The sound of a coach rolling toward them made them hustle behind a building to hide, fearing they had been discovered by the highwaymen. The coach rolled past them and came to a stop, the markings on the side clearly indicating it was the mail. Relief surged through Emma and she noted Dare dropped his pistol once more into the pocket of his greatcoat.
A man jumped out, mail was exchanged, and the coach rolled on into the night. They struggled back to their feet toward the inn, the orange windows glowing from the lights inside. Emma’s hopes soared. They had made it.
Dare winced but managed to stand on his own, though for how long he could manage, she was not sure. His face was pale, and she feared he may soon lose consciousness. She opened the door and they walked into the inn. In the light, Emma realized what a curious sight they must make, dirty and soaked through.
They stood in the entryway, blinking in the light. An open doorway to the right revealed a stairway, which most likely led to the upper sleeping chambers. Doors on the left of the main entryway led into the taproom and pub, though all was quiet in the sleepy hamlet. Despite the relative warmth of the inn, Emma could not stop shivering. Sally’s teeth were chattering.
A man appeared, ruddy in cheek and wide in belly, with tufts of white hair circling his bald head. He wore an amiable smile, which sagged when he saw their pathetic, little party. “Oh my, oh my, did you come in on the mail? Looks like you’ve had a time of it. Come in! Will you be wanting a room for the night?”
“Yes, that would be lovely,” sighed Emma.
“Right away, right away. Are you hungry too? We always leave a pot of stew in the hearth for our late-night visitors that arrive on the mail.”
“Yes, that would be appreciated, but first a room. Could you send for—” She was about to ask for a doctor and the magistrate when a voice from outside the door made her heart stop.
“Look around. If they’re here, we’ll find them,” rumbled the familiar gravelly voice from the other side of the door.
His comrades responded in muttering growls.
“Well, more passengers from the mail?” asked the innkeeper, looking past them to the door.
“We are completely done in. A room as quick as may be, please,” begged Emma, desperate to get out of sight.
“Of course! Martha, show these three to their room,” said the innkeeper and bustled past them to the door.
A woman in a white cap and a dressing gown appeared with a yawn and led them to the stairs. Emma wrapped an arm around Dare and practically shoved him out of the entryway just as the innkeeper welcomed the highwaymen into the inn. They struggled up the stairs, out of sight of the man in black, but his voice thundered through the hall.
“We’re looking for our friend,” said the highwayman in false politeness. “He would have arrived on foot and may be in the company of two women. He is not well, been injured, important for us to find him soon.”
“Well now,” answered the innkeeper. “We got some folks that came in from the mail, but no one arrived on foot.”
Emma climbed the stairs quickly, pulling Dare along with her. All she wanted was to put a locked door between her and the highwaymen below. She had endured enough excitement for one day, possibly the entire year.
“Here you are,” said the landlady, opening one of the doors. “Is he well?” she asked, looking askance at Dare, who looked almost green with a sickly hue.
“Traveling does not agree with him,” said Emma quickly, helping him into the room. She wanted to ask for a doctor but feared that would alert the men below that Dare was here. “I’m sure a little rest should right him.”
“I hope it will. Beg pardon, but what did you say your names were?” She looked up at them over her spectacles.
“Mr. and Mrs. Anders, and my maid, Sally,” improvised Emma, knowing that if those men were after her, giving her real name would be fatal. She also needed to remain with Dare to tend his wounds. If they could not get a proper physician, she would have to do what she could. She realized only after the words had left her mouth that she could have told the innkeeper’s wife that she and Dare were siblings, but it hadn’t crossed her mind as a possibility.
“Send down your maid when you’re finished with her for the night. We can make her comfortable in the servants’ quarters,” said the landlady.
“Oh…oh, yes. Right.” Emma smiled even brighter to hide her sudden panic. She refused to look at the single bed in the room. Where they would be expected to sleep. Together. Without her maid.
Of course, she should not under any circumstances spend the night alone with a stranger. Dare held himself rigid, his teeth clenched from the effort of standing. One glance at the pale, strained face of her protector, and she knew she could not leave him to his fate.
“Magistrate available?” asked Dare in a raspy voice.
“The magistrate?” asked the landlady. “Well, no, sir. Sir Gerald is visiting his mother, but he should be returning tomorrow morning. Have you need of a magistrate?” She wrung her apron in her hands.
“Only a property matter my husband has been talking about,” said Emma quickly, not wanting to alert the landlady that anything was amiss if she could not do anything about it. She feared that any sign from them that they needed a doctor or the magistrate would bring them to the attention of the very men they were trying to evade.
“Well then, do have a pleasant stay. I warrant you could use some warming,” said the innkeeper’s wife, looking relieved. A maid entered and lit a fire in the grate, for which Emma was quite grateful.
“Thank you. We are half-frozen, I fear,” said Emma.
“Would you like me to take your cloaks and brush them out and hang them by the fire downstairs? And if you put out your boots, I’ll have those attended to as well,” said the innkeeper’s wife.
