by Dayna Quince
But if his line of work was dangerous, she would think he would be on alert all the time. But what did she know? She could only speculate about what agents of the Crown did. So secretive was their work that no one ever really knew who worked in the foreign office and who didn't. He definitely looked like a spy, so big and strong, except for right now he had a weakness. He was carrying an injury from a boxing match, he had claimed.
Perhaps he had a broken rib?
Whatever the case, she could help, and if he was here on an important mission, he needed to be in the best condition.
Luna took a deep breath, making sure there was no one around, and then she darted into the hall to his door. She rapped once and then waited.
“Come in,” his gruff voice said from the other side.
Her heart pounded hard enough to nearly rattle her teeth. She slipped inside his room, and there he was, near the armoire, struggling to remove his jacket. She rushed forward without thinking and helped him inch the garment over his wide shoulders, her breath catching in her throat at the large expanse of his torso. What type of boxing wound would a man like this carry unless it wasn’t a boxing wound it all? Perhaps that had been a ruse to disguise something else, something no one was supposed to know about. She was already in his confidence, in a way, what was one more secret to keep?
“Thank you, whoever you are, but I need peace and quiet. I do not wish to be disturbed.”
Luna quite agreed he needed rest. But she was not going to leave him alone until she knew how serious his injury was. She suspected he did not know it was she that stood behind him. He most likely assumed it was some servant.
Then he froze, his whole body turning to stone, and so did Luna. She couldn't think what might be wrong. She glanced around frantically.
“Are you all right,” she questioned. And then she caught sight of the mirror on the dressing table and his eyes were locked on her. He spun and fell back into the armoire with a grunt.
“You can't be in here.”
Luna clutched her hands over her racing heart. “I know you're injured. I can help you.”
“You're in my room, Miss Lunette.”
“I know this is not advisable, but given your position here, secret though it is, I rather think it is dangerous if you are not well. Therefore it is my duty to help you become well.” She knew she sounded ridiculous.
He stared at her, unblinking. She straightened and held his gaze. If she were a doctor, he would not question her.
“You are in need of medical assistance,” she said. “Let me help you so you can do your job here and protect us.”
He still only stared at her.
“Show me your wound, my lord, unless you would like me to ring for Mrs. Kemp. Perhaps I shall advise the duke that you are in need of a doctor?”
His face hardened. “Are you blackmailing me?”
“I'm helping you, even if it's against your will. You may as well go along with it. Now show me. If this was truly from a boxing match, you may have broken a rib.” She reached for the buttons on his waistcoat and he lurched back, but he had nowhere to go.
Luna smiled. “Are you frightened of me? I promise I won't take advantage of you.”
“I'm frightened of what medicinal knowledge you may think you have.”
She crossed her arms. “Far more than you, I'd wager. You’re pale and you are beginning to sweat, despite the very mild temperature of this room. Have you a fever? I can tell just by looking at you that you are sick and in pain. Now, if you'd let me examine you further, I can tell you more. I can even stitch your wound, if need be. But a broken rib is a different matter. The wound is inside you, and you will need a very tight bandage to help support the healing process.”
“You really think you know about this?” he asked. He relaxed, no longer pressing himself against the armoire.
“I won't know until I see the damage. But Georgette has taken a few blows to her side, and I tended to her quite sufficiently. But if you don't believe me, I'm happy to summon Mrs. Kemp for you, and I'm sure the surgeon can see to your needs. But one thing I won't do is ignore an untended wound. So you can trust me, or you can trust someone else.”
He exhaled. “Fine,” he said grudgingly, “but I do this under duress.”
She smiled. “As they say, lie back and think of England.”
He smirked as he began to unbutton his waistcoat, and Luna turned her attention to the room, giving him privacy though it took all her concentration not to watch him. A peculiar thrill went through her at the idea of him undressing in front of her.
In her periphery, she saw him hang the waistcoat over the door of the armoire. All her senses went on alert as the distinctive rustle of his shirt being tugged from his breeches filled the silence.
She turned toward him, because how could she not? A true doctor would not be bashful to see a wound, but it wasn't a wound that would steal her breath. It was the glory of the firm muscles of his lower stomach, lightly dusted with crisp, dark hair, a trail disappearing into the waistband of his trousers.
Her mouth went dry.
She dragged her gaze to his side where an oozing hole with red inflamed edges and lines spearing out like the five points of the star. She sucked in a breath.
“It's infected,” she said.
He snorted. “Really? I had no idea.” And then he winced.
Her lips twitched, but there wasn't time to be amused by that little taste of karma. “That was some punch,” she said, her gaze lifting to his as she raised a brow.
“It's a bullet hole, obviously.”
“Obviously." She drew closer and bent to take a look. She reached out but didn't touch it. His muscles jumped and twitched in anticipation of the pain as if she had touched him.
“This is quite serious,” she said. “When did this happen?”
His jaw clamped shut.
“Whether you can't or won't tell me, I must stress that your life depends on it.”
