Page 10 of Captured By the Werewolf Highwaymen

All three men exhaled.

“The bullet only grazed him,” she went on. “It’s a deep graze, but it’s fortunate that no arteries were struck. However, it will require stitches.”

“Ah, hell,” Hugh muttered.

“The wound must be kept rigorously clean,” she continued, “to avoid corruption. That also means that you cannot put any weight on it. Moving you during your recovery would be a grave mistake, lest the wound rupture or contagion be introduced to the laceration. It will take several days, at the least. A week, perhaps.”

As she spoke the words, her heart wilted within her chest. They were to be here for a while.

“You won’t need to contend with us so long,” Gideon said, sharing a glance with Desmond she couldn’t interpret.

“I’ve seen wounds of similar severity,” she answered. “A week is the bare minimum.”

“While we’re here,” Desmond said, “we won’t disturb you.”

She kept her focus on Hugh’s wound and the stitches it would require. As of tonight, her own life would need far more than a few sutures in order to return to normal. It might never again return to what it had been.

4

“What an exceptional patient.” Clara checked the neat line of stitches she’d sewn into Hugh’s thigh. Her father would have been proud of the deftness of her work. Steady heart, he’d often said, steady hands.

“I think the gallon of brandy you poured into him helped,” Desmond noted, as Hugh’s head lolled back on the pillows. “Barely had to hold him down.”

“He might not like this, however.” Clara tipped the bottle of brandy so that amber liquid spilled over the stitches.

Hugh cried out, and Gideon pressed down on his shoulders, preventing the wounded man from shooting up from the bed. After a few moments, Hugh subsided, and seemed to fall into a doze.

“What the hell was that for?” Desmond asked. “His leg doesn’t need to get soused.”

“It was my father’s practice to douse a wound with spirits.” Clara cleaned her tools thoroughly with soap and fresh warm water before arraying them to air dry. “He held a belief that it somehow helped stave off putridity, and so, I continued the custom.”

Desmond looked dubious, but Gideon said, “I reckon the lady knows of what she speaks. Between all of us, she possesses the most experience in these matters.”

Clara inclined her head at the unexpected compliment.

“Initially,” she murmured, “the villagers were suspicious that I’d have the necessary knowledge to treat to them. There was a physician, of course, but the people in the village had little familiarity with women carrying leather doctors’ satchels and utilizing techniques gleaned from Edinburgh universities.”

“Edinburgh,” Hugh slurred. “Best damn schools in th’ world.”

His head flopped back once more, his mouth opening as he began to snore.

“They came to rely upon me for most of their medical needs,” she went on, once she was certain her patient was asleep. “Especially because I don’t charge them for it.”

“Not a ha’penny?” Desmond asked, surprised.

“Not even a sou. I have no need for their money, so it seems ridiculous to take coin from people who rely upon every cent to survive.”

“Well, hell,” Gideon said, brows lifting.

“I’ve even delivered a few babes, but that is a harrowing prospect, to be responsible for ushering in new life.” Satisfied that her tools were in order, she moved to Hugh and set her hand on his forehead. He barely stirred beneath her touch. “Well, we’ll see in a few hours if infection takes hold.”

At that moment, a scowling Cyrus appeared in the doorway, with Liam hovering behind him. “He’ll make it through the night?”

Despite having just sewn up the gunshot wound of a highwayman, and keeping her head whilst speaking with two other thieves, Clara shrank back. Words evaporated on her tongue, and she found herself looking to Desmond.

“Aye,” Desmond said, “Mrs. Ballantine did a fine job of it.”

“Then we need to get the hell out of here,” Cyrus clipped.