An Inconvenient Kiss

by Carole Kimberly

  “The wound is long, but it doesn’t appear deep enough to have fractured the skull. Still, head wounds bleed heavily.”

  Pulling out a suture set, the doctor pushed Simon out of the way. As he stood, he felt as though his knees might buckle. He was only vaguely aware that Whiting was still talking.

  “I can close the wound to help the healing. Miss Phillips, would you be so kind as to see if you can get the boy to talk? I’d like to determine his state of mind.”

  Simon was dimly aware that Georgiana was present. She had dropped to her knees and had Baljit’s hand in hers.

  “Baljit,” she said softly. “Can you hear me? I need you to look at me.”

  Baljit’s eyelids fluttered. After what appeared to be great effort, he opened his eyes and looked at Georgiana. His eyes were dazed and glassy, and Simon prayed Baljit was coherent.

  “Yes,” Georgiana encouraged him, her voice catching. “That’s very good, Baljit. Do you remember my name?”

  “Miss Georgiana,” he managed to whisper. He closed his eyes again. “My ear is ringing. I do not want to go to the market today.”

  “Good,” she said. “I’ve decided to take the day off from the market. But I need you to open your eyes, Baljit.” When he did, she asked, “Can you tell me what happened this morning? Do you remember?”

  He tried to nod, but winced in pain. His eyes rolled back a bit. “I wanted to stop Mr. Nathaniel from shooting Mr. Simon.” He tried to sit up abruptly, his eyes wild. “Where is Mr. Simon? Did he die from delope?”

  Simon moved so that Baljit could see him. “I’m right here, Baljit,” he said hoarsely. “I’m fine. You stopped the duel with your head.”

  Baljit frowned a little. “I don’t want you to die, Mr. Simon. You and Miss Georgiana are the only family I have.”

  “Nothing is going to happen to us, Baljit,” Simon said softly.

  “You and Mr. Nathaniel are friends,” Baljit murmured. “You should not fight.”

  Nath, who was still cradling the boy in his arms, let his breath out on a sob. “I’m so sorry, Baljit. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “Please do not shoot my family,” Baljit scolded tiredly.

  “No,” Nath said emphatically. “I won’t—I wasn’t going to shoot Simon. I swear on my honor. And I would never hurt you, Baljit.”

  Baljit’s nod was almost imperceptible. He closed his eyes again.

  Dr. Whiting spoke up. “Major. Lieutenant Colonel. You’ll need to hold him. With any luck, he’ll pass out quickly.”

  Simon grimly took Baljit’s legs and Nathaniel held his arms. Dr. Whiting gingerly pulled the coat from Baljit’s wound, the sticky, matted blood pulling away from his hair in an ugly glob. The doctor pulled a stopper from a small jar and ordered, “Hold fast.”

  He poured the liquid over the gash in Baljit’s head, and the boy’s eyes opened in pain and confusion. A moment later his screams echoed through the early morning quietude as the doctor began to work the needle through the wound. Finally, the pain became too great and Baljit fell silent, unconsciousness taking him.

  Doctor Whiting finished the sutures and wrapped Baljit’s head with a bandage. He sighed heavily. “He has a concussion, but he’s lucid so there shouldn’t be permanent damage to his mind. Now that the wound is sutured it stands a good chance of healing well. Our bigger battle is to make sure he doesn’t become septic. This climate tends leave a patient prone to a variety of infections.” He looked at Simon and Georgiana. “I’m afraid there’s little I can do about that.”

  Simon picked up Baljit’s limp body. “We’ll change the bandages often and keep the wound as clean as possible.”

  Georgiana, of course, was not so easily dismissed.

  “Doctor,” she insisted, “during my travels, I’ve observed the medical procedures of several cultures. While there’s a wide variety of treatment between each, as one would naturally expect, several commonalities have appeared. One of the most interesting is—”

  Dr. Whiting looked down his nose at her. “Ah, so you’re a doctor, Miss Phillips.”

  “Of course not,” Georgiana said, wiping away tears. “But I did learn that infections in most of the countries I visited, even apparently in ancient Egypt—”

  “My dear lady,” the doctor said in a pandering tone. “I appreciate your opinion, but I think I shall politely defer to my years of training and practice. As you’ve had a very trying morning, I think it would be wise if returned to the cantonment to rest. I could offer you a sedative if you’d like.”

