Page 115 of The Heir
“That’s enough!” Helmsley jerked her hard against him, the document having fallen to the cobblestones. “Stull, come along. We’ve got your bride, and it’s time we’re going. Westhaven, you are free to call the magistrate, but we’ll be long gone, and when it comes down to it, your word against ours will not get you very far in criminal proceedings, particularly as a woman cannot testify against her spouse.” He wrenched Anna back a step, then another, keeping Anna between him and the earl.
A shot was fired, followed instantly by a second shot. Anna sagged against her brother but was snatched into Westhaven’s arms.
“I’m hit.” Helmsley’s hand went to his side, gun clattering to the cobblestones beside the document. “You bastard!” Helmsley shouted at St. Just in consternation. “You justshotme!”
“I did.” St. Just approached him, pistol still in hand. “As I most assuredly am a bastard, in every sense of the word, I suggest you do not give me an excuse to discharge my second barrel just to shut you up. Defense of a loved one, you know? Deadly force is countenanced by every court in the land on those grounds.”
“Val…” the earl’s voice was urgent. “Get Garner or Hamilton. Get me a damned physician. Anna’s bleeding.”
“Go.” Dev nodded at Val. “John Footman and I will handle these four until the constable gets here.”
Anna was weaving on her feet, the earl’s arm around her waist holding her up until she felt him swing her up against his chest. The earl was bellowing for Nanny Fran, and pain was radiating out from Anna’s shoulder, pain and a liquid, sticky warmth she vaguely recognized as her own blood.
“Hurts,” she got out. “Blazes.”
“I know,” the earl said, his voice low, urgent. “I know it hurts, sweetheart, but we’ll get you patched up. Just hang on.”
Sweetheart, Anna thought. Now he calls me sweetheart, and that hurt, too.
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, though the pain was gaining momentum. “Just don’t…”
“Don’t what?” He laid her on the sofa in the library and sat at her hip while Nanny Fran bustled in behind him.
“Don’t go,” Anna said, blinking against the pain. “Quacks.”
“I won’t leave you to the quacks.” The earl almost smiled, accepting a pair of scissors from Nanny Fran. “Hold still, Anna, so we can have a look at the damage.”
“Talk.” Anna swallowed as even the earl’s hands deftly tugging and cutting at the fabric of her dress made the pain worse.
“What shall I talk about?” His voice wasn’t quite steady, and Anna could feel the blood welling from her shoulder and soaking her dress even as he cut the fabric away from her wound.
“Anything,” she said. “Don’t want to faint.”
Her eyes fluttered closed, and she heard the earl start swearing.
“Clean cloths,” Westhaven said to Nanny, who passed him a folded linen square over his shoulder. “Anna, I’m going to put pressure directly onto the wound, and it will be uncomfortable.”
She nodded, her face pale, her eyes closed. He folded the cloth over her shoulder and pressed, gently at first but then more firmly. She winced but said nothing, so he held the pressure steady until the cloth was soaked then added a second cloth on top of the first.
“Have we carbolic and basilicum?” the earl asked.
“We do,” Nanny Fran replied. “And brandy by the bottle.” She held her silence for long tense moments before peering over Westhaven’s shoulder again. “Ain’t bleeding so much,” she observed with grudging approval. “Best take a look.”
“Not yet,” the earl said, “not until the bleeding stops. Time enough to clean her up later.”
By the time the physician arrived—Dr. Garner—Anna’s wound was no longer bleeding, and her shoulder had been gently cleaned up but no dressing applied.
“Capital job,” the physician pronounced. “It’s a deep graze, right over the top of the shoulder. Few inches off, and it would have been in the neck or the lung. Looks as if the powder’s been cleaned adequately. You’re a lucky girl, Miss James, but you are going to have to behave for a while.”
He put a tidy dressing on the wound and urged rest and red meat for the loss of blood. He prescribed quiet and sparing laudanum if the pain became too difficult. He also pulled the earl aside and lectured sternly about the risk of infection. The doctor’s demeanor eased a great deal when the earl described the initial attention given the patient.
“Well done.” The doctor nodded. “Fairly will be proud of you, but your patient isn’t out of the woods yet. She needs peace and quiet, and not just for the wound. Violent injury takes a toll on the spirit, and even the bravest among us take time to recover.”
“And if she’s breeding?” the earl asked quietly.
“Hard to say.” The physician blew out a slow breath. “She’s young and quite sturdy, generally. Not very far along and strikes me as the sensible sort. If I had to lay odds, I’d say the child is unaffected, but procreation is in hands far greater than ours, my lord. All you can do is wait and pray.”
“My thanks.” Westhaven ushered the doctor to the front door. “And my thanks, as well, for your efforts with my father. I know he hasn’t been an easy patient.”
