Treasured (37 page)

“Bloody hell!” he bit out through clenched teeth.

“I’m sorry. I am trying not to hurt you.”

“You’re not . . . succeeding.”

“I know.” Her voice wobbled at how faint and slurred his words were. How long could it take Coll to get to Meg’s? She looked to the clock on the mantel and was astonished to see how little time had elapsed. “Here is Hamish with the brandy.”

Hamish helped lift Jack’s head so she could give him sips of brandy, and she thought the spirits put a bit of color in his face. She stood up to set down the glass, and Jack clenched his fingers in her skirts.

Her throat closed with tears, and she moved back, taking his hand. “I’m here, love. I won’t go anywhere. Hold on.”

After what seemed an eternity, the sound of quick, light footsteps came in the hall, and Meg hurried into the room.

“Thank God you are here.” Isobel squeezed Jack’s hand and released it, and she started to step back.

Jack made a noise and his eyes opened. “Where—”

“Meg’s here now, love. Let her see to you. I’ll be right over here.”

“Hello.” Meg’s voice was calm, even cheerful, as she stepped to Jack’s side. “It looks as if you landed yourself in a mess, didn’t you?” She bent over, looking intently into his eyes, then pressing her fingers to his neck. “I’m going to look at your wound now.”

He gave her the faintest of smiles. “Do your worst, then.”

“Well, I will try to do my best, but you may be cursing my name.” Coll had come in after Meg and set a small wicker chest on the dresser. Meg went to it and took out a small bottle, dousing a rag with the liquid. She took up her place at the bed again, saying, “Coll?”

“Aye. I’m here.” Her brother went to the other side of the bed and leaned over Jack, putting one hand on Jack’s chest and the other on his unhurt arm. Meg bent over him, washing away the blood to examine the wound.

Jack choked back a curse, digging in his heels, but Coll’s firm grip kept him flat on the bed. Isobel’s stomach lurched and she looked away, clenching her fists, fighting down the cries that tried to shove their way up her throat.

“There, now,” she heard Meg say. “That’s it for a bit. I think some brandy would do you well right now. Coll . . .”

Meg took Isobel’s arm and pulled her away. “He has lost a lot of blood; you can see that. But I don’t think the ball pierced his lungs; there’s no sound of his lungs filling. The thing is, the ball is still in him, just below his collarbone. I have to pull it out; we cannot leave it there to fester.”

Isobel paled, but nodded. “I understand.”

“Coll will help me, and Hamish if I need him, but you might want to leave the room.”

“No. I won’t leave him.” Isobel shook her head firmly.

“I thought as much.” Meg smiled faintly and put her arm around Isobel’s shoulder. “I will try to hurt him as little as possible.”

“I know.”

“Promise me you won’t spring up and try to stop me.”

“I promise.” Isobel faced Meg, taking her hand. “Please save him, Meg. I don’t . . . I can’t bear it if he . . .”

“I’ll do everything I can.” Meg squeezed Isobel’s hand. “Now, go help Coll pour that brandy down Kensington’s throat while I get my things.”

Meg went to the small chest, and Isobel walked over to
the bed. Coll had Jack halfway sitting up and was trying to get him to drink from the cup.

“Blast.” Coll turned to Isobel. “I got some down him but now he will not open his mouth. I can’t tell if he’s unconscious or half-drunk already.”

“Jack. You need to drink this.”

“Don’t want it,” he mumbled. “Don’t like.”

“It’s the best brandy, and you know you like it. Here.” She took the cup from Coll and raised it to Jack’s lips.

Jack took a sip. “Him,” he said, a bit more distinctly. “Don’t like him.” He sent the ghost of a scowl toward Coll.

Coll chuckled. “That’s good, Sassenach, as I don’t like you.”

“Well, I am sure you are both quite happy with that, then,” Isobel said crisply, even though all she wanted to do was lean her head against Jack’s and burst into tears. “But you will take another drink for me, won’t you? It will help it not hurt so much.”

In this way, she managed to get several more swallows down Jack.

