Page 97 of To Pleasure a Prince
“Certainly not,” Regina said firmly. She was surprisingly unperturbed by the sight of all that blood as she examined his wound. “I’ve seen far worse cuts than this, on far more sickly boys, and they didn’t die. A strapping lad like yourself will come through it with flying colors.”
Ah, yes. She had mentioned something before about volunteering at a hospital. Marcus relaxed a little. “What can I do?”
“Let’s carry him up to the house. He’ll need to have this treated at once.”
As they approached the back of the house where the kitchens were, they were greeted with a shriek from Cook, who’d spotted her son in Marcus’s arms out the window. She rushed from the house to meet them, a couple of scullery maids following close behind. “Timmy! Lord have mercy, Timmy!”
“He’s all right,” Regina told Cook as Marcus carried the boy into the kitchen.
When Cook’s cursory examination of her son’s wound seemed to confirm Regina’s opinion that it wasn’t too serious, she uttered a relieved sigh.
Regina gestured to a table in the center of the kitchen. “Lay him there.” She turned to Cook. “I shall need a sturdy needle, strong thread, a damp clean cloth, and some clean dry linen. And Taylor’s Ointment, if you have it in your stillroom.”
“Aye, we do.” Cook opened a cupboard. “I’ve got a needle and strong thread I use for sewing up the stuffed chickens. Will that do?” Cook glanced at one of the maids. “What’re you standing gawking for—go fetch that ointment.”
As the girl raced from the kitchen, Cook returned her gaze to her son. “I tell you, m’lady, the boy shall be the death of me yet.” She handed over what Regina had asked for. “It’s the third time this month he’s got himself hurt.”
“Boys are like that,” Regina said with a ghost of a smile. “Always ready for trouble.”
But when she threaded the needle, Timmy showed himself not quite so ready for trouble, for he began to bawl like a lost sheep.
Marcus offered the boy his hand. “Here now, lad, making all that racket won’t do any good. Let her sew you up, and it’ll be over soon enough. Just squeeze my hand hard as you can when it hurts, all right?”
Timmy stopped wailing to fix Marcus with a fearful stare. The children on the estate were nearly all half-terrified of him, which had always bothered him. So when Regina eased the needle into the boy’s skin, and he grabbed for Marcus’s hand, the surge of satisfaction that filled Marcus was sweet indeed.
“That’s it, lad,” he murmured. “Squeeze it hard.”
The boy swallowed, but kept his eyes on Marcus’s face. “Is this how you got that big scar on your cheek, m’lord? Did you fall on a tiller like me?”
“Hush now, Timmy,” Cook said, shooting Marcus an apologetic look.
“He got it fighting an old witch,” Regina put in. “She tried to put an evil spell on him with a firebrand, so she could take Castlemaine. But even though she wounded him sorely, he held firm. Like you’re holding firm now, my brave boy.”
As Timmy thrust out his chest and loosened his hold on Marcus’s hand, Marcus bit back a smile. His mother would have scratched Regina’s eyes out for calling her an old witch.
“There, done,” Regina announced as she bit off the end of the thread. “You see? That was not so bad, was it? And we can get rid of this now, too.” She untied her improvised tourniquet, then smiled to see how well her stitches held.
With a scowl, Cook examined the tourniquet. “Your pretty scarf got soiled something awful. I’m so sorry, m’lady.”
“It’s all right.” Regina shot Marcus a glance. “His lordship will buy me a new one, won’t he?”
“I’ll buy you ten new ones,” he growled. “Whatever you want.”
When Cook and the other maid exchanged surprised glances, Marcus stiffened. He might as well have knelt on one knee and proclaimed himself a besotted idiot. “Since you females seem to have this well in hand,” he added with a scowl, “I’ll go see to that tiller. It shouldn’t be sitting out like that.”
As he left the kitchen, the maid who’d been sent for the ointment entered with a box full of bottles. He was halfway out the door when he heard her exclaim, “Beggin’ your pardon, m’lady, but I can’t read, so I didn’t know which was the ointment. I brought all the bottles in the stillroom.”
In alarm, he turned to go back. Cook was already handing the box over to Regina. “Here, miss, you look for it. I have to find my glasses.”
He hurried inside as Regina paled and peered into the box. But before he could reach them, she picked up a bottle. As if stalling for time, she ran her fingers over the front of it.
Then an odd expression crossed her face. “No, this is laudanum. We don’t want that.”
He took the bottle from her. Damn, if she wasn’t right. He glanced at her to find her watching him anxiously. “Itislaudanum.”
Excitement suffused her features. “Ifeltit, Marcus. I felt the letters. The first one didn’t look like an ‘l’, but itfeltlike one. And then once I could feel it, I could see it, too.”
The servants were eyeing them both oddly, but he didn’t care. “Try another.”