“A week ago,” he said.
Luna shook her head. “Are all agents so reckless with their life?”
“I can't answer that,” he said.
“Well, right now I can tell you your life is in danger.”
“What do you recommend, Doctor?”
She bit her lip to keep from smiling at his use of the word doctor. She knew he meant it sarcastically, but she was still quite pleased to hear it.
“I’ll need my supplies. Is the bullet still in there?”
“No, the bullet was removed.”
“Was there any cloth that went into the wound?”
“No, my shirt was whole afterward.”
“That's good. What other things were done to clean the wound?” she asked as she stepped around him, trying to see inside, but the skin and tissue underneath were thick and swelling with yellow and green fluids leaking from the center.
“The usual thing one does to treat a wound.”
“You'll have to be more specific than that, thank you.”
He dropped his shirt, hiding the wound from view and limped over to the bed where he promptly fell back with a grunt and adjusted himself, closing his eyes.
“Strong spirits were poured over it and it was bandaged. That was the extent of my wound care. Then we were traveling and I arrived here, and I suppose you can fill in the gaps.”
“Yes, I suppose I can. You've taken terrible care of yourself, and I can only hope I can save your life.”
Luna began to pace as she made a list in her mind about what she needed to do. She went to the door and put her hand on the knob before she paused and turned to face him. He lay on the bed, his chest moving up and down in steady breaths. But he needed her, urgently.
“Don't die on me,” she said.
“I don't intend to,” he answered.
“I'll be back in a moment."
He didn't respond, and as she left the room, panic set in. He had no idea the danger he faced with that wound in his side. She didn't know how deep it
was or if the infection had reached his blood, but she knew that time was precious. She would need to draw the infection from the wound but if he was worse…
She wouldn't be able to keep it a secret. They would have to summon a real doctor.
Chapter 7
Luna went to her room and collected her supplies. She stopped by the kitchen and requested a kettle of hot water and a bowl. She found clean cloths and bandaging linens on her own without anyone seeing her and then went back to the bachelor quarters.
She didn't knock before entering his room. He was still lying on the bed with his eyes closed, but she could hear his soft snoring.
Good. He needed rest.
But he wouldn't be sleeping long. What she was about to do would not be comfortable. Luna hooked her kettle next to the iron poker and pushed it toward the flames so the water would stay hot. She gathered the bowl from his basin and set it on the nightstand, laying out the clean linens she would use to bandage him. Luna used a separate bowl she’d gathered from the kitchen to clean her hands with lye soap and a bit of the steaming hot water. Luna winced as she scrubbed her hands, the scalding water turning her skin red. She dried her hands on a clean towel and then moved to the bed.
She lightly tapped his shoulder and his eyes opened, glazed with fever. She touched the back of her hand to his forehead, and as she suspected, he was burning up.
“Are you sure you know what you're doing?”
“I can't make you any worse than you already are.”
“That's very reassuring.”
“Good. Now I'm going to lift up your shirt again and I need you to turn toward me so I can reach the wound on your side.”
He did as she instructed, tucking his hands under his cheek as if he intended to fall back asleep.
“Don't ravish me in my weakened state,” he said.
“I promise to keep things professional. I'm not attracted to men on the verge of death.”
He chuckled. “You have a dark sense of humor, I like it.”
Luna hid a smile, reminding herself there was nothing to smile about right now.
“Does your brother know how serious your wound is?” she asked.
“He might try to kill me faster," he said.
Luna tucked the edges of his shirt out of the way and draped clean towels around him to keep his bedding dry.
“That can't be true.”
“But it is. He hates me. He thinks I watch over him because I enjoy it, because seeing him make a mistake makes me feel good.”
Luna frowned as she dipped a rag in hot water and dabbed at the edges of the wound.
He jerked and hissed through his clenched teeth. “Dammit, woman.”
“I have something I can give you to ease the discomfort, but I have nothing that will render you completely unconscious. Unless you faint on your own.”
“I won't faint,” he grumbled.
“You might wish you would when I clean deeper into the wound.”
“I can handle it," he said.
Luna raised her brows. “Very well.”
She set her cloth down in the hot water and she poured a cup of tea, a special brew she'd made herself, and added a large dollop of laudanum. She brought it to him and he opened his eyes.
“What is that?” he asked.
“It's a special mixture of mine with laudanum to help sedate you.”
“I don't want laudanum. What am I to say to excuse not being able to join the party this evening? No one can know about my wound.”
“Everyone will know if you die from it, or they hear you screaming.”
“I'm not going to scream. I'm not a woman. Give me something to bite on, my leather shaving strap is on my dressing table.”
Luna scooted off the bed and fetched the strap. He took it from her and placed it in between his teeth.
“Do your worst," he said around the strap.
“I intend to do my best,” Luna replied with a beleaguered sigh, but as she sat on the edge of the bed and gathered her cloth and the knitting needle she'd doused in strong spirits, her hands shook. But thankfully he’d closed his eyes again, his face twisted in a grimace as he anticipated the pain she would bring upon him.
