impossible-to-doubt exposition.
He’d been her protector, unswerving, unflinching, always there; from a man like him, focused on a lady like her, such actions were tantamount to a declaration from the rooftops. The love she’d wanted him to admit to had been there all along, demonstrated daily right before her eyes, but she hadn’t seen.
Hadn’t seen because she’d been focusing elsewhere, and because, conditioned as she was to resisting the same style of possessive protectiveness from her brothers, from her cousins, she hadn’t appreciated his, hadn’t realized that that quality had to be an expression of his feelings for her.
Until now.
Until now that he’d all but given his life for hers.
He loved her — he’d always loved her. She saw that now, looking back down the years. He’d loved her from the time she’d fallen in love with him — the instant they’d laid eyes on each other at Michael and Caro’s wedding in Hampshire four years ago.
He’d held aloof, held away — held her at bay, too — believing, wrongly, that he wasn’t an appropriate husband for her.
In that, he’d been wrong, too.
She saw it all. And as the tears overflowed and tracked down her cheeks, she knew to her soul how right he was for her. Knew, embraced, and rejoiced.
And feared.
His voice had faded almost to nothing; she could no longer make sense of his words.
The fingers that had gripped her wrist so tightly were weakening.
She sniffed, glanced around. “Where the devil are they?”
At least the bleeding had slowed, grown sluggish, but in her estimation he’d lost far too much blood.
Drawing in a breath, holding it, clinging to her sanity and her strength, she leaned forward and brushed her lips across his. “Hush. Hold on to me, keep hold of me — never let go.”
Her voice threatened to break. She sucked in a desperate breath, blinked hard, then went on, “They won’t be long now. I want you to hang on, to stay with me. You have to hold on for me because I can’t live without you.”
She kept speaking, low and steady, willing him to live, yet she sensed him slipping further away.
She barely registered the rush of feet, the swirl of energy as the household descended, couldn’t take her eyes from his face.
He slipped into unconsciousness as they neared.
Then Catriona, Algaria, Richard, and all the rest were there, sweeping around them, taking charge, taking over, gently easing her aside.
It was Richard who closed his big hands about her shoulders and raised her, then drew her away. “Let them have at him.”
She swallowed, nodded, but when Richard handed her over to Mrs. Broom, who gently suggested she come back to the house, she refused with a curt shake of her head. “I’ll stay with him.”
She wasn’t going to let him out of her sight.
Catriona had brought supplies to bandage the wound before they risked lifting him. She and Algaria worked swiftly, cutting away his clothes, then cleaning the wound.
Heather breathed deeply, felt her composure, fragile though it was, firm. With a smile that was more a grimace, she thanked Mrs. Broom, then went forward to the still figure on the ground.
Halting at Catriona’s side, she stated, “I need to help. Tell me what to do.”
Both Algaria and Catriona glanced at her, sharp glances that stripped her face bare, then Catriona nodded. Indicated a set of unguent pots nearby. “The one with the blue lid. It’ll only be temporary, but we need to make what stand we can against infection.”
Heather picked up the pot, loosened the lid, and held it ready.
He’d saved her.
Now it was up to her to save him.
Chapter Twenty
The men of the household carried Breckenridge back to the house on a stretcher. The last of the light was fading from the sky as Heather followed them through the side door into the house. Catriona and Algaria had diverted to the herb garden, seeking extra ingredients for potions and tisanes. Mrs. Broom and Henderson had rushed ahead to prepare Breckenridge’s bed.
Lamps were being lit throughout the house. As Heather crossed the front hall, someone handed her a small lantern. A footman appeared ahead of the stretcher, carrying a large lamp to light the bearers’ way.
The main staircase was wide with a sweeping curve. After carefully negotiating the climb, the men turned toward the turret and Breckenridge’s room on the next floor, only to find Mrs. Broom waiting to wave them to another door along the gallery.
“Ye’ll never make it up the turret stairs, not without jiggling him something fearful. We’ve made up the bed in here instead.”
The room they entered was a bed-cum-sitting room. Two maids were tugging sheets and fluffing pillows on a big four-poster bed. Henderson and a footman were feeding a blaze already roaring in the hearth.
Richard and the other three stretcher bearers carried Breckenridge to the side of the bed closest to the hearth. They laid the stretcher on the floor, then, under Richard’s direction, with Mrs. Broom kneeling on the bed to help settle the patient, they carefully transferred Breckenridge’s long and heavy body onto a plain cotton sheet spread over the covers and pillows.
As soon as Breckenridge was stretched out and settled, the other three men gathered the stretcher and left. Richard hovered by the side of the bed, looking down at Breckenridge.
Heather stood at the foot, her gaze locked on his face.
Then Catriona swept in, Algaria and three older women of the household behind her. Catriona came straight to the bed, circling to halt by Breckenridge’s shoulder. Her hand briefly gripped Richard’s, then she released him. “We’ll handle this from here.”
Heather felt Richard’s gaze flick to her face, then he looked at his wife. “How bad is he? Should I send for Caro and Michael?”
Catriona studied Breckenridge, then held the back of one hand against his cheek. She hesitated, then drew breath and said, “He’s very low. He might not die, but. . yes, I think you should send for Caro.”
“He also has two sisters — Constance and Cordelia.” Heather’s voice seemed to come from far away. “He. . they’re close. Caro will know how to contact them.”
Richard’s gaze rested on her face for a moment, then he nodded. “I’ll send a rider to Michael immediately.” With a nod to Catriona, he left her side. Reaching Heather, he paused, laid a hand on her shoulder, lightly gripped. “He’s alive. While he is, there’s hope.”
Without taking her eyes from Breckenridge’s still, pale face, she nodded.
Richard left.
Behind and about her the three women were setting bandages and bottles, pots and implements, on various surfaces. A footman appeared in the doorway carrying a brazier. Catriona saw him and pointed to the middle of the room. “Set it there.”
Algaria paused by the bed, opposite Catriona, watching as Catriona checked Breckenridge’s eyes. Algaria glanced at Heather, then came around the bed to halt at her side. “Go and wash your hands.”
Heather frowned, looked down at her hands, and realized they were covered in dried blood.
“Go to your room, wash thoroughly, and change into something warm and comfortable.” Algaria’s tone was even, certain, and compassionate. “Then go to the kitchen and let Cook feed you. When you’ve done all that, you can come back and spell us. There’s nothing we’re about to do that we haven’t done many times, nothing we need help with. There’ll be nothing you can do to help him through the next hour or so, but after that. . that’s when you need to be here, when he might need you to be here. Best you’re in as good a state as you can be to help him