  If Simon hadn’t been carrying Baljit, he would have slugged the good doctor in the mouth. He was about to tell Whiting to stop being a pompous ass, but he was interrupted by Nathaniel.

  “Doctor,” Nath said rising to his full height, “my sister and I have had our differences, and I’ll be the first to admit Georgiana is overbearing and garrulous. But she’s also entirely brilliant and, to my great chagrin, usually correct. So, if she has a possible solution, you will listen.” Nath looked directly at her. “We will all listen.”

  Georgiana was watching her brother with bemused appreciation. She nodded at him. “Honey,” she said simply. “Raw honey is frequently employed to prevent infection.”

  Dr. Whiting raised his brows. “You want me to feed him honey?”

  Georgiana looked a bit sheepish. “I want you to put it on his wound.”

  “Honey? On an open wound?” The doctor’s eyes looked about to bulge from his head. “In all my years of practice, I’ve never—” Seeing Nath and Simon’s set faces, he blustered, “This boy doesn’t stand a chance. He’s sure to get an infection from this...this prevention of yours!”

  Simon met her eyes. He knew the desperation he saw there was likely mirrored in his own. “Are you absolutely sure, Princess?”

  “I am.”

  Nathaniel turned to the rest of their party. “Tolley. Duff. Run down to that old spice vendor...Kassim?”

  “Kavi,” Georgiana and Simon said together.

  “Kavi,” Nath echoed. “See if he is selling honey today. If not, find someone who is.”

  Dr. Whiting glared at them. “I’ll not be held responsible for this boy’s death.”

  Nathaniel patted the doctor on the back. “You’ve done all you can for now, doctor. I expect you’ll want to check on your patient later this evening, at your earliest convenience.” His tone left little doubt that the doctor’s earliest convenience would indeed be early.

  Nath motioned to Simon and Georgiana. “Let’s get him back to the cantonment and get him comfortable.”

  The walk was long despite their efforts to move quickly. No one seemed to have anything to say. Simon carried Baljit the entire way, even though Nath and Skeff both offered to take the boy for part of the hike. Simon was unwilling to let him go, however.

  Upon reaching the camp, Skeff took off to oversee Simon’s workload and Dr. Whiting excused himself to clean up. Simon strode to his bungalow, Georgiana in tow. He kicked through the doorway and past Geeta. Ignoring her gasp—and her steady stream of frantic questions—he began making his way toward Baljit’s bedroom. Nath, who’d followed them, immediately set to ordering the housekeeper about. Geeta, familiar enough with lieutenant colonel, took off quickly to fetch food, water and clean linens.

  Simon laid Baljit down on the bed and arranged him in what he hoped was a comfortable position. He looked so damned vulnerable, gray and lifeless against the stark linens. Simon exhaled a shaky breath. He was feeling a bit gray himself.

  Georgiana was at his shoulder. She sniffed a little then turned into Simon’s arms and buried her face against his chest. He could feel her shaking, so he stroked her hair, trying to soothe her.

  “He’s going to be all right,” Simon said hoarsely, more for himself than for Georgiana. “He’s a survivor.” />
  Georgiana nodded against him. “Yes,” she said. She raised her head to say something more, but stopped abruptly. “You’re bleeding.”

  Simon shook his head and looked unseeing at the mess on his sleeve. He was feeling a bit light-headed, he realized. “It’s Baljit’s blood, love. Not mine.”

  She touched his shoulder, and Simon winced at the contact. The pain made him rather nauseated. Georgiana looked at him, fear in her eyes. “You’ve been hit?”

  “Huh,” he grunted. “So it would seem.”

  Georgiana grew very pale. “Simon? Take off your shirt.”

  Simon just looked at her, trying to keep himself from swaying. “It’s fine,” he mumbled. “The bullet must have nicked me.”

  Nath had silently entered the room looking rather pale himself. “Remove your shirt, Major,” he said. “That’s an order.”

