Page 127 of The Bastard's Iberian Bride
The surgeon knotted his thread and reached for the bandage. “I suppose I could not ask you to rest for a few days until I can take these stitches out.”
He was a lanky fellow of indeterminate age and matter-of-fact manner.
“No,” Bink said.
The surgeon grunted. “That’s how it is with your kind.”
“My kind?”
“You’ve fallen in with Shaldon, Kincaid and Tellingford. There now.” He tied off the bandage. “Where is that fresh shirt?” he shouted.
The same clerk who’d greeted them at the door that morning entered. His eyes took in the bloody pile of cloth with interest, and he handed Bink a shirt and a neck cloth.
When Bink held it up, his skin pained him sharply where the surgeon had sewn the raw pieces of flesh together.
“Biggest one I could find. It should fit,” the clerk said.
He tried to poke an arm into the sleeve and winced.
“Here.” Bakeley grabbed the shirt. “Let me valet you before you pass out.”
“Has anyone reported in,” Bink asked the clerk who stood about watching the show, an earl dressing his bastard brother. Bakeley helped him into his torn, bloody coats.
Voices sounded in the corridor. “I’ll go and check,” the clerk said.
The door flew open as soon as he reached it. Kincaid’s eyes swept the room and landed on the surgeon who was slipping his coat on, preparing to leave. “Well?”
“A deep flesh wound. He’s survived worse.”
Bink jumped up from the table. “Where is she?”
Kincaid looked at the clerk. “Get out.”
When the door closed, Kincaid surveyed Bink. “You’ll do.”
“Bloody hell, Kincaid, where is Paulette?”
“We haven’t found her yet.”
He gripped the older man’s shoulders.
“Stop,” Kincaid said. “We’ve traced her to Spitalfields. We’re working our sources now.”
“Let’s go then.”
“There’s been a ransom demand.”
His empty stomach flipped. “How much?” Bakeley would damn well front him the money. This bloody mess was all Shaldon’s doing.
“Not money. A letter. You were holding it for Paulette.”
He reached into his pocket.
Blood had soaked the paper in places. Kincaid eyed the letter, his eyes gleaming.
“Good. You’ll leave this. I have a man penning a decoy right now.”
“No. You’ll not risk Paulette’s life for more of your games.”
