Read The Highwayman Online

Authors: Catherine Reynolds

Tags: #Regency Romance

The Highwayman (2 page)

BOOK: The Highwayman
12.92Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

The unconscious man also proved to be exceedingly tall and well built. But between the three of them, they managed to carry him to the carriage and place him on one of the seats. Of course he did not fit, so it was necessary to lay him on his side with his knees bent, a position which could not have been good for his wound, but it could not be helped.

The two women settled themselves on the opposite seat while John tethered the black stallion to the back of the carriage. Soon they were on their way once more.

After again staring for a few minutes at the man lying across from them, Agatha said, “I wonder who he can be.”

“I haven’t the least notion,” replied Jane. “He could be a guest at one of the houses in the area, but if that is so, it is odd that Mrs. Micklethorp did not mention it.”

“Mmm,” murmured Agatha. “There is always the possibility that he is, indeed, the highwayman. They do say that he rides a large black horse, and there is nothing to say that a highwayman may not dress as a gentleman.”

That thought did not sit well with Jane, but she only said, “Well, in any event, he can do us no harm in his present condition.”

Before they could speculate further, they arrived at Meadowbrook and Jane was concerned with the problem of getting her patient transferred from the carriage to a guest bedchamber. Luckily they now had help in the form of Jackson, the groom, and Melrose, the butler, and so the chore went more easily this time. And while the men carried their burden upstairs, Jane collected her basket of medical supplies and went to gather some other items she thought she might need.

It was not until a few minutes later, when she stood outside the chamber where the stranger was being put to bed, that she experienced her first misgivings. Common sense warred with propriety.

While moving the man from the lane to the carriage earlier, she had ascertained that there was no exit wound on the back of his limb. Therefore, the bullet was still in him and must be removed. Although she had never before been called upon to perform such an operation, she did not doubt for a moment that she was the most qualified person to do it.

Of course, a lady should never enter a gentleman’s bedchamber, especially when the gentleman in question is a stranger. And to even consider looking upon his bare limb, let alone touching it, was unthinkable. Still, there was no doubt in Jane’s mind as to what she must do.

Just then, Jackson and Melrose came out of the chamber and Melrose said, “We have made the gentleman as comfortable as possible, miss. However, I am afraid the wound has begun bleeding again.”

Jackson asked, “Was you wishin’ me to ride to Leeds for the doctor, miss?”

“No,” said Jane distractedly, “there is not time. The bullet is still in the man’s, ah, wound and must be removed without delay. I shall need both of you to help me, of course.”

Melrose was seldom thrown off stride, but now a look of shock crossed his face. “Miss Jane,” he exclaimed, “you cannot be thinking of doing this yourself!”

“Certainly I am,” she replied. “There is no one better suited for it than I.”

“Now there you are wrong, miss,” he contradicted her with all the assurance of an old family retainer. “It will be much more suitable for Jackson to do the job.”

Jackson’s eyes fairly started from his head, and he backed up a step as he said, “Oh, no! I couldn’t!”

“Do not be such a clodpoll,” recommended the butler. “You have treated all manner of ailments in horses. There is no reason why you cannot do this.”

Appealing to his mistress, Jackson said, “Beggin’ your pardon, miss, but a man ain’t no horse. Besides, I ain’t never dug no bullet outen a horse, never mind no man.”

Melrose opened his mouth to argue further, but an exasperated Jane forestalled him by raising a hand and saying, “Enough! We are wasting time.”

“But, miss—”

“If you continue to argue, the man will most certainly die, from loss of blood if not from infection. Do you wish to have his death on your conscience?”

Both men looked sheepish but offered no further objections, and Jane said, “Very good. Now, Melrose, please find Miss Wedmore and bring her here immediately. Jackson, you come with me. I very much fear that it may take both of you to restrain our guest if he should regain his senses.”

With that, she turned and stepped through the doorway, only to stop abruptly just over the threshold.