  Simon felt like he was floating. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, he thought, but he needed to focus on Baljit. By the look on the siblings’ faces, Simon knew better than to argue. Rather than waste his breath, he removed his shirt and hissed a little as the fabric reluctantly pulled away from coagulated blood. He looked down at his arm, and his head swam at the sudden movement.

  The bullet had scraped the outer part of his muscle, an inch below the shoulder. The wound was bleeding freely, Simon noted, and the effort of carrying Baljit had likely not done the injury any favors. By the size of the stain on his shirt, Simon realized he’d likely lost a fair amount of blood. That probably wasn’t a good sign.

  Georgiana’s sharp gasp brought him back to reality. Nath swore and was already wadding up Simon’s shirt to ebb the bleeding. “Get Whiting,” he barked at Georgiana.

  Simon opened his mouth to tell Nath not to speak to Georgiana that way. Trouble was, he couldn’t quite stop the room from spinning.

  His brain didn’t seem to be working right, and he felt himself sway, perched on the edge of darkness. He looked at Nathaniel, his eyes blurring, and managed to mumble, “Good shot,” before he crumpled to the ground.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Simon returned to consciousness in slow increments. He was awake, he realized in a fog, but was unable to open his eyes, as his eyelids seemed to be made of lead. He wanted to sit up, but he lacked the strength to even lift his head. His arm felt like it was on fire.

  He wanted to see Baljit. He needed to sit up. Sit up, sit up, sit up, he ordered his body. No matter how hard he willed it, his body refused to cooperate.

  Simon’s frustration ebbed as his consciousness gradually increased. Little details seeped into his awareness. He could feel a presence at his side. Georgiana, he thought. The scent of lavender and mint permeated his senses, and he could feel the warmth of her breath by his cheek. Georgiana was lying next to him—he didn’t need to see her to know she was there.

  A small hand was curled in his, and he squeezed it gently. He waited a moment, allowing himself a chance to gather his strength. When there was no response, he squeezed again, a little harder. This time, her response was immediate. “Simon?” Georgiana murmured.

  It took great effort, but Simon forced his eyelids to flutter open. Georgiana was looking down at him, fear and hope etched across her features. The delicate skin under her eyes was bruised and her hair was a wild mass of inky curls that looked as though it hadn’t seen a brush in days.

  “Hello,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper.

  At that, she burst into tears. She wrapped hers arms around his neck and murmured something incoherent against his temple. Georgiana cradled him next to her, a steady stream of tears and kisses dampening his hair and forehead.

  “Baljit?” he managed.

  “He’s fine,” Georgiana whispered, still crying. “He’s just fine. Dr. Whiting may let him out of bed for a little while tomorrow.”

  Simon shook his head, feeling woozy at the action. “That’s too soon.”

  Georgiana pulled herself away to meet his eye, her chin still quivering. “You’ve been in and out of consciousness for days, my love.”

  “Days?” Simon asked, trying to sit up.

  “Three days. Save your strength,” Georgiana scolded, pushing him back down. “You lost a lot of blood, Simon. It was a fairly minor wound, but carrying Baljit back to the cantonment made it bleed heavily. If we hadn’t caught it when we did... Dr. Whiting managed to sew it up, but we didn’t know if you were going to make it.”

  Simon laid his head on his pillow and tried to make sense of that. “I’ve been out for three days?”

  Georgiana nodded.

  The door opened and Nath peeked his head in. “Gi?” Nath asked. “Did you need something? I thought I heard—”

  Upon seeing Simon awake, Nath’s taut face relaxed. He leaned heavily against the door jamb and took a deep, shuddering breath.

  “You look like hell,” Simon observed.

  It was true. Lieutenant Colonel Phillips was pale and drawn and red-eyed. The deep creases in his trousers and shirt made it look as though he hadn’t changed clothes in a week, and his hair—normally sleek against his head—was rumpled beyond recognition. His relief at seeing Simon awake was palpable.

  Nath gave a dry chuckle. “I’m so very glad to hear you say that,” he replied. “For the record, you look worse.” He gestured to Georgiana and said, “See there, Gi? I told you he was too stubborn to die.” Pushing himself off the door frame, he crossed the room and offered his hand to his sister. “Georgiana, you could use some fresh air.”

