Page 41 of Highland Crown
“I gave him some whiskey,” Isabella told Mr. Carmichael. “For pain and to help him sleep.”
“You’ve done well by him.”
She was glad to know there was one person in the room who could give her credit for doing the right thing.
“You’re certain that nothing else was lodged in the chest before stitching it shut?”
“None. I made certain of it.”
The wound wouldn’t kill him. He’d be fine, Isabella told herself. But what about her? John Gordon was in the custody of the British authorities. She had no means of finding the girls. Each time she thought about it, the cold, sinking feeling of desperation that pervaded her body was paralyzing. It was even worse now than the days when they’d been hiding in that dank room in Edinburgh, fearing that any knock at the door or voice on the street meant imminent doom. At least the three of them had been together then. Now she had no one.
“By the devil, where is theHighland Crown?”
Searc’s tone was a sharp scalpel pokingherwounds. In spite of her exhaustion, Isabella raised her chin defiantly. “That is for Cinaed to tell you.”
“But you claim to be his wife. You should know.”
“Andyoushould know I’d never tell you about his ship, considering the… the special cargo.” Cinaed had blown up his own ship, and the explosions indicated he was carrying gun powder. A great deal of it. Searc’s interest told her he knew, or at least suspected, the nature of Cinaed’s business.
His eyes were shining black stones beneath the hedgerows. “Is the cargo secure?”
She wasn’t about to be the bearer of bad news. “You’ll need to wait.”
“When did he arrive?”
“Last night.”
“You said he was shot last night.”
Isabella let go of Cinaed’s hand and rubbed at the painful ache in her temples. They weren’t safe here. She wasn’t safe here. But she had nowhere to go. She couldn’t tell this man the truth, but she couldn’t lie either.
“Where is the—?”
“If you please…” the surgeon interrupted. “It’s critical that my patient receive our full attentionnow. I need Mrs. Mackintosh to assist me here in tending to the chest wound.”
His request was direct and firm without openly challenging Searc’s authority.
For a moment, the outcome hung in the balance. She didn’t know how close Carmichael’s relationship was with their host. When Searc jammed his hand into his jacket, she wondered if the surgeon was jeopardizing his life in standing up for her.
Searc took a few paces toward the door, only to wheel and stomp back to the window. He was muttering incomprehensible words into the murky twilight. Then, abruptly, he turned and charged from the room, slamming the door behind him.
Isabella waited a moment before letting out a breath. “Thank you.”
A slight nod was his only response. He’d already gone back to work on the chest wound. He was tying off the last stitch. He needed no assistance.
“You use a continuous locking stitch,” she said absently. “The stitches are exemplary.”
“So are yours.”
She was speaking before thinking. Her unguarded observation only encouraged him to question her. It would be better to get the man talking about himself. “Where did you train, Mr. Carmichael?”
“I served a five-year apprenticeship in Glasgow. Before I could be licensed as a surgeon, I needed further training. So I spent six months in Edinburgh.”
Isabella suppressed her curiosity about where in Edinburgh he’d trained. She watched him collect his instruments.
“Most of my practical training, however, came from working on several ships of the line during the war with Napoleon.” He used a wet cloth and dabbed the skinaround the stitches, inspecting them all closely. “I did that for a decade.”
Isabella wondered vaguely if Cinaed had a surgeon on his ship. She’d traveled several times between Scotland and the continent, but so much of that life was a mystery to her.