“Yes, thank you,” said Emma, trying to figure a way to ask for help without raising suspicion. She tugged off her wet, leather gloves and struggled to unbutton her coat with numb fingers, giving it to the landlady. Dare shifted and a glimpse of something red could be seen. The bloodstains, which were dark and muted in the night, were a garish, bright red on the bandage she had hastily wrapped. Emma feared the landlady had seen the blood, but the elderly woman was focused on Emma’s cloak in her arms.
“We’ll keep his greatcoat. Thank you so much. We are indebted to you.” Emma attempted to hustle the landlady out of the room. “Since my husband is feeling poorly, something warm to eat and drink in the room would be ever so delightful, and some hot water and clean towels if you can manage. I fear we are chilled down to the marrow of our bones!”
“Yes, of course, poor dears. I’ll send it right up to you.”
The innkeeper’s wife and the maid left just as Dare collapsed onto the bed.
“Dare!” Emma ran up to him, but he had finally lost consciousness. She wondered how he had managed to stand up for as long as he had. She rolled him onto his back and tried to inspect the wound on his side, but her hands were too cold and numb to do much more than bat at him ineffectually. She pulled a blanket over him to try to keep him warm. It was all she could do for him in her present condition.
“Oh, this is no good. I need to get warm. And so do you,” she said, looking at her shivering maid. “Come. Help me into something warm and dry.”
Emma shook her head at the state of her trunk. It was of sturdy construction, but was considerably the worse for wear after being dragged through the mud. She was relieved to find her clothes were cold but not wet.
“You can’t undress in front of a strange man,” protested Sally.
“He is unconscious and I am freezing.” Emma understood Sally’s objection, but it was time to be practical. Though Emma dismissed the concern, she was quite conscious of taking off her gown before him, even though she knew he could not see her…but still she was undressing before a strange man and the v
ery thought sent warm tingles up her spine.
“Shouldn’t be doing this,” muttered Sally as she assisted Emma out of her wet, dirty frock. “That man was with them bad men. He killed one of them. I saw it!” accused Sally.
“Actually, one bad man killed another bad man, which is lamentable, because I suppose somewhere he has a poor mother, but perhaps a predictable end for the manner in which he chose to live.” Emma took command of her dressing, changing as fast as she could into a clean, dry gown and rubbing her hands together to bring them back to life. It was a relief to be out of her wet stockings and shoes. Her feet ached as feeling slowly returned, but at least they were now dry.
“Let me help you change, Sally, or you’ll catch your death,” said Emma.
“I’m not taking off my gown in front of ’im. No, not ever. And you shouldn’t have done it either.”
“Well, it is done. If you will not change here, you will need to go down to the servants’ quarters,” said Emma to her shivering maid.
“But you can’t stay here with him. Alone. With a man,” Sally elucidated the arguments unnecessarily.
“He is unconscious and in need of my help.”
“But—”
“I doubt I will get any sleep, what with tending him through the night. You will most likely be safer in the servants’ quarters.”
“Oh, then I’ll go there,” said Sally, focused on her own safety. “You don’t think those bad men will come back?”
“Not if we do not attract attention to ourselves. Remember we are Mr. and Mrs. Anders and we arrived on the mail.”
A short rap at the door brought a girl with a tray. Emma was relieved to see food, towels, and hot water.
“Thank you kindly,” said Emma. “Could you show my maid where she can get some refreshment and sleep for the night?”
“Yes, miss,” said the maid and nodded for Sally to follow her.
Sally grabbed her bandbox and trailed after the maid out the door. Emma only hoped Sally would not give them away.
Bolting the door after her maid left, Emma took a deep breath. It was all highly unusual, but she would do what she needed to do. She could not allow the man who had saved her to die.
Emma walked to the edge of the bed, watching the slight rise and fall of his chest as the man breathed. She was alone with a strange man. A man who needed her help.
And the first step was to remove his clothes.
Eight
Emma walked boldly to the side of the bed where the strange man was lying. She was acting as a medical practitioner, nothing else. “I need to undress you to examine your injuries. Would that be acceptable to you?”
Dare gave no response.
“I will accept your silence as tacit approval.” Emma pulled back the blanket and took another deep breath. She needed to undress him. His skin was like ice, and she feared that without immediate help, he would not last the night.
She began by removing his Hessian boots and wet stockings. She could discern no injuries on his lower extremities. His trousers were cold and wet, clinging to muscular thighs, but inspecting his legs did not reveal further injury, so she ignored them while she inspected his wound. She glanced quickly over his midsection and then up to his right side, which was caked in blood, some fresh, some dried. She removed the hasty bandage and tugged off his wool greatcoat and jacket, managing to remove them by gently rolling him from side to side to get them off. Next came the cravat, followed by the waistcoat.
His clothes marked him a gentleman. Emma was no expert in fashion but she had read her fair share of society papers and fashion plates, and could easily tell this man was well heeled. What had happened to him? What kind of a name was “Dare”? Were the men who accosted her on the road sent by Eustace, or were they random brigands?
