Claiming His Defiant Miss. Bronwyn Scott
and don’t wake up. Ever.
‘You can tell me after the doctor has you stitched up and you’re resting.’ Liam didn’t like Preston thinking in those terms. It was always bad when the patient recognised how serious the situation was.
Preston grabbed for his arm. ‘No doctor, Case. No inn. Promise me.’ He was breathing hard with the force of his words. ‘It’s too public. Inns are the first places Roan will look for us and doctors will be the first people he’ll question.’
Liam nodded in understanding. He had a plan now. He’d remembered something. ‘There’s a farmhouse not far back. But you have to let me go for a doctor.’
Preston shook his head, adamant. ‘You can be my doctor. You’ve stitched me up enough to know how to do it right.’ He tried to laugh and grimaced against the pain.
‘None of that now.’ Liam held him upright until the spasm passed. ‘We’ll laugh about this later.’ He doubted he’d laugh about this ever. But it was just like Preston to offer reassurance even when he was the one bleeding on the roadside.
The spasm over, Preston drew a shaky breath. ‘Now, will you listen to me? I found proof about Cabot Roan and the cartel yesterday, before you joined me.’
This was good news. ‘Where is it?’ If anyone had thought Preston had the information was on him the thugs would never have left him alive. Liam hoped it wasn’t in the saddlebags of the horse that had bolted.
‘I mailed two copies of the proof. One, straight to London and another to my sister in case the London mail is intercepted.’ Preston continued to grip his arm. ‘She’s in Scotland, outside Edinburgh in a small village with a friend. You need to go to her and keep her safe until the information can be used to bring Cabot in.’
Liam didn’t like the sound of that at all. He didn’t like the sound of anything that involved May Worth. ‘Why would Roan even think to go after your sister?’ After all these years, it was still difficult to speak her name.
‘Because...’ Preston was growing agitated ‘...Cabot Roan knows I’m the one who broke into his house. I was sloppy, he saw my face. He’ll go after May, Case, and I can’t be there to protect her.’
Obviously. Wounded, Preston could do nothing to protect anyone. But even hale, Preston would be a beacon leading Roan straight to May if he tried to reach her. Roan would be watching Preston’s every move...if he lived through the night. ‘Give me your word, Case. You will protect May.’
‘With my life,’ Liam promised, because he would have promised Preston Worth anything, even if it was walking into the special hell that was May Worth. ‘Now, let’s get you up on that horse.’ He owed Preston more than he could repay. He just wished he didn’t owe Preston that.
He had a thousand questions. What was May really doing in Scotland? It seemed an unlikely place for the daughter of an influential Englishman like Preston’s father. Which village? Preston hadn’t given him a name. But questions would have to wait. There was no chance for them now. Preston was unconscious before they’d even gone a quarter-mile, his body sagging against Liam’s as they rode, exhausted from the fight, the pain, the loss of blood. It was probably better for him this way, but it sure made it deuced hard to get off the horse with an unconscious man.
‘I need help! I have a wounded man!’ Liam called out as he nudged his horse cautiously into the farmyard. It was full dark now and strangers at this hour would make an isolated farmer wary. ‘I come peacefully!’ But he slid a hand over the smooth comfort of his pistol butt even as he spoke. A man could never be too careful.
He waited several long moments before the farmhouse door opened and a man emerged, lamp in hand. ‘Please, help us. He’s hurt badly. I need to stitch him up.’ Liam struggled to keep the panic out of his voice. Preston Worth would not die on him. But if he was going to be any help to Preston, he had to remain calm, had to take charge. People didn’t question authority, they responded to it. The man hurried forward, calling for others to come and help. Two tall, gangly boys spilled out of the house behind him, followed by a woman who came and silently held the lamp.
Hands reached for Preston as Liam eased him down. ‘Careful, he’s been stabbed,’ Liam ordered more sharply than necessary, but the family took it in their stride. His best friend was bleeding out right before his eyes and he’d never felt so helpless. What if his skill wasn’t enough? What if he should risk a doctor after all? Liam swung off the horse and tossed the reins to the other boy. ‘Take care of him, I’ll need him rested.’ The movement, the command, was enough to regain his focus. He couldn’t think about what he couldn’t do. He had to focus on what he could do. That was the trick to surviving disaster. He’d survived enough of those to know. Just think about the next thing that needs to happen.
He caught the woman’s eye and issued another set of instructions. ‘I need compresses, bandages and hot water heating.’ She gave a sharp nod and led everyone inside.
Liam scanned the room. ‘Clear the table and let’s get him laid out.’ It would be the best place to work, near the fire with plenty of heat and light. Liam took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves, finding a basin of hot water ready at his elbow.
‘Leftover from cooking dinner,’ the woman explained with a kind smile. ‘It will do until fresh is ready and you’ll be wanting these.’ She produced a needle and thread.
‘And a candle, some whisky, too, if you have it.’ Liam pulled back Preston’s shirt, able to see the wound clearly for the first time.
‘You’re a doctor, then?’ The woman passed him a brown bottle.
‘Something like that.’ What he did could hardly be called doctoring. Doctors were wealthy men who went to schools and universities and had white lace-curtained offices. The only schooling Liam had was what Preston had given him and the only doctoring he’d acquired was on a Serbian battlefield. He prayed tonight it would be enough.
Liam pulled out the stopper, taking a deep sniff. It was good whisky, strong whisky, and it was going to hurt like hell. He nodded to the older boy. ‘Take him by the shoulders and hold him firm. He’s going to want to jerk when this firewater hits him.’ The boy was pale, but he did what he was told.
Liam bent over Preston and offered the explanation out of habit, the words more for himself than Preston, who remained unconscious. ‘I’m sorry to do it, old friend, but it’ll clean out the wound and cut down your chances of inflammation.’ He poured the whisky on Preston’s chest, lending his own weight when Preston roared and bucked. Good, good, Liam thought. Preston could still be roused, he still had some strength. ‘Be still, Pres, we’re at the farmhouse and I’m stitching you up just like you wanted,’ he murmured the reassuring words.
‘No doctors.’ Preston’s voice was hoarse and insistent.
‘No doctors.’ Liam smiled, his face close to his friend’s so Preston could see his eyes. ‘We’re safe here.’ He hoped that was true. He hoped Roan’s men wouldn’t come barging through the door any minute. He hoped they wouldn’t come and harass this kind family tomorrow. He’d been careful with his trail even in the dark, but there was only so much care one could take with a wounded man who needed speed more than he needed discretion. Discretion took time and Preston hadn’t any of that to spare.
‘Here’s the items you wanted.’ The woman held up a needle, already threaded. She offered a friendly smile. ‘I have to be prepared with these three around. There’s always cuts and bruises on a farm.’ She sobered. ‘How bad is it?’
Liam stepped aside, letting her look as he held the needle in the flame. ‘I don’t think anything vital was hit, but he’s lost a lot of blood.’ He nodded his head towards the whisky bottle. ‘Give him some to drink now, he’ll need it once this needle goes in him.’ With luck, Preston would pass out after the first couple of stitches. But first, he had to bathe the wound. He wanted a clean working surface. The fresh hot water was ready now and he dipped a cloth in it. Washing away the blood made it look better, better being a relative