Page 73 of Against the Wind

“Yet another pistol wound,” the physician said to Kit as he dropped his bag and leaned over the bed Martin lay upon.

“I think the bleeding is stopped,” she told him. “I’ve not disturbed the wound.”

“You did fine.”

Kit forced herself to watch, and she assisted as she could while the doctor cleaned the wound. She was glad Martin was unconscious when the physician removed the shot from his shoulder and stitched up the flesh. It appeared a painful and bloody process. And she was worried. While she was relieved to learn the shot embedded in his shoulder had severed no major blood vessel, she knew men could die of such wounds, especially with fever.

“Will he recover?” she asked anxiously.

“If a fever does not claim him, he should recover with rest. See that the bandage is changed once a day.”

The duke stepped into the room as the physician completed his work. “I insist you and Sir Martin return with me to Chatsworth, Lady Powell,” he said. “He’ll be well cared for, and you can rest. My carriage should be here soon.”

“Thank you.” Kit was only too happy to agree to the duke’s kind invitation, though she had no intention of leaving Martin’s care to others.

Soon the footman returned with the duke’s carriage. Another footman was dispatched to take a message to John. Arrangements were made for the care of Rutledge and for the two bound guards to be taken to the nearest magistrate.

Martin, still unconscious, was carefully lifted into the carriage and settled onto the seat. Climbing in with the duke’s assistance, Kit lifted her husband’s head onto her lap. The duke followed, sitting across from them, and as the carriage departed he said, “I had intended to offer you and Sir Martin some time at Chatsworth as my guests, a beginning of your delayed wedding trip. It seems you will be my guests after all, but under slightly different circumstances.”

“Your Grace,” she responded with a grateful heart, “we cannot thank you enough for all you have done.” She could not imagine taking Martin back to Pentridge in his condition.

“When Sir Martin is better,” the duke said reassuringly, “and he will be better, Lady Powell, then we will see about tidying up this business he was handling.”

“He has told me little of his affairs in Pentridge, Your Grace,” Kit admitted. “Perhaps as we travel to Chatsworth you might illuminate me?”

“I can at least share what I know,” the duke offered. “And you may call me Hart. All my friends do.”