Page 56 of The Highlander’s Improper Wife

“Not so long. Only the time it took to fetch you and tend to Caroline.”

“An hour,” the doctor replied. “You could have at least poured brandy on it as you did her wound.”

“I have had worse, as you know. Now, what has happened with Darby? If he has gone back to stealing cattle—”

“Nothing so disreputable as that,” Blakely replied. “On the contrary, he now collects, er, insurance, so that cattle are not stolen.”

Taran stared. “Not stolen?”

The doctor lifted Taran’s leg, placed a clean rag beneath his thigh, then laid it on the cloth and poured alcohol on the wound.

Stinging pain spiked clear through to the bone. Taran clenched his teeth. “By God,

Blakely.”

“You have had worse,” the doctor replied, and dried the wound.

Taran fell into silence, his thoughts on Randall Darby. The fact the rustler hadn’t been caught stealing hadn’t stopped the local villagers from nearly hanging him twice. John had intervened both times. Not out of the goodness of his heart, but because their father had threatened recompense if word reached the Lord Advocate that a murder had been committed on their land. Murder didn’t bother the old earl. Dealing with the English Crown did. An investigation could lead to the discovery of their illegal gaming hall.

Blakely lifted Taran’s thigh and began wrapping the wound. Taran remembered with disgust his father’s announcement that they were to become gaming hall owners. John had laughed when Taran had pointed out that they could lose everything—and end up in Newgate—if the Crown got wind of the operation. His father hadn’t needed to run a gaming hall, but considered it easier than earning an honest living by working the land. Taran had left the following day and joined the Navy.

He shifted his gaze onto Caroline. She lay, her head tilted to the side on the pillow, the slight rise and fall of her breast a sign she slept peacefully. What would she think of having traded a pirate uncle for a gaming house owner father-in-law? She would never know. The earl’s gaming days were over. As for Randall Darby, Taran would see to him first thing in the morning.

“He is not a bad sort,” Blakely said as if he’d read Taran’s mind.

“He should do as he is told.”

“Enough time has not yet passed to give him faith that things will be any better now than they were under your father or John’s rule.”

The doctor was right. Taran thought for the thousandth time of how the land had been left unused, the people who depended on them for sustenance turning to cattle rustling or thievery to survive.

“May John’s soul rot in Hell,” he murmured.

The doctor glanced at him.

Taran shrugged. “There is no love lost between my brother and me.”

“There is no love lost between John and anyone. Except, perhaps, his mistress.” Taran grunted a laugh. “Not even his mistress. Clarice has already found herself another protector.”

A corner of the older man’s mouth twitched. He tied off the bandage and straightened.

“If any signs of inflammation appear, inform me immediately.” “No matter the time of night or day.” Taran stood.

“You might want a dose of laudanum.” Blakely strode to the nightstand where he’d left the bottle.

“Nay.” Taran glanced at Caroline. “I suspect I will need my wits about me. Is she well?”

The doctor crossed to the bench and placed the bottle inside his bag. “The wound was not as superficial as yours—you were damned lucky on that account, the bullet merely grazed you, but she will be fine.”

“Hurt like the devil,” Taran muttered.

Blakely’s brows rose. “A little higher and—”

“A little higher and I would not be able to sire an heir.”

Taran glanced at Caroline. Given her response to him the last two nights, he couldn’t bear the thought of not slipping into her heat again. He would be the only man to satisfy her.

Minutes later the doctor departed. Taran had no desire to dress. Despite the ache in his thigh, his desire was to climb upon the bed with his wife, kiss her out of her delirium and slide between her lithe thighs. Since their encounter in the carriage—and before Fiona’s untimely interruption—his cock throbbed with nearly the same intensity as the wound in his leg.