“Why’s
he
here?” Jack asked, his voice slurring. “Wanna sleep.”

“I know you do. And so you shall. Just take one more sip for me.” She tilted the cup up again, then stepped back and took away the pillows as Coll eased Jack back down flat on the bed.

“You shoot me?” Jack asked Coll.

“Nae, I did not. I stumbled upon you lying in the road, and I thought Isobel would not like me to leave you lying there.”

As Coll turned away, Jack said quietly, “Thank you.”

Isobel retreated to the corner of the room, unable to look
and equally unable to move farther away. She could not leave him, no matter how hard it was to hear the muffled groans Jack made as Meg worked on him. But Isobel was thankful that Coll’s broad back blocked her vision of what Meg was doing to him.

After a few minutes and a particularly loud groan from Jack, Isobel heard Meg say, “Thank goodness. He passed out.”

At the sound of metal rattling in a dish, Isobel knew that Meg must finally have pulled the ball from Jack’s shoulder and discarded it. Isobel sagged against the wall, unsure her shaking legs would hold her up any longer. She heard the relief she felt echoed in Meg’s voice: “I got the wee beastie.”

Isobel sank down on the chair at her vanity and propped her elbows on the table, leaning her head in her hands. Behind her she could hear Meg and Coll still working, their voices hushed. But at last Meg stepped back and went to wash her hands.

Isobel hastened to the bed. Jack lay still and white as death, the dark hair framing his face in stark contrast. Meg had thrown a colorful knitted blanket across his lower half to keep him warm, but his chest was bare, exposing the bulky white bandage across his shoulder. Traces of blood still clung to his chest and stomach.

Turning from the washbowl, drying her hands, Meg told Isobel, “I imagine he will sleep for a while. That’s the best thing for him. Do you have any laudanum?” At Isobel’s nod, Meg went on, “Good. Give him a spoonful if the pain gets too bad. He will bleed still, I think, so be sure to change the bandage frequently. Get broth down him whenever you can; he needs to rebuild the blood he’s lost. I’m going down to your stillroom and make up a few things to leave with you. A
paste to spread on his wound when you change the bandage, and a tincture for the fever; I imagine he will get feverish.”

Isobel nodded. “Is he . . . do you think . . .”

“He survived my getting the ball out and the loss of blood, which makes me hopeful. He is young and healthy, and I know he’ll get good care.” Meg paused, looking straight into her friend’s eyes. “The biggest enemy now is infection. I washed the wound out and treated it, and the paste will help, too. But if it looks swollen and inflamed or starts to ooze pus, send for me. I’ll look in on him again before I leave. And I’ll come tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” Isobel threw her arms around her friend and hugged her tightly. “Thank you with all my heart.”

“Take care. And get some sleep yourself when you can. You’ll need your strength.”

Meg packed up her chest and carried it from the room. Coll turned to follow his sister, but Isobel stopped him at the door, laying her hand upon his arm.

“Coll. Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t know, Izzy. I found him like that. He was on the burnside path just up from the Fraser croft. I don’t know how long he’d been there. A while, I guessed, by the amount of blood. Sorry,” he added as he saw her wince. “He came to when I hauled him up, but he was weak. He did not say much. And I was thinking only about getting him on that horse and back here.”

“I know, and I am grateful for that.”

“Isobel, there’s no need for thanking me.”

“
I
need to say it.” Her fingers tightened on his arm. “But, Coll, I want you to tell me. Who would have done this to him?”

Coll shook his head. “I’ve no idea. But we cannot be certain it was on purpose. It could have been a poacher.”

“Who mistook Jack for a deer? I think not.”

“An accident, then. A gun went off, and the lad ran when he saw who he’d shot.”

“Jack did not tell me, but I know he was stopped on the road when he came back from Inverness.”

“How did you hear that? No, I know.” Coll heaved a disgusted sigh. “Gossip. A man sneezes in a tavern, and the next day every woman in Kinclannoch knows it.”

“I heard the men were unhappy with Jack because he refused to give them something.”

