The Huntress ✓

36. Free At Last?

It was an agonizing ride back to the estate for Bronte with her leg and shoulder throbbing, but she was sure it was a hundred times worse for Sam who was jostled into the back of the seat, even though he was desperately trying to avoid it, every time they hit a rut. Lucien looked over the marks striping Sam's back in the cramped space of the carriage.

"These are deep," he remarked. "That executioner certainly spared you none of his strength."

Sam snorted. "I wouldn't be surprised if Bart paid him off." He yelped as Lucien daubed at one of the cuts. "Easy, Doc!"

"Sorry, there isn't much I can do until I get my supplies anyway. I wish I hadn't left them behind today," he reiterated. "What's your part in this, Blake?"

Blake jerked his attention away from Bronte whom he'd been staring at, not so covertly.

Bronte had been quietly staring back, waiting.

Blake looked back at her, his face changing as suddenly as lighting crossing a clouded sky, and smiled. "That's why the guard said she died!" He chuckled and shook his head.

The driver halted in front of the mansion. Bronte rolled her eyes at Blake as Lucien jumped down to help the wounded pair out.

"I'll explain inside," Blake finally answered Lucien with a bemused grin on his face.

Slowly and painfully, the two injured pirates returned to the room they left that morning, nearly whole.

Lucien rummaged hurriedly through his supplies, bringing out this and that, and laid it out on the small sideboard near the bed. "ELIZA!" he shouted toward the open door.

"You gave her the day off, remember?" Bronte reminded him, fighting back a cough.

Lucien sighed impatiently.

"I can help. What do you need?" Blake offered.

"Boil some water," Lucien said without hesitation, and Blake moved instantly toward the door. "And bring fresh linens!" Lucien called to his back.

Bronte sank into the chair by the window while Sam perched uncomfortably on the edge of the bed, his face held in his hands.

"Does it hurt badly?" Bronte asked her friend.

Sam tilted his head up and gave her a crooked smile. "Not if I don't move."

Blake returned with a steaming kettle in one hand and a pile of torn linens in the other.

Lucien poured some water into a dish and added measurements of this powder and that herb and directed Blake to pour the rest of the steaming water into a basin.

Lucien straightened and looked at one and then the other of his patients.

In unison Bronte and Sam said, "Him/Her first."

Lucien chuckled despite the situation. "For once you two will have to let me decide." He checked Bronte's leg and shoulder quickly. "The bleeding's stopped; you can wait a minute to get stitched up. I'll clean up Sam's back first. Perhaps we can avoid infection."

Lucien pulled over a side table directing Sam to sit atop it.

"I'll be as gentle as I can, but this is going to sting," the doctor advised.

Sam nodded and sat as straight as he could, gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white. "Aren't you supposed to give a fella a dram of rum at a time like this?"

"I've Madeira," Lucien offered as he leaned over him with a wet linen cloth, dabbing at the torn flesh.

Sam tensed at the touch, grumbling about the lack of rum.