Georgina Devon – Her Rebel Lord (страница 8)

‘A knife is on my work table—will you get it, please?’

She sensed him standing and leaving. The fire still heated the side of her closest to it, but there was an emptiness on her other side, a coldness not born of temperature. More like loss.

She took several deep breaths and willed her fingers to be still. She was not normally fanciful.

‘Here.’ He held the knife, handle first, to her.

She took the sharp instrument from his hand, careful not to touch his fingers. She didn’t want to know if she would experience the same frisson of awareness that she had before when their skin had met.

Gingerly, she cut away the blood-and-water-soaked bandage. She could not smell rot in the wound, but knew it was too early. She must ensure that it stayed this way.

‘Please pour the tea,’ she said. ‘Mugs are on the shelf above.’

She was grateful that he did as directed without protest. Her mug he set on the fireplace grate. Gavin’s he gave to her.

She shook her head. ‘I need you to get it down him.’

Without waiting to see how effective he would be, she took one of the clean cloths and dipped it in the nearby bucket of water. Gently she cleansed the wound. Even sedated, Gavin began to move and groan. Some of the tea dribbled down his chin. The Ferguson stopped.

‘He needs it all. The warmth and the willow bark I put in it will help him.’

The Ferguson nodded and continued dripping the hot fluid into Gavin, wiping up what spilled.

She found the small knife where she had laid it near the fire. Using the tongs used to put coal on the fire, she picked up the knife handle and held the blade in the flames. She felt rather than saw The Ferguson tense, but he said nothing.

He had been in many battles and seen many men wounded. He knew what she intended. She would cauterise the flesh. Better pain now than lingering death from rot.

‘Please hold his shoulder.’

She pulled the knife from the fire and grasped it with a wad of cloth to protect her fingers from the heat. She took a deep breath to steady her hands and pressed the hot metal to Gavin’s skin.

The hot sizzle of burning flesh filled the room. Gavin’s eyes started open, and his body jerked beneath The Ferguson’s hold.

‘Hold still, Gavin,’ The Ferguson ordered, his deep baritone a soothing rumble that even Jenna started to obey before catching herself. ‘She needs to make sure there is no dead flesh to fester later.’

Moisture filled Gavin’s eyes, and his jaw clenched into harsh angles. But he stopped fighting.

Jenna finished as quickly as possible. The bleeding had also slowed with the burning. ‘Good.’ Her murmur was barely audible. ‘I am sorry, Gavin.’

He looked at her. ‘I know, Jen. I know.’ Exhaustion dragged his eyelids down, and his entire body relaxed.

She took another deep breath, this one shuddering as tears threatened. It was hard enough causing pain to someone she did not know or knew slightly, but to cause her beloved cousin such agony was hard to bear. But she knew it had been necessary.

‘I am going to bind you back up, Gavin, but first I want you to finish the tea.’ She nodded for The Ferguson to put the mug to Gavin’s lips. ‘You need the warmth. Then I am going to finish with you, and we are going to get you into hiding.’

Gavin drank greedily now that he was awake. Still some dribbled on to the blankets.

Over her cousin’s body, The Ferguson watched her. She felt uncomfortable at his intense scrutiny.

‘Have I blood somewhere?’ She wiped at her chin, then her cheek.

He shook his head. ‘I am trying to figure out how a woman who looks as though a stiff wind will blow her over has the strength you have shown tonight.’

She flushed, wishing she had a smudge instead of having him compliment her. ‘I only did what was necessary. Anyone would have.’

He shook his head again. ‘No, they would not. I have seen battle-hardened men balk at what you have done tonight.’

Heat engulfed her at his continued praise. ‘You exaggerate.’

He stared at her, his eyes first hazel, then tawny, depending on how the firelight reflected from them. Unable to continue under such study, she turned her head.

‘I will make sure none of the servants are about.’ She started to stand, only to have her legs refuse to cooperate. She was exhausted.

The Ferguson carefully laid Gavin back down before surging to his feet. He held his hand to Jenna. ‘Let me help you.’

