"A trained nurse? You're full of surprises, Miss O'Dalaigh, but you won't be able to sew your own wound up at that angle. I trained as a medic and served during the war. Let me help you," he asked softly.
"Ms. O'Dalaigh," she corrects. Chase doesn't respond, he simply waits for her to decide. She chews on her pink, lush lip and he stifles a growl at the sight of her. "A medic? If you don't mind then." Bronnah picks up her kit and hands it to him. He moves efficiently pulling out the needle and thread.
"Turn around," Chase demands gruffly, and when she obeys, he uses his bowie knife to slice the ribbons on her corset.
“What the feck?” Bronnah gasps and clutches at the only material keeping her from baring her all to him.
Chase chuckles, “Do all Irish women have a mouth like yours?” Bronnah spins and glares at him, tempted to knock the smirk off his face.
"That's one question you will not be finding the answer too, Mr. Rivers." A blush of outrage has her cheeks stained with red, and she's feeling extremely vulnerable to him. "It was the only corset I have."
“We’ll work on that. Now, lay on your side, facing the wall and let me see this wound.” Trembling from his garish treatment of her, her eyes narrow as she contemplates whether she’s going to trust him. “Make your choice. Either you trust me, or you don’t. Which is it?”
"I won't be sharing a bed with you, Marshall, nor will you be staring at me like some piece of meat," she demands. "Turn around."
Chase holds up his hands and spins to face the closed door. She tosses the corset on the floor and takes a deep breath, still holding the towel over her breasts. Climbing on the bed, she kicks the offending wig to the corner and rolls toward the wall. "This should work."
Chase stares at her pale skin and back. His mouth waters with the urge to trace her spine and see how she reacts, but that'll have to wait. When she lifts her arm a trickle of blood trails down her rib towards the bed, and he catches it with a damp cloth. "Okay now, I'll try to be quick." He prods the wound and finds it to be about a one-inch puncture. He cleans it quickly and rinses the blood from her body. "It looked like a puncture. Did you jerk it out?"
"Yes, I thought the whalebone had deflected it, but I guess not." His calloused hand causes chills to erupt, and when he leans closer, she can almost feel the heat from his mouth on her.
“Ms. O’Dalaigh, it seems like it’s already beginning to clot. I think it was just the tip of the blade. I can suture the top closed and leave an opening for it to drain as needed. Let me see what they have on board for pain.”
"No!" Bronnah scrambles away from him with the towel clutched to her chest. Fear has her pressing back against the wooden wall. "No drugs." Terror fills her fairy eyes, and Chase sees he will have to gentle his approach with her. The image of the four young women he helped bury flashes in his mind and he knows how lucky she was to survive. He holds up his hand in surrender.
"Okay, then. I promise to be as gentle as possible. You're safe with me, Ms. O'Dalaigh," she stares at him for a moment and bows her head in shame.
"I used ta be brave, but don't mistake my trauma for weakness. I will heal, and they won't get away with this." The burning need for justice glows in her eyes, and he's relieved to see the fire in her soul.
“Good girl, now lay down before you bleed all over everything." Bronnah laughs a semi-hysterical laugh and wipes her cheek with the back of her hand.
"Call me Bronnah, Chase," Bronnah says as she lays on her side once more. Exhausted, she watches out the window as the sun begins to set. The sky is aglow with brilliant, pink and orange streaks painted with shades of yellow and red. She hisses but bites her lip as he quickly and efficiently sews three stitches.
"I'm almost done, Bronnah. Just hold on." Leaning forward, he slices the last thread and stares in awe at the curve of her breast and waist. He dips a rag in the bowl and washes the blood from her body. Chills erupt, and he rubs her shoulder. Bronnah moans in pleasure and wipes at a tear. Her sniffle causes him to jerk away, aware that he is being inappropriate.
“Just rest now. Let that heal. I’ll be back soon,” he snaps gruffly. Bronnah waits for the sound of the door to close behind her and sighs. She rolls over and moves to the mirror to stare at the second scar.
"Not bad, Marshall. That's twice now, they've marked me. I will make them pay." Moving to the closet, she stares at the dress hanging inside and sighs in relief. A blue-green satin with black lace bustle dress is hanging inside. She will have to make do without the corset, but it should do nicely. Aimee knocks on the door and calls out.
"May I come in?" When she enters, she's holding a long sleeve men's shirt and clean cloths to use as bandages. Aimee gasps at the sight of her bloody injury and bruises.
“Oh, Bronnah! I took this out of the laundry. It should do for the night. The Marshall told me you need to rest. He’s bringing dinner back with him.” Bronnah takes the white shirt and pulls it on, dropping the towel over the edge of
