Page 51 of The Secret of the Three Fates
Andrew shook his head. “Uncle has always been fascinated with the occult. Theotherworld as he calls it. Always seeking out the inexplicable, gathering oddities around him like curiosities to place into a cabinet.”
I bristled at the description. He didnotcollect oddities. He simply was an unusual man himself. He was bound to attract people like him. Like drawn to like, as the saying goes.
“He said this Cornish boy had no inkling what he was capable of. Uncle Owen was angry with me when he learned I had a hand in Kivell leaving Oxford. I thought he might cut me off entirely.”
Ruan stirred slightly beneath my fingers, or perhaps it was just my imagination.
“I had a devil of a time getting the bullet from his shoulder. As if his very bones did not want to surrender it to me. For a moment last night, I wondered if he might decide to die on my table, just to spite me. To prove that I’m not as skilled as I think I am.”
I let out a startled laugh. “That sounds a bit like him.”
Ruan murmured something beside me, in old Cornish, and my reckless heart leapt in my chest. I shifted quickly to look at him, heedless of the twinge from my wound. Ruan struggled to sit up.
“Don’t move, Kivell. You’ll only hurt yourself more,” Andrew chided, the relief thick in his voice.
A thousand emotions flickered across Ruan’s face as he studied the bandage visible beneath my borrowed nightdress. “What… what happened?”
“It seems we were shot. Andrew said the round went through me and lodged itself in you.”
His eyes widened in surprise as he looked from my wound to the sling binding his arm to his chest.
You saved me. You saved us both.
But he must not have heard me. His pale green eyes frantically darted over my exposed throat and to the bandage. “Are you well?”
“Fine. I’m fine.” I placed my hand tentatively over his, and felt his tension ease.
He blew out an unsteady breath, watching me as if he’d discovered some new plant in his garden and wasn’t sure what to make of it.
Andrew fidgeted with an unraveling roll of bandaging. “I had you both brought to Hawick House after the dark-haired medium found you at the lakeside. It seemed far easier to keep an eye on you both here than at Manhurst.”
The muscle at the edge of Ruan’s jaw tensed. “This is Hawick House…”
Andrew nodded. “My uncle said you’d be more comfortablehere than in one of the guest rooms. Miss Vaughn is staying upstairs in his private suite.”
Ruan’s nostrils flared. “Did he? Ordid youwant to be sure I remembered my place?”
This is not the time.I laid a hand on Ruan’s chest. “Andrew, could you give us a few moments—”
“Of course. Ring if you need anything. Bridget is to keep an eye on you.” He pointed to the bell affixed to the wall. “For what it’s worth, Kivell, I am glad you shall live to plague me another day, and I couldn’t give a damn where you were in my house. We simply thought you might die more comfortably within eyeshot of the kitchen garden.”
Ruan let out an indecipherable grunt, watching as Andrew slowly left the room. Once the door shut he collapsed back against the bed frame with a groan. “Gods, Ruby… is it true?” Ruan reached with his uninjured arm, touching the strap of my nightgown and tracing the edge of my bandage with his forefinger. “May I?”
“Of course…”
He slipped the thin fabric strap over my shoulder, seeking the start of the binding. Despite the fact he’d been unconscious mere minutes before, he’d mustered enough strength to peel away the cloth to see what he’d done to me.
As the last of the bandage came off he drew in a sharp breath. “How…?”
Fear gnawed at my belly, not wanting to see how bad it truly was. For Ruan to be surprised it must be worse than I’d imagined. And while I didn’t mind tending to others’ wounds, seeing my own injuries made me squirm. I looked down, half expecting to see a bloody and raw hole, but instead there was a brand-new scar on my chest—deep and pink, slightly above my breast and below my clavicle. A wound that by all rights ought to have killed me straightaway.
Ruan’s hand trembled as he touched the new skin with his roughened fingers. The fresh scar tissue ached at his touch, but no more than pressing a nasty bruise.
“Turn around.”
It was a command, not a request, and I shifted on the bed at once, allowing him to see my back, pulling my bare feet under my bottom.
“Gods… what did I do?”