Nothing in all her eight and twenty years had ever prepared Miss Jane Lockwood for the sight which now met her eyes. On the bed sprawled the stranger, his head and torso elevated on one elbow and turned towards the door. The sheet had slipped down and now covered only the lower portion of his body, with one hairy limb—the wounded one—exposed. She noted that the other hand gripped the appendage just above the wound before her stunned gaze moved upwards past an equally hairy and quite muscular chest to the face.

Despite the shock of finding herself staring at a nearly naked male, it was the face which came close to undoing Jane. She had never seen anything so threatening in her life. His teeth were bared in a ferocious grimace, his brows lowered in a fierce scowl, and glittering black eyes glared at her menacingly.

Jane’s first thought, quickly suppressed, was
Goodness, what a magnificent-looking specimen!
Her second was that she could well believe that this dangerous-looking man might, indeed, be a highwayman. Her third was.
Good heavens, how have I, of all people, ever managed to get myself into such an alarming and indecorous situation?

No matter what the man’s station in life, however, she felt somewhat responsible for his present condition, since it was her coachman—her inebriated coachman—who had caused it. And even a highwayman did not deserve to be left to the inevitable fate which awaited him if his injury remained untreated. Therefore, gathering her courage and assuming a calmness she did not feel, she forced herself to move toward her patient. A patient who looked to be extremely angry and who, she feared, was in no mood to be cooperative.

 

CHAPTER TWO

 

Gripping his thigh in a vain attempt to control the excruciating pain there, the wounded man thought,
Lord! It hurts like the very devil!
Perspiration popped out on his brow and he fought against the waves of faintness which threatened to overcome him. To make matters worse, his head hurt almost as much, too, and he supposed he must have struck it when he fell from his horse.

Past experience had taught him that the best way to take one’s mind off physical discomfort was to concentrate on something else. To that end, he stared at the female who had entered the room on the heels of those two Friday-faced minions who had deprived him of his clothing, then left him to bleed to death.

As a means of distraction, she left much to be desired, and he needed only one glance to take her measure. To begin with, she looked to be far past her prime. She was also something of a Long Meg, being rather taller than the average female. Her hair, partially covered by a lacy white cap, was a soft, though unremarkable shade of brown. And her gown, while obviously of the finest material and well made, was not designed to show off her feminine attributes to any advantage.

If she even had any feminine attributes to show off, he thought sourly. He had no means of knowing whether or not she was married, but everything about her fairly shouted Ape Leader. To do her justice, however, she did possess a rather fine pair of clear, grey eyes.

Had he not been in such pain, and so angry at finding himself here—wherever
here
was—and, worst of all, in such a damnably helpless state, he might almost have laughed at the expression of shock she’d worn upon first entering the room. That had soon given way to her present look of pinched disapproval. It took no imagination whatever to know that this female had never before been presented with the sight of an unclothed male.

He watched her warily as she approached the bed and, in order to retain some control over his situation, he forestalled anything she might say by demanding, “Where the devil am I?”

A small, strained smile had begun to form on her lips, but at his words she pressed them firmly together once more before replying, in a surprisingly civil tone, “You are at Meadowbrook, sir. My home. And I am...”

He did not hear the remainder of her speech, for his senses began to dim as another wave of faintness washed over him. He squeezed his eyes shut as be fought it. When it finally passed, he spoke through gritted teeth. “And how is it that I find myself an unwilling guest here, ma’am?”

A frown of concern creased her brow, but he was far too occupied with more immediate matters to note it.

“I shall be happy to answer your questions, sir,” she said. “But at a later time, if you please. For now, suffice it to say that you have been shot; that the bullet is still in the wound; and that it must be removed and the bleeding stopped if you are to survive. I am sorry to state the matter so bluntly, but that is the truth in a nutshell.”

“Bloody hell!” he muttered. Then, glancing behind her and seeing only one of the minions, he said, “In that case, I hope you have sent for a doctor.”

From the expressions which crossed her face, he was certain that he could see into her mind with a great deal of accuracy. Quite obviously, she was magnanimously suppressing her natural instinct to object to his language. He felt certain, too, that she was attempting to make allowances for a man who was in a great deal of pain as well as weakened from loss of blood. It was a pity that he was not able, just now, to appreciate fully the humour of it all.