  Georgiana scrubbed away her tears defiantly. “I’m not leaving him, Nath.”

  “Simon needs food,” he pointed out. “And something to drink.”

  “So get him something,” Georgiana snapped, moving protectively into Simon.

  At the stubborn set of her chin, Nath said mildly, “Gi, you know that housekeeper of his—Greta or whatever her name is—has a tendency to throw things at me.”

  “Geeta,” Georgiana corrected, reluctantly rising from her seat. “And she only throws things at you because you shot her two favorite people.”

  She gave Simon a swift kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be back,” she promised. “Do not pass out again.” Pointing her finger at her brother, she warned, “If he loses consciousness while I’m gone, I will string you up by your innards.”

  Nath seemed unperturbed by the threat and took a seat. When she’d left the room, he quietly assessed Simon. “I’d appreciate it if you’d stay awake, for my sake. She’s quite the bloodthirsty little thing, you know. I’ve been on the receiving end of her wrath for the last three days.”

  Simon snorted. “And here I’d thought you two had made up.”

  Nathaniel shrugged. “We’re working on it.”

  Neither man seemed to know what to say as the silence stretched awkwardly between them. Finally, Nathaniel cleared his throat.

  “I know this doesn’t change what’s happened, but, um, I wasn’t actually intending to shoot you,” he said by way of apology. “And I never would have harmed Baljit. The gun fired when he tackled me.”

  Simon didn’t say anything. For the first time since Simon had known Lieutenant Colonel Phillips, Nath seemed genuinely contrite.

  Nath shrugged a shoulder slightly. “Like I said, I know it doesn’t change anything, and Georgiana refuses to believe me, but I...I wanted you to know that.”

  “I knew you weren’t going to shoot me,” Simon finally said softly. “I knew even before you shot me.”

  Nath looked at him skeptically. “How could you have known? I wasn’t even sure of it myself until Baljit came running at me.”

  It was Simon’s turn to shrug. “If you had wanted to kill me,” he said, “I’d have been dead before my weapon hit the ground.”

  Nath was looking at him thoughtfully.

 
“You hesitated, Nath,” Simon said, his tone matter-of-fact. “If you’d been sure of your decision, you wouldn’t have paused.” He took Nath’s silence as agreement. “So why didn’t you shoot me? On purpose, I mean.”

  Nath chewed his lip, a gesture so reminiscent of his sister that it made Simon impatient to see Georgiana. “Do you remember what you said to me as we faced off that morning?” Nath asked. “You told me that I dishonored myself, and that I was blaming you because it was easier.”

  “I was angry,” Simon said.

  “You were right,” Nath demurred. “Even if you had fired at me, I wasn’t going to shoot you. Though I wanted to,” he admitted.

  Simon nodded. “I wanted to shoot you too.”

  “I know,” Nath said simply. “I saw it in your eyes. You’d have killed me to protect my sister’s honor. Hell, you would’ve died to protect her.”

  “Yes. And I’m going to marry Georgiana,” Simon warned slowly. “If you don’t like it, you’ll have to shoot me for real.”

  Nathaniel considered Simon’s words. Finally he nodded and said, “Shooting an innocent boy and a friend rather changes one’s perspective on things.” He looked at Simon. “Besides, I’m pretty sure Georgiana wouldn’t hesitate to kill me with her bare hands if I hurt you again. She hasn’t left your side except to sit with Baljit.”

  Simon felt unaccountably satisfied at that.

  Nathaniel clearly saw it in his eyes, and told him, “I’ve learned a healthy amount of respect for my sister. Not only has she tended to you and Baljit, she hasn’t backed down at all from that quack Whiting. And I’ll be damned to admit it, but the honey worked. It’s hard to think ill of someone whose loyalties run so deep.”

  “So,” Simon said, a kernel of hope blossoming in his chest. “Does this mean you’ll come to our wedding?”

  “I’ve already written to my parents, and your brother Ethan, telling them about the felicitous event,” Nath said conversationally. “I also explained certain details about Georgiana’s ruination and your engagement that I considered pertinent to the situation. What they choose to do with that information is their business. Either way, I’ll have to attend the wedding or be called a liar.”