Her sister was awake but pale, looking as if she were about to faint. Juliette gestured for Paul to enter, while Charlotte remained behind them. Her aunt caught her arm and whispered, “I’ve seen that gentleman before. He was at our gathering, wasn’t he?” At Juliette’s nod, Charlotte added, “We need to talk about this later.” The look in her aunt’s eyes warned that she would not let the matter rest.
“He is a doctor and a family friend,” she countered, keeping her voice low.
“And Lady Vaughn claims he’s a viscount’s heir. Which is it?” she whispered. “He can’t be both.”
“I trust him.”
At that, her aunt’s expression grew discerning, as if she were trying to read beneath Juliette’s answer. But after a few moments, she appeared to relent.
Paul set down his bag and went to the basin to wash his hands with soap. It surprised Juliette, for none of the other doctors she’d met did that.
“An old habit,” he explained, when she asked why. “My mother said that it drives out the evil spirits.” The wry smile on his face said he didn’t truly believe that, but she supposed there was no harm. To Margaret, he asked, “Miss Andrews, might I come and look at your wounds?”
After her sister nodded, Juliette could almost see a visible transformation in Paul’s demeanor. His tone held an air of authority, and Charlotte stood back. With a pointed look toward Juliette, she said, “I’ll leave you to treat my niece, then, Doctor. If you have need of us, send Juliette to me.” Her aunt left the door open and retreated, leaving them alone.
Juliette wasn’t afraid, for it was clear that Paul knew precisely what he was doing. From the moment he unwrapped the bandage on Margaret’s temple, he spoke to her in a soothing voice. “Now then, your sister was telling me that you tried to save Victoria.”
“It was Mr. Melford who took her,” Margaret insisted. “I told Toria not to come any closer, but she… wouldn’t listen.” Her voice sounded distant, almost as if she’d had too much to drink. Juliette wondered why. Had someone given Margaret spirits?
“You were lucky to get out alive,” Paul told her. “I understand Mr. Sinclair went after your sister.”
A wide smile crossed over her sister Margaret’s face at the mention of the Highlander, and she yawned. “Good. He’ll find her.”
From her utter lack of concern, it was becoming more apparent that Margaret was under the influence of some sort of medicine or possibly wine. As if to answer Juliette’s unspoken question, she offered, “Aunt Charlotte gave me laudanum for the pain. It’s quite nice.”
Paul exchanged a knowing look with Juliette, and she sensed that his mood had shifted to amusement. “Yes, I suspect it is very nice indeed. You’re wanting to sleep, am I right?”
Margaret yawned and nodded. “I would, yes. But not with you. That wouldn’t be proper.”
Juliette nearly choked at the remark. Her prim sister was loosening her tongue, and Heaven only knew what she would say.
“That’s a relief to hear,” Paul answered.
“And not with Mr. Sinclair, either,” Margaret continued. “He’s a wicked, wicked man. I don’t want to ever sleep with him. Or kiss him, either. Even if he does find Victoria and bring her back.”
Juliette fought to keep her mouth from dropping open. Why on earth was her sister talking about Mr. Sinclair? She thought back to the way the Highlander had held Margaret in his arms when he’d brought her here. His eyes had been locked upon the young woman, as if she meant something to him.
Had anything ever happened between them? Mr. Sinclair was a good man, yes, but he’d bent the law on more than one occasion. She couldn’t imagine Margaret sparing him a second glance.
But now, she wondered.
“Mr. Sinclair has to find her,” Margaret said softly, her expression turning sad again. “Toria is too frightened to travel. And now that she’s going to have a baby… He has to help her.”
“He will,” Paul promised. “If there’s one man I trust, it’s Cain.”
The mood in the room had grown somber, and he began examining the wound on Margaret’s head. When she saw the blood, Juliette turned away, wincing.
Margaret inhaled sharply when he touched it. “It hurts, Dr. Fraser.”
“I suppose it does at that. But I’m no’ thinking it’s serious, since you’re able to sit up and speak with me. You may have headaches for a few days, but ’twill likely go away on its own.” Juliette kept her back turned while Paul asked questions about where there was pain and if Margaret was dizzy.
“Who put the bandage on you?” he asked.
Juliette heard the sound of water being wrung out, and she guessed he was washing the wound.
“Mr. Sinclair did. I was bleeding dreadfully, you see. I hit my head when Victoria was taken.”
“You were lucky no’ to be hurt worse,” he commented. Juliette heard him setting the basin aside, and when she risked a look, he was stitching the cut closed. After he tied off the sutures, he bandaged the wound again and said, “Are you hurting anywhere else?”
