Why?
Why was he thinking—
Lady Charlotte.
Had Lady Charlotte been here, sitting at his bedside? Had they spoken of . . .dragons?
He rubbed his brow and took in another bracing lungful of air. The deep breaths blew away the silky tendrils of laudanum that clouded his thinking and addled his wits.
But the further he awoke, the more he realized—
Everything hurt.
His leg.
His head.
His chest.
His veryskinached.
He was finished with the laudanum.
He would not take another drop.
Another deep breath. In and out.
His mind cleared further. This was not as fortuitous as he might have hoped.
The fleeing mental cobwebs released another fluttery stampede of panicked thoughts.
He was stuck in this god-forsaken bed, hundreds of miles from home, and bloody hell—
No oneknew where he was.
No.
One.
In hindsight, he should have takensomeoneinto his confidence. McNeal, at the very least.
But McNeal would have insisted on telling Catriona. And what if Catriona had fancied the idea of having a marquess for a brother?
Alex had simply not wanted anyone to pressure him to make a different decision.
But now—
Everyonewould have to know. McNeal. Catriona. It was impossible to not inform them, particularly as Alex would spend the next few months recuperating a solid week’s journey away from Edinburgh.
Catriona was going to be furious—understandably hurt and angry that he had kept this secret from her. McNeal, too.
Och! How would McNeal manage their practice without him? Alex was going to have to send detailed notes about patients—what to do with Mrs. Stewart’s diabetes, and Mr. White’s gout, and Mr. McKay’s cancerous growth.
And what about Alex’s friends? Damnation, he was likely going to miss the Brotherhood’s meeting in March, wasn’t he?
That meant he was going to have to tell them the entire sordid story.
Alex let out a low groan.
