"You have the fire and spirit of a Gypsy," The old woman cackled. "Stay with him. I will send the boy."
"It's too dangerous!"
"The boy will be all right. He knows the streets of Lisbon. They are only dangerous for those who do not know them. Besides, I would not risk him any more than I would risk this one. The boy is my grandson." She called to him and rapidly gave instructions. He nodded, then bounded from the room.
It seemed they waited an eternity. Elyse kept pressure on the wound, until Zamora pushed her aside and took her place. Then she couldn't keep still.
She paced, and she constantly checked the window. Then she turned at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. She picked up the pistol from the table beside the bed.
"Do you think my sons would let anyone else come into this room?" Zamora asked.
Tobias came through the door, followed by Sandy and Tris. Elyse thought she would collapse, so great was her relief. Tobias’ gaze immediately went to Zach, then found her as he rounded the bed.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Yes," she whispered brokenly, causing him to look up.
"Can you help him?" Doubt washed over her. Still nothing but silence, and that deepening frown on his face as he checked the wound.
"Tobias?"
"He's lost a lot of blood," he said without looking up. "And his pulse is weak." But there was a faint twinkling in his eyes. "I've seen him take worse." He fixed a speculative gaze on her. "Does it matter to you?"
She hesitated. She'd been certain of her feelings at the Green Dolphin when he'd first appeared, and she'd been certain when she'd thought Zamora's sons might hurt him.
"Yes."
Tobias smiled faintly. "Good." It was only a beginning, but it would have to do. "I'll need help, and I don't trust that old woman with her herbs and potions." He gestured to Zamora. His remark brought a glare from the old woman, but she held her tongue.
I'll do whatever I can."
"Bring my bag, then wash your hands thoroughly. And have that boy step closer with the lamp. My eyes aren't as good as they used to be, and we've got some work ahead of us." He nodded to Tris and Sandy. "Make certain we don't have trouble."
They nodded and took up places, one just outside the door, the other downstairs with Zamora's sons.
As long as she lived, Elyse would never forget the next hour as Tobias gently probed the knife wound, washed the wound with alcohol in the form of whiskey, then took the first stitch. Both hands were bloodied to the wrists in a very short time, and Elyse constantly blotted blood from the wound so that he could see what he was doing.
Time and again, she poured whiskey over the wound as he'd instructed her. And time and again, she was certain she could stand no more—no more blood or cut flesh, or the frightening shallow rise and fall of Zach's chest as he breathed. She fought the screams at the back of her throat, closed her eyes, and could still see blood. How was it possible to lose so much blood and still live?
She'd lost all sense of time. Her back ached from bending over for so long and her arms had long since lost all feeling. She felt like some sort of mechanical creature, obeying Tobias’ commands, handing him scissors or needle, cutting the thread he stitched, wiping the perspiration from his forehead so that it didn't run into his eyes. And always there was the blood.
Elyse was certain as long as she lived, she would see it every time she closed her eyes. It was as if her own lifeblood were soaking the cloths and staining everything. And then, miraculously, there was no more blood. She wiped the wound and stared at the bandage Tobias bound at the wound. Her startled gaze met his.
"Aye, we're done. It's closed and the bleeding has stopped.” He wiped his hands across the front of his shirt. It too was stained with blood.
"Will he live?"
The physician straightened against the stiffness in his back. "He's strong and he's a fighter. But perhaps Zamora could answer that better than me." He turned to the old woman whom he obviously held in mutual contempt.
"What do you say, old woman? What do you see with those old eyes of yours? Or perhaps you could brew up some tea and ask the tea leaves?"
She came out of the chair where she'd been watching everything with dark eyes. "Be careful, you old sea turtle, or I will throw you in a pot of boiling water and make soup of you. I've always thought that would do you a great deal of good," she snapped.
"Ah, enough of your kind words, Zamora. I'm tired and the girl is about ready to collapse. He can't be moved. So, it seems you have house guests at least until morning," Tobias informed her, undaunted by the old woman's threats.
"They're welcome to stay. But I should throw you out for your insults."
"Then who would tend to his wound, should he awaken?"
