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435 pages, Kindle Edition
First published May 29, 2018
I know that Muslims believe in the same god as Christians, although they call that god by a different name. When the American Thomas Jefferson insisted on that, many people made a fuss about it, but I think it makes perfect sense. And I know that idols are prohibited you. Admittedly I don't know anything about harems . . . and such. But I don't understand how anybody schooled in Scripture could think a child would be a useful religious sacrifice, for of course Abraham, who was the father of Judaism, Christianity and Islam, made that mistake with his own son so that the rest of us needn't ever after. In general I am not taken to fanciful notions, for I read a lot—a lot more, that is, than the caricatures of Byron or Morier. And I don't depend on the ridiculous portraits of foreigners one sees at the opera to inform me. I regret that is not the case with every Englishman or Scot you have encountered. If I could slap them all, I would."
For a long moment he did not speak.
"You would slap them," he finally said.
"Yes. For I don't have a collection of daggers. Although I do have surgical instruments, it's true. So I suppose I could inflict some fairly grievous wounds if necessary. I haven't yet taken an oath as medical men do, so it would not be strictly unethical, although certainly immoral. But I would do it for your sake. Please let me know if you ever wish me to."
His beautiful eyes changed—as though he not only believed her words but understood her.
Heart tight, she turned to the stairs and went up as swiftly as her bandy legs would carry her. When she paused on the landing and looked down, he stood there still, watching her.
"My father and I have always lived wherever his patients wished. I have rarely stayed in one house for long. I have never had a home that could be mine forever."
"Now you have."
"Until my father's return."
He nodded, and it was so regal that she wondered she had ever thought him anything but a prince.
"I won't bother you," she said.
"I have very little confidence in the predictive value of that statement."
Air shot out from between her lips.
"Was that noise an agreement?" he said, a beautiful smile shaping his mouth.
She laughed again, and pain shot through her lungs.
"I missed that sound," he said. "Your laughter."
She clutched the linen over her chest. "It hurts."
"Yes," he said. She didn't mean the laughter hurt, but she thought perhaps he understood that.
"I will try not to disturb you," she said.
"Don't," he said. "Disturb me. Every day. Every hour. Every minute if you wish."