“Aye, but they would not have killed him for it,” Coll protested. “Izzy, you canna think one of—one of them shot him!”

“You’re right; I can’t. But who, then? He is a landowner and an Englishman. I know there’s resentment.” She fixed him with a fierce gaze. “He is my husband, Coll. Who hurts him, hurts me. If he dies, I’ll not rest till I have found the one who did it. I may not be a man, but I am a Rose of Baillannan.”

“I know you are.” Coll smiled faintly. “There’s no man on this land who wants to earn your ill will.”

“Good. I want to make sure everyone knows it.”

“They will. I promise.”

“Will you listen about? Will you tell me if you hear anything?”

“You know I will. A fellow makes an enemy of you, he’s an enemy of the Munros, as well.” He grinned. “They may not be scared of me, but only a fool doesn’t fear Red Meg Munro.”

Isobel smiled. “Thank you. Will you do something else for me, then?”

“Tell me.”

“This is the second time Jack has been almost killed.”

“Are you talking about that rockslide?” Coll’s brows went up. “Surely that was an accident. Rocks fall.”

“I was sure it was an accident, too. Until this happened. Coll, in only two days Jack has almost died twice.”

Coll frowned. “I will look at it tomorrow morning. And the place where I found him. If there is something to be found, I’ll get it.” He took her hand in his and patted it. “Don’t worry. Just rest and look after him.”

Isobel nodded and walked back to the bed. She slipped her hand into Jack’s and once again smoothed her fingers across his forehead. Panic rose in her throat, but she forced it down. Pulling a chair over to the side of the bed, she sat down to wait.

Afterward, Isobel would remember that afternoon and evening only as something of a blur. Hours dragged by in a strange blend of tedium and anxiety, broken now and then by laying her hand on his forehead to check for fever or to follow Meg’s instructions about changing his bandage. All the while, Jack lay still. Now and then he would shift in the bed, a movement that was invariably followed by a groan.

Isobel had the servants bring in a cot for her to sleep on, but she could find little rest on it throughout the night. She must have fallen asleep, however, for suddenly she jerked awake, disoriented. She heard Jack’s voice, and everything came rushing back to her. She ran to the bed. Jack’s head was moving restlessly on the pillow, his hair sticking damply to his forehead. In the morning light, his face was flushed, and even as she placed her hand across his forehead, she knew what she would feel: Jack’s forehead was blazing hot with fever.

T
he fever raged throughout the
day and into the night. More than once Jack awoke and looked at Isobel without the least sign of recognition. Then, minutes later, as she walked across the room to pick up the bottle of tincture Meg had left for his fever, he barked, “Isobel! No. Watch out. The water. You’re stepping in the water.”

She turned her head to see him pointing at the perfectly dry floor in front of her feet, his face creased in a frown. “But there’s no—”

“You don’t know how deep it is. You don’t know. Be careful.” He struggled to push himself up on his elbow, wincing at the pain.

“I’ll step around it,” she said hastily, edging along the dresser.

He relaxed back onto the pillow.

When she returned with the medicine, diluted with water, and raised it to his lips to drink, he looked at her as if
she were a stranger bent on poisoning him and knocked her hand away, spilling the cup all over the blanket. With grim determination, Isobel called in Hamish to hold Jack while she forced the liquid into his mouth.

She spent the long day at his bedside, repeatedly wiping his face and chest with a cool wet rag in an attempt to bring down his fever, until she felt as if her back would break from bending over the bed. Her aunt came in frequently, usually accompanied by Millicent, who stood a few feet away, wringing her hands and crying softly. Her aunt offered to take over Isobel’s nursing duties for a while, but Isobel shook her head. No matter how exhausted she was, she could not bring herself to leave Jack.

As the evening wore on toward midnight, Jack became more agitated, and to Isobel’s alarm, his fever flared even higher. His face flamed with color, and he carried on a fragmented conversation with someone only he could see. Isobel continued her ministrations throughout the night, smoothing a cool wet rag over his face time after time, but she feared it could not counteract that heat pouring from his body.