She said, injecting a tone of rueful amusement into her voice, “Well, as to that, I am afraid that there is no doctor available.”

His eyes had closed again, but now they shot open in another furious glare.

Before he could treat her to more of what she undoubtedly considered his offensive utterances, she rushed into speech again. “However, sir, you are fortunate in that I have some knowledge of the healing arts. In fact, at the risk of sounding conceited, I am considered to be something of an expert in that area, and in the absence of a physician, I propose to remove the bullet myself.”

“The hell you will!”

Her mouth compressed once more, but she merely raised her eyebrows and said, “Very well, sir. If not I, then Jackson, my groom, will do it.” Then she said with an air of exaggerated innocence, “He has treated all manner of ailments in horses.”

At that, he narrowed his eyes at her and gritted his teeth again. Ominously, he said, “I am no horse, madam. I insist that you send for a doctor. If I must have someone digging into me with a knife, I want a real sawbones, not a damned horse-quack.”

“My dear sir, the nearest...ah, sawbones...is in Leeds and it would be hours before he could arrive. I fear you must choose between me and Jackson.”

At that, his eyes closed again. He dropped back onto the bed, then gasped at the pain caused by the sudden movement and clutched at his leg once more.

What in damnation had he ever done to deserve this? He had the dubious choice of entrusting his life and limb to a ham-handed horse doctor or to this female who considered herself to be an expert in the “healing arts.” Likely her expertise consisted of nothing more than waving a vinaigrette or a handful of burnt feathers under the noses of other vapourish females.

But, loath though he was to admit it, he knew her to be right in one respect. Something must be done, and done soon. Already he felt as weak as a sick kitten, and he was holding on to consciousness by a mere thread. And so, there really was no choice at all, was there? At least she didn’t look to be ham-handed.

With weary resignation, he growled, “Very well. Get on with it then—you, not that fugitive from a stable. It appears that you have me at your mercy.”

Until that moment, Jane had kept her gaze resolutely fixed on the man’s face, but now her eyes shifted to his wound, then skittered away again. She suddenly found herself lacking in confidence and more reluctant than ever to do what must be done. She knew that she must, but the thought of touching that bare, hairy, masculine limb with her own hands—without even the benefit of her gloves and his breeches between them—was almost more than her mind could cope with. It would have been difficult enough if he had remained unconscious, but with him awake...

Abruptly she turned away towards the washbasin, and was grateful to note that Agatha and Melrose had entered the room and were hovering just inside the doorway beside Jackson. Their presence served to
bolster her courage and add some much needed stiffness to her backbone.

She required her companion present to lend at least a measure of propriety to the situation, and as she began scrubbing her hands, she said, “I know this will not be pleasant for you, Agatha, but I thank you for coming.”

Agatha merely nodded and said, “We are out of laudanum, so I have sent Elsie to procure some. Is there anything more I can do to help?”

“No,” Jane replied. “Just the fact of your being here is a great help to me. As for the laudanum, we shall need it later, but I doubt it would take effect soon enough to be of use to us now.” Then, turning her attention to the men, she said, “Melrose, I shall need you and Jackson to stand ready to restrain the patient, should it become necessary.”

Looking very like men on their way to the gallows, the two crossed the room, Melrose going to the head of the bed and Jackson to the foot.

Jane, after pulling the low bedside table closer and arranging her basket upon it, eyed the two chairs in the chamber. But, judging that either of them would be too low for her purposes, she sat gingerly upon the edge of the bed beside the stranger’s exposed knee. From her basket she lifted a container of Scotch whisky, uncorked it, and was holding it over the wound when a new thought suddenly occurred to her. There was a very real chance that this man might yet die, from infection if not from blood loss, and they did not even know his name. Her mind shied away from the thought of an unmarked grave.

Determined, before beginning, to discover that much at least, she asked, “What is your name, sir?”

BOOK: The Highwayman
12.92Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Fallen from Grace by Songstad, Leigh
Sex, Lies and Midnight by Tawny Weber
Wildwood Creek by Wingate, Lisa
Virulent: The Release by Shelbi Wescott
Fourmile by Watt Key