Kathleen E. Woodiwiss(195)
“The fate of the courageous, I suppose,” Trahern said over his shoulder as he brushed by.
“Aye,” the reply came quickly. “Rightly so. Would have come anyway if it hadn’t happened in the last moment there, but didn’t know how bad it was, or what good I’d be in a fight. There was one, I see.” He gave a nod toward the wounded man being carried up the stairs. “I see you’ve captured that chap, Ruark. Dastardly thing he did, running off like that and kidnapping your daughter. A foul man, to be sure. Get him well enough to stand a hanging.”
It was Gaylord’s good fortune that Shanna was arguing her point with the doctor and completely missed his words. Trahern’s answering grunt was noncommittal; he rather savored the idea of letting his daughter set good Gaylord right in his thinking. He had no doubt that the event would occur soon enough without any urging on his part.
“Join me in a rum while they get Mister Ruark to bed,” Trahern invited and mounted the stairs after the group. “ ‘Twill be interesting to see what they must do to keep him alive for the hanging.”
The knight hobbled up after his portly host as best he could, since no one paused to give assistance. When at the head of the stairs Pitney bore the bondslave off in the direction of Shanna’s chambers, Gaylord managed to disguise some degree of his concern. Still, he hurried to catch up with the squire to bring the matter to the elder’s attention.
“Do you think it wise to have that renegade so close to your daughter’s rooms? I mean, if the chap hasn’t done his worst by now, he’s likely to, eh? The sly one that he is, a lady should take precautions or be reminded of the dangers when she cannot see them for herself.”
Trahern replied with a touch of humor. “I think it wise of me not to deny my daughter anything at the present moment.”
“Still, sir!” Gaylord became adamant. “A gentleman’s future wife can hardly be quartered in the same wing with a knave without some wagging tongue claiming that the good man’s being cuckolded.”
Squire Trahern halted abruptly in his tracks and faced the man, and as the humor faded, a glint of anger shown piercingly in his green eyes.
“I do not question my daughter’s virtue, nor would I believe rumors put to the fore by some rejected suitor or mewling bitch. My daughter has a mind and will of her own and a good sense of what is decent. Do not strain my hospitality by indicating differently.”
A shout from Pitney had sent Berta and Hergus running ahead to the chambers Shanna had indicated, and by the time he came through the door with his burden, they had folded back the linens and placed a double layer as a rest for Ruark’s wounded leg.
The room became a place of activity. Pitney was followed closely by the surgeon who stepped aside to allow Shanna to enter before him. Trahern joined them with Gaylord directly behind him, and the two of them observed the proceedings from just inside the door. Shanna urged their care as Ruark was stretched on the bed. The linen shirt and his stockings were stripped from him. The surgeon directed that a small table be set near for his knives and instruments. Hergus hied to slide one close, glancing anxiously toward Shanna, who had dipped a cloth into a basin of water and had begun to lightly bathe Ruark’s face and chest. The breeches had been split up the one leg to the hip, and as Herr Schauman yanked away the sticky bandage, the maid caught a glimpse of the blood-caked, oozing wound. Unaccustomed to the sight of gaping flesh, Hergus whirled and fled the room, her hand clutched tightly over her mouth. Shanna stared after the woman in amazement. Hergus had always seemed so stalwart and unruffled, not at all inclined to be squeamish.
“Females!” the doctor muttered. He gestured irritably to Ruark’s stained breeches, which were blackened with gunpowder and bore the same acrid scent. “Unless you find your delicate nature abused, girl, I suggest you rid him of those.”
A gasp of astonishment came from the shocked Berta at such a bidding, but Shanna did not hesitate. With her small dirk she reached out to rip the seam of the breeches and had made only a frayed spot at the knee when Pitney brushed her hands away and took out his huge, broad-bladed knife. He separated the garment to the waist with a single stroke and then finished parting the other leg of the garment.
Shanna turned in exasperation as Berta plucked for the third time at her sleeve. Pitney was easing the breeches from Ruark’s slim hips, and the housekeeper raised a trembling hand to carefully shield her eyes from the bed. Her cherubic face was crimson as she cautiously held her gaze upon Shanna’s face.
“Come, child,” she whispered urgently. “Ay tank dis is no place for you. Ve leave dis to the menfolk.”