The Scot. Lyn Stone
looked at the Scot for his permission. He smiled behind the folded belt and winked as if to reassure her he wouldn’t kick.
“You’ll be fine,” she assured him, her voice breathless with the need to give him what comfort she could. “Father’s done this countless times, I’m certain. Why, in no time you will—”
“Suz! Get to the foot of the bed, would you? And cease the prattle. He knows damn well I’ll do all I can.”
She jumped at the reprimand, then scampered up on the bed. As tightly as possible, she gripped the Scot’s ankles in her hands and lay over them to anchor him firmly to the mattress.
In any other circumstance, she would have protested, but there was nothing she could do but excuse him when he wriggled the toes of his right foot against her breast. After all, the man was half-foxed and in terrible pain.
Just how terrible, she could only imagine in those next few moments as his legs stiffened. She heard the intermittent clink of the makeshift instruments as her father dropped them back into the metal pan. There were several grunts that might have come from either man. She had turned her face away, unable to watch what was happening.
Her father left the bedside for a moment. She heard his footsteps. Shortly thereafter came a sizzling sound, the scent of burned flesh and a groan. The hard muscles locked in her grip and those lying beneath her relaxed.
“He’s out. You can get up now, Suz,” her father said, his voice little more than a whisper.
She collapsed for a minute, only then realizing that she had been as fraught with tension as the patient himself. Her stomach roiled.
“Get up, Suz. You’ll need to sew that head wound before he wakes again.”
She couldn’t. She simply could not.
“But I have to,” she muttered to herself. If the Scot could bear up under what he had without complaint, then who was she to cavil at such a simple ordeal? Bracing herself and calling up her fortitude, Susanna slipped off the bed backward, landed on her stockinged feet and went to thread her needle.
Surprisingly, she managed quite well and was feeling rather smug when her father led her into the sitting room and offered her a bracing bit of brandy.
“I have to leave, Suz. You’ll be on your own to look after him.”
She choked, coughed and fought for breath while he patted her soundly on the back. “Wh-why must you?” she sputtered.
He crouched on the floor beside where she was sitting and took her hands in his. “Because someone wants me dead and if I stay, that could put you and James in danger.”
“No! Suppose they follow you and—”
“You mustn’t worry.” He was shaking his head and smiling at her. “You see, I’m sailing after all. They’ll know I’ve gone, but not how. Once I reach London, I’ll hire the protection I need and a Bow Street man to find out who is responsible for this.”
“Father, I am so afraid for you after tonight’s shooting.”
“Two of the men are dead. The one who escaped will need time to hire more help and find out where I’ve gone.”
He squeezed her hands. “And you, my sweet girl, will be safer without me around. Still, I want you to promise me that you will head for the Highlands as soon as James is able to travel by coach. No one can touch you here at the Royal, so stay inside until you go. When you are ready to leave, do so with as little fanfare as possible. James will know how to arrange that. I’m leaving him well armed. Trust me, there’s none better to protect you.”
She sniffed. “He does seem rather proficient at stopping bullets.”
The earl chuckled. “He’s a large target, I grant you, but he’s also a bang-up shot. I am leaving you in the best of hands.”
Susanna knew she couldn’t dissuade him. “Go then and Godspeed.”
He released her hands and stood. “I shall wire you the minute I arrive.”
“Assuming they have the telegraph where I’m going.”
“Yes, assuming that. If not, I will get a message to you. Return one to me to let me know how James is getting on. Mind you keep an eye on him. Expect some fever, but I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
“You have done that before, haven’t you?” she asked, inclining her head toward the bedroom where he had just performed surgery.
“A time or two in the wars,” he admitted, “long before you were born.”
Susanna jumped up then and threw her arms around him. “Please, please take great care. I no longer care that you gave me away to him. I still love you, Father.”
He dropped a long kiss on top of her tousled hair. “And I love you, Suz. I promise you’ll see the wisdom in this one day.”
She doubted there was any wisdom in it at all, but that was the least of her worries right now. She had a husband in the next room who might die if she proved a poor nurse. And a father who might die if he made a misstep and trusted the wrong person.
James woke with a start. Rain pounded against the windows as incessantly as pain lashed his leg and head. His throat felt so dry, he knew he’d have trouble speaking. “Water,” he groaned, wishing he could throw himself out that window.
No one answered. He turned his head on the pillow, not an easy feat. It felt as if it might roll right off onto the floor. His lass was curled in a very uncomfortable-looking chair not three feet from the bed.
“Suz,” he croaked. Still she didn’t move. She was asleep. For some reason that made him angry. The least she could do was wake up and watch him die.
He called to her again, louder this time. “Susanna!”
Her eyes flew open as she scrambled up from the chair, the act lacking her usual grace. “Hm? Oh!” she cried. Without pause, she reached for the basin on the table beside the bed.
James watched her hands plunge into the water and frantically wring out a large cloth. She slapped it on his bare chest and moved it side to side.
“Damn me!” he cried while icy tendrils streaked out from the site of impact. “I’m not a floor that needs scrubbin’!”
She backed off, leaving the rag where it was. Tears leaked from her reddened eyes and her fisted hands covered her mouth. “You are awake,” she mumbled, adding a sniff.
“And freezing, thanks be to you!” He shivered, grabbing with one hand at the covers which lay twisted round his waist and flinging the cold soggy cloth off himself with the other. It landed on the floor with a plop. “Where’s your da?”
“Gone,” she said, releasing a deep shuddery breath and running a trembling hand through her hair. She looked a fright.
James narrowed his eyes and observed her a bit more carefully. Her simple skirt and shirtwaist were splotched with dark spots and looked as if they’d been wadded up somewhere for days before she donned them. The pale translucence of her skin troubled him. He’d seen statues with more color. “Poor lass, what’s happened to you then?” He reached out one hand to her.
She stared at it, but moved no closer. “You…I thought you might die,” she whispered, her gaze darting to the lower end of the bed.
James smiled up at her. “Ah. You’ve been worried.”
Her nod was jerky and she wavered a bit, unsteady on her feet.
“Well, my head’s fair screaming and the leg’s paining me some, but I’ll live. Help me up?”
“No! Wait!” she cried, rushing to the bedside again, bending over him and pressing both palms against his shoulders.
Not much need since he’d already discovered the agony of trying to rise. And the impossibility