She stared at his outstretched hand, not wanting to touch it. The last thing she needed in her current state was to have his help. She was too susceptible to him when he was threatening to kill her. How much more so would she be when he was being sympathetic? Too much.

‘Thank you,’ she muttered, ‘but I am fine.’

She reached for the stone-set fire surround and gripped one of the protruding rocks, intending to pull herself up. She didn’t realise he had moved with her until she felt his hands on her waist. His fingers felt like bands of iron as they closed over her softness.

‘You don’t wear stays,’ he said, his voice gruff as he lifted her as though she weighed nothing.

Her flush became a full-fledged blush. ‘That is none of your business.’

She turned to face him, only to find her nose level with his loosely tied and dirty neckcloth. Musk filled her senses. His scent. She shivered, but not with cold.

He released her and stood back. ‘Of course it is not the business of a gentleman, but I am no gentleman. I thought we had established that.’

She tilted her head and tried to stare down her nose at him. Papa did it so well. All she accomplished was to make him grin.

‘So we did. Now I must make sure it is safe to move Gavin.’ She paused and thought. ‘If I am not back by the time the clock strikes the half-hour, you must try to hide him here.’ She looked around. There was no place large enough to secrete him. ‘But I do not know where.’

‘We will manage if it comes to that.’

The gentleness in his voice caught her. She looked back at him. Something about the way he held himself, the look in his eye, as though nothing were impossible, gave her confidence in him. Likely it was this same quality that made him such a redoubtable commander and smuggler of hunted men. People would trust him and follow him.

She nodded. ‘Yes, yes, I am sure you will.’

She paused long enough to light another candle before bolting.

Chapter Four

Outside her stillroom it was quiet and chill. The priest’s hole was on the third floor, back in one of the oldest portions of the building. It would be dank and unhealthy, but for Gavin safer than a warm bed.

She paused at her room and gathered up coverlets and pillows and a chamber pot before continuing on her way. ’Twas hard to navigate with all the bedding and keep her candle flame from the material, but she managed. Need gave her strength.

She said a silent thank-you when no one was about. The priest’s hole was just off the staircase that led to the servants’ quarters. She paused, but heard nothing from above. There should be several hours before anyone stirred.

She put the bedding into the small area, closed the door that looked like another panel in a fully panelled room that had once been the lord’s bedchamber, and headed back. Her clothing was still damp and uncomfortable, made more so when she had put the bedding down and the cold air had hit her anew. She shivered and told herself to ignore her own discomfort.

Both men were where she had left them. Gavin even had some colour back in his cheeks, although she thought it was more from fever. Worry about his weakened state gnawed at her. She wanted to put him in a warm room with a comfortable bed and feed him hot tea and broth, but she could not do that. Everyone knew him and everyone knew what he had done.

She beckoned to The Ferguson. He picked up Gavin as though her cousin weighed nothing and followed. She hoped he could carry her cousin for the three flights of stairs, each one narrower than the one before.

Ten minutes later, seeing no one, they deposited Gavin on the makeshift bed. Gavin was unconscious. She set a bottle of laudanum beside him and a pitcher of water that she had laced with willow bark. Unless something untoward happened, she would not be able to return until tomorrow night after the family and servants had gone to bed.

With a worried frown, she pushed the damp russet hair from Gavin’s brow. He felt clammy, but there was nothing more she could do.

She stood and faced The Ferguson. Skirting around him, she told herself the warmth she felt was from her clothes finally starting to dry, not from his nearness. Safely past him, she motioned him out of the small chamber that had been crowded with just Gavin and heart-thumpingly so with the three of them.

She chided herself for being so susceptible to this man. It wasn’t even as though he did anything to entice her. If anything, it was the opposite. No woman in her right mind should be this attracted to a man who would kill her in a second without compunction if he felt she threatened his safety.

She spun on her heel and hurried back the way they had come.

He silently followed her.

She locked the stillroom door and turned to him. ‘Thank you. He would have died if you had not come with me.’