Page 34 of The Bastard Heir
Thankfully Grant Miller had realized he should keep his hotel room in Helena for the length of his stay and had left before supper, so he wasn’t a complication she had to deal with tonight. Part of her wanted to tell Castillo, but his wound was more important right now. She’d tell him tomorrow. As if the maid had been waiting for her, Mary poked her head out of the sitting room that had been turned into her bedroom, ready to help with Caroline’s gown.
Caroline wanted to wave her off, but acknowledged that she couldn’t get out of the gown on her own, and it’d look suspicious if she said no. Instead, she plastered on a smile and allowed Mary a few minutes to help her out of her gown, but as soon as she’d put on her night rail and wrapper she said goodnight and locked the door behind the maid. Rushing to the armoire, she grabbed the bag containing her medical supplies and ran to the balcony door. When she pulled it open, Castillo was right there, staring down at her. She would’ve yelped in surprise had she not remembered Mary just next door and caught herself. His expression was unreadable.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered.
“Waiting for you.” He glanced down to her bag. “I knew you wouldn’t leave it alone. I came so you wouldn’t risk getting caught in my room. Let me in.”
She moved back, and when he’d stepped inside she locked the door and pulled the drapes closed. “Do you really think it matters if I’m in your room or you’re in my room? If we’re caught, then we’re caught.” She didn’t know why she wasarguing the point with him. Her hands shook a little as she fully comprehended the fact that he was in her room and they were alone and there was nothing at all stopping them from kissing as they had last night. A pleasant rush of heat moved over her skin as she remembered it.
Castillo had already taken his coat off and changed his shirt in his room, though this fresh one already had a blood stain growing over his upper arm. Oh. Right. Nothing was stopping them from kissing again but for the fact that he had a potentially serious injury and was bleeding. She berated herself for forgetting even for a moment that he was in her room for a very good reason. “Come sit down by the lamp.” She rushed over to set her bag down on the bed and hurried into the washroom to wash her hands and fill up a pitcher with water. Grabbing a towel, she rushed back to his side.
He fumbled with the buttons on his shirt as he eased down to sit on the edge of the bed and shrug it off his shoulders. When he grimaced, she helped him pull it off, draping it over the footboard.
“What happened?” she asked and started to gently wash the wound. Some of the blood had dried so it was difficult to see the extent of the damage.
“I was shot.”
“Shot?” She couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice, and what could only be described as absolute terror squeezed her chest. Someone had tried to kill him. Biting her lip, she forced herself not to think about it and concentrate on the wound. There was only flesh and blood in front of her right now. Not Castillo.
She’d never had to treat a gunshot wound before, had never even seen one, and searched her memory for some mention of that type of a wound from her father. Should she go get him?
“It’s not bad. It was only a graze,” he said, staring at the lamp.
Now that some of the blood was coming away she could see that he was right, there was no bullet lodged in his arm. It looked as if the bullet had grazed his upper arm, tearing out a chunk of flesh with it, but overall it was a clean wound. She tried to keep herself from imagining what sort of activity could’ve resulted in such a bullet wound and how close he’d come to being killed. There’d be time for those thoughts later. “You’re very lucky. A few more inches and it would’ve splintered bone, which would’ve required surgery.”
He nodded. “It’s not the first time.”
She had to swallow to keep her voice steady. “You’ve been shot before?” She kept her gaze on his wound as she cleaned it. The wound wasn’t horrific. There were no bits of cloth to dig out and the flow of blood had likely kept any infection from festering.
“I’ve been shot at before,” he clarified.
“Derringer?” she asked, moving the bowl of blood-tinged water to the table and patting his arm dry with the towel.
He took a deep breath and hesitated before he answered. “This,” he indicated his shoulder, “is the closest I’ve come to Derringer in years.”
Was he involved in something far worse than simply trying to find his grandfather’s murderer? “Then, who shot at you before?” She tried not to sound too interested as she opened her bag and rifled through it for the bottle of iodine and the package of surgical gauze, but she suspected that she failed miserably at keeping the interest from her voice.
“You don’t want to know, Carolina. It’s better if you don’t know.” His voice was tired, and his eyes were troubled and wary.
“But I want to know.” Lord help her, she did. Instinct was telling her there was more to him than met the eye, but her heart was telling her that whatever was going on, she wanted to help.
“I don’t want you involved.”
She hesitated, knowing that she should heed his warning. “You might feel a little discomfort from this.” She applied the iodine and covered the wound with the fresh gauze. He sucked in a breath but it was the only indication of pain that she saw. “Will you hold this so I can get your bandage?”
He held it in place with his other hand and she moved to pull out a small skein of linen. Pulling out a length, she cut it free and wrapped it around his arm, tying it tight enough to keep the gauze in place but loose enough it wouldn’t restrict circulation. “You need to keep it clean for the next few days.” She repacked her supplies and pulled out a small bottle of laudanum. “Drink a little of this. It’ll help with the pain.”
He wrinkled his nose as he looked at the brown glass bottle she held. “I don’t need anything.”
Rolling her eyes, she said, “You were shot chasing an outlaw. You don’t have to prove anything to me. Believe me, I’m aware of your status as a man.” Immediately the air between them became charged as visions of last night came to mind. She’d felt him hard against her thigh. Another reason she was aware that he was a man.
He grinned at her and managed to look a little arrogant.
“Open.” She held the bottle to his lips. He obeyed and she poured in the approximate amount he’d require, before closing the bottle and returning it to the bag, which she stowed in the armoire. When she turned back to him, he was watching her. “I can make you a sling to keep pressure off,” she offered. “You don’t want to reopen the wound.”
“I think a sling would cause too many questions.”
He was probably right, but she couldn’t resist teasing him. “You could say you were kicked by a horse.”
