Page 1 of Prescription for Sin

Chapter one

The Stranger

Emma’s fingers tightened around her medical bag as she found herself once again among the last to leave the hospital. She felt the sharp blade of the scalpel in her skirt pocket while hurrying through the cemetery. The moonlight cast long shadows across frost-dusted graves, painting an eerie landscape.

A piercing cry shattered the night’s stillness. Emma froze. Her heart leapt into her throat, and her mind began cataloguing possible medical emergencies. The sound had come from deeper within the cemetery, where shadows held dominion beyond the lantern light.

Common sense urged retreat. Professional duty demanded investigation. As usual, duty won.

She found them in a clearing, three men surrounding a fourth, who was bound naked to a tree. Despite his predicament, the bound man appeared remarkably composed, almost lounging against his bonds as if they were a minor inconvenience.

“Come on, fellas,” one ruffian growled, brandishing a horsewhip. “Let’s finish him off!”

“I wouldn’t advise that,” Emma called out. The authority in her voice surprised her.

Four heads turned toward her. The bound man raised an eyebrow, managing to look intrigued despite the gag in his mouth.

“Is she a ghost?” one man whispered.

“Don’t be a fool,” the burliest of the three snapped, though he shifted uneasily. “What’s it to you, Miss?”

Emma stepped forward, channelling her best imitation of the hospital’s most imperious surgeon. “That man is afflicted with leprosy.”

The bound man’s eyes widened, and she could have sworn she saw amusement flicker across his face.

“What?” the largest ruffian demanded, brow furrowing.

Emma strode past them with feigned confidence, coming to a halt before their captive. His eyes met hers—intelligent, alert, and decidedly intrigued, despite his dire situation.

“Observe,” she said, retrieving a stick to point at his wounds. “The blackened flesh, the telltale signs of decay. Soon his extremities will begin to fall away—toes first, then perhaps more…vital appendages.”

The bound man made a muffled sound that, despite the gag, sounded suspiciously like suppressed laughter.

“You’re lying!” the skinniest thug accused, though he took a step backward. “If he’s got leprosy, why aren’t you afraid to get close?”

“An excellent question, sir. Your powers of deduction do you credit.” Emma smiled serenely. “I’m not afraid because I, too, am afflicted. Would you care to examine my lesions? They’re quite spectacular, especially in this light.”

She reached for her skirts. The men fled as one, their shouts of terror echoing through the cemetery.

Once they had gone, Emma turned back to her patient, who was now shaking with what was unmistakably silent laughter. She removed his gag.

“Fascinating diagnosis, Miss,” he said, in the cultured tones of a gentleman. “Though I confess, I’ve never heard leprosy described with quite such theatrical flair.”

“You seem remarkably cheerful for a man facing imminent dismemberment,” Emma observed dryly, reaching for her scalpel to cut his bonds.

“One must maintain standards, even when tied naked to a tree.” He winced as circulation returned to his arms. “Isn’t one of the signs of a gentleman an unflappable spirit?”

“A gentleman? In your current state of undress? How remarkably progressive.”

“Ah, but what better proof of my gentility than the ability to maintain polite conversation while completely nude?”

Emma fought back a most unprofessional smile as she began her examination. “Hold still. I need to check your vital signs.”

“By all means. Though I should warn you—” He glanced down at his groin, then inhaled sharply as she pressed the cold stethoscope to his chest. “Your bedside manner leaves something to be desired.”

“My bedside manner is perfectly adequate for patients who aren’t making improper jests.” She moved the stethoscope methodically. “Breathe deeply.”

“I would, but I fear my lungs are still recovering from your remarkable performance. ‘Soon his extremities will begin to fall away,’” he mimicked. “Quite inspired.”