I say. “You have saved my life.”

“It is only fair recompense for you saving mine.”

He doesn’t look up from his ministrations. Pain throbs through my leg, but I nibble at the apple and ignore the pain as he works.

“You appear on the road to full recovery,” he says as he straightens. “You are strong and very healthy.”

I tense and force myself to say, coolly, “Yes, that is one way of putting it.”

He frowns, as if confused, but I do not explain. I have certainly heard such comments often enough.

Well, you are certainly a healthy young lady.

By which they mean, of course, that I am plump. At one time, that was considered a measure of health. Now, though, insult always taints the words, and perhaps I am being sensitive, but I have had one too many doctors chortle about how healthy I am after only a cursory glance at my figure.

“I am in very good health,” I say as I flip the sack-blanket over my leg again.

“Healthy and fierce,” he says. “In my business, we often do not use our real names, and so I shall call you crécerelle. It is a small hawk I saw in the Americas, which they call a kestrel. It is very small and very fierce.”

He is complimenting me, at least on the fierce part, and yet I am still annoyed about the healthy comment, and so I find something else to grumble about. “You locked me into a closet.”

“It was for your own—”

“If you are about to say it was for my own good, I beg you to reconsider, Dr. Dupuis, for your own good.”

I expect a scowl. That is my usual reward for such “impertinence.”

Nicolas only smiles and shakes his head. “Having seen you with a sword, I shall heed the warning,” he says as he stands. “If you feel ready to move about, there is a cart in this barn. I will use it to convey you back to Thorne Manor. Then I must be off. I have lost a day I could not afford to lose.”

“A day?”

“That sounded uncharitable. You were in dire straits, and you did save me. I appreciate the warning, however it arose, and I have sworn not to question you on that. Your reasons are your own.”

“My reasons?”

He gives me a hard look. “Come now, crécerelle. We both know you cannot see the future. You came upon the information another way. Perhaps by accident. Perhaps by involvement.”

I prop myself on my elbows. “You think I am involved with the scoundrels who tried to kill you?”