Emma was puzzled to find the man’s watch fob and money pouch still on him. If the motive of the highwaymen was robbery, they had done a poor job of it. She hoped he would have answers to these questions, but the only way to hear them would be to save his life.
She stared at him in his current state of undress. No respectable man would ever be seen wearing nothing but shirtsleeves, and it was only going to get worse, for his linens must be removed. She pulled his bloody shirt up and over his head, focusing on her duty to keep her mind off the fact that she was undressing a perfect stranger.
A perfect, muscular stranger.
A perfect, muscular, handsome stranger, with rippling abdominal muscles that appeared to be cut from stone.
Which was completely irrelevant.
Except that it was entirely important.
Emma blinked at the man, now half-naked before her. He had dark-brown hair tied at the nape of his neck, though several strands had come loose and rested on the pillow. His face was tanned from the sun, showing the effects of working outdoors, unlike the pasty skin of her stepbrother. No, the man before her was one accustomed to action.
She stared at his trousers, knowing she had one last responsibility. He could not remain in cold, wet clothes. To do so was to risk his life. The trousers needed to go. And she needed to do it.
Her hands hovered over the button fall of his trousers. Was she really going to do this? Though she had tended many sick and injured people, this was something she had never done. She forced herself to undo the two buttons on one side of the fall, and then the two buttons on the other side. She glanced at the unconscious man. The wound was still oozing blood. She needed to work fast.
She took a deep breath, her hands hovering over his now-undone trousers. With any luck, he was wearing short pants underneath—or maybe with any luck, he wasn’t. She pushed the lecherous thought aside. She was caring for a man in need. That was all. With a quick flick of the wrist, she flipped down the fall of his trousers to reveal he was wearing linen short pants.
“Good. Very good,” she said to no one particular. She began the work of pulling off his wet trousers, which required some effort and repositioning of him, not to mention that the short pants wanted to come off with the trousers, since they were all wet. She was forced to come very close to certain parts of his anatomy to effectively remove the trousers, her cheeks burning at the positions in which she found herself. She finally succeeded in her efforts, but not before she had become intimately aware that the man she was assisting was, indeed, quite all man.
Emma cleared her throat and covered the lower half of the man to keep him warm and protect his modesty, not to mention prevent her from becoming overly distracted by the undeniable, chiseled perfection of his physique.
Emma dipped one of the towels into the water and began to cleanse the wound. She needed to stop the bleeding. A close inspection showed he was suffering from a gunshot wound to his right side, several inches above his hipbone. The warm water brought the injury into focus, but also encouraged it to bleed more. She needed to work fast, as he had lost a good deal of blood.
She felt around the wound, trying to ascertain if any major organs had been struck. She was most concerned about his kidney or intestines, but the bullet had angled up and away from anything vital. An exit wound showed the bullet had pierced through, so hopefully it had done so cleanly.
Emma went back to the shirt and laid it out, searching carefully for the place where the bullet passed. A hole in the garment filled her with dread. Any material left within him could cause the wound to fester. She went to her medical bag and selected some long tweezers. She needed to retrieve that bit of material.
“Forgive me,” she muttered. She drew a lantern closer and began to probe the wound.
“Arrrgh.” Dare’s eyes flew open with a start. His hand shot out and grasped her arm.
“Trying to help,” she gasped, pulling at his viselike fingers.
His eyes roved around the room in short anxious darts, then fixed back on her and immediately released her.
“So
rry,” he rasped.
Emma rubbed her arm where she was sure he had left a bruise. “No, perfectly understandable. It appears you have been shot.”
He nodded.
“Did those men do it?”
He nodded again.
She wanted to ask who they were and why they shot him, but she needed to save his life first. “There is a bit of your shirt missing,” she began.
He frowned. “Need to get it out. Call a surgeon. No…they may track me. Don’t want to put you at risk.”
She was pleased at least he understood what needed to be done. “With your permission, I can try to do it myself.”
Dare’s frown deepened.
“My father was a physician. He trained me to assist.”
Dare stared at her, his black eyes piercing through to her very soul. Even lying on his back, bleeding to death, the man was intimidating. As she returned his gaze, she realized his dark eyes were not black, but actually a very dark brown with tiny flecks of amber. It gave him a searing look.
“Are you able to do it?” he asked.
Emma swallowed down doubt. “Yes, I believe I can.”
“Then do it.”
Emma reached for a bottle of laudanum. “Here, this will help. A little at least.”
Dare seemed reluctant to take it.
“I fear you will want it.” She prepared a tincture and handed it to him. He swallowed it down with a grimace, for the medicine was extremely bitter.
Emma took a calming breath. She would need a steady hand and a bit of luck. She prayed that luck would be providentially provided. She rinsed the wound and took the long tweezers and a metal probe and began carefully to do her work. Dare gritted his teeth and went rigid.
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