She took a deep breath, focused on the wound, and tried to block out his face.
“Are you ready?” she asked, more for herself than him.
He nodded, bunching fistfuls of the sheets in his hand. Luna took a deep breath and then she had a sudden idea.
“Fire,” she said.
“Fire?” he repeated, the word muffled.
She picked up her knitting needle and took it to the hearth. The kettle had begun to boil, but she put the tip of her knitting needle directly into the flame until it glowed red. Then she walked back to the bed with it, and he visibly tensed.
“Don't worry. I'm not going to put a red-hot knitting needle inside you. I’ll wait for it to cool. But this way I can be certain it is absolutely clean, and I'm not introducing more infection into the wound.”
He spit the leather strap out and sat up. “Hold on, you intend to put that knitting needle inside my body?” he asked, flabbergasted.
Luna sought the words that would reassure him. But there was simply no way around it.
"Well, to be frank, yes."
He started to shake his head.
“According to Dr. Hadley's surgical texts, the wound must be properly explored to determine its depth and state of decay.”
He pointed a finger at her. “I am not dead, therefore, there is no decay. End of discussion. You're not sticking anything in me."
Luna folded her arms, but she still held the knitting needle in her hand away from her body. It must touch nothing.
“You're not coming near me with that thing.”
“It's a knitting needle. You needn't be afraid.”
“I'm not convinced you know what you're doing. This sounds ridiculous.”
“What's ridiculous is that you went without proper care to begin with. You could die from infection. People have died from much smaller wounds. Farmer Trent had a son who was only twelve. He pricked his thumb on some old wire and he died. From a prick to the thumb.”
He stared at her, breathing hard. “Are you sure you know what you're doing?”
“No, but I can't do more harm than you already have.”
His jaw tightened and then he nodded. It wasn't a show of trust but rather grim resolution.
He lay back down and the knitting needle was now cool enough to prod the wound. She rearranged the cloths around him and paused to take a deep breath. She pushed the knitting needle into the surface of the wound, and it disintegrated under the tip of the needle, sinking easily, creating an escape for the fluid trapped underneath.
“That didn’t hurt like I thought it would,” he said.
“This is the decay I spoke of. This next part might hurt.”
She used both hands to put pressure on the edges of the wound and more sickly fluid spilled out.
He jerked, gasping. “You are right about that.” He put the strap of leather back in his mouth and breathed harshly through his nose.
“Focus on taking deep, long, even breaths,” Luna advised. “It's very beneficial to women in child labor in managing the pain.”
He lifted the leather from his mouth. “I'm not a woman in labor.”
Luna giggled. “Tell that to the hole in your body that's delivering at present.”
“You are not amusing,” he said between clenched teeth.
Luna smiled. The flow of the putrid lava had slowed. She picked up a clean rag and dabbed at the wound. She drew another clean rag from her pile, dipped it in the hot water, and rung the fluid into the wound.
Lord Densmore groaned, burying his teeth into the leather.
Luna's heart clenched for him, but if she was going to save him, she had to focus on the wound before her and not his face. She sopped up the water spilling from the wound and at last she could see inside. She used the pressure of her ha
nds to hold the edges apart and look around. Then she used her knitting needle to gently prod the flesh.
Red and angry though it was, any place she touched with her knitting needle began to ooze fresh red blood which, according to Dr. Hadley, was an excellent sign.
Flesh that bled was flesh that wanted to live.
She repeated the steps of rinsing the wound over and over until the fluid was mostly clear or tinged with blood but not clouded by infection.
She glanced at her patient.
His eyes were glazed over with pain, and he had a white-knuckle grip on the pillow. His teeth had left permanent gashes in the leather and he was breathing hard, but he was alive, and as long as she kept the wound looking as it did he would stay that way.
“You are doing an excellent job controlling your reaction to the pain and allowing me to clean the wound quickly,” she praised him. “The worst of it is over. Now I'm going to pack it with bandage material coated in my special salve and bandage it for you.”
He spit the leather out. “Where did you get the salves, and how do you know so much about these herbs?”
“Sonam gave me the recipe along with a book about medicinal herbs.”
“Sonam? The duke’s monk friend from the house party four months ago?”
“Yes, according to him, Northumberland is a smorgasbord of herbal remedies. All one has to do is know where to look and how to prepare them to make tonics, salves—"
“Potions,” he said.
Luna smiled again. “Call it what you will, but my potions will save your life.”
He didn't put the leather back in his mouth when he closed his eyes, and he remained locked in this position as she dried the wound and prepared the salve in a small bowl, coating it over a rolled piece of thin linen.
She stuffed the little bundle into his wound and pulled out the center like a little wick. Dr. Hadley said this would work to draw the fluid out of the wound and toward the entrance, allowing it to drain and the salve to work its healing properties from the inside.
