He made an attempt to push himself up, but she pushed him back. “Lie down, you idiot. You’ve been shot.” She squeezed a few drops of the water onto his lips.
He swallowed, licked his lips, and then groaned. “Shot, you say? I’d never have guessed.”
But he was joking with her.
The stupid, ridiculously foolish but most endearingly wonderful man was joking with her!
Crawford had turned back to address the wound. And with a calmness she envied, he pulled the sheet down to reveal a pair of breeches that had been tan when Gabriel left that morning but were now soaked scarlet with blood—some places almost black.
Without any hesitation, using a small knife from his pocket, Crawford cut the material away to expose the portion of hip just above Gabriel’s thigh. Olivia shuddered at what she saw. The bullet had left a ragged hole with blood oozing out of it. She inhaled deeply, to steady herself.
“Still no doctor, Your Grace,” the older manservant announced as he stepped in carrying a linen-covered tray with several knives and a few other metal tools laid out in a neat row. “Lady Kingsley suggested tweezers. As well as a needle and thread.”
“They’ve all been boiled?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” And then the man sat the tray on the dresser nearby and stepped back as though awaiting further instructions. The other manservant had entered behind him with several folded white linens draped over his arm.
“Tear one of those into strips and secure his hands.” Crawford was all business as he selected one of the sharper-looking knives.
Louella returned again as well, this time carrying a jar of honey and what looked to be a pot of tea. Hot water.
Olivia took it from her and poured it onto one of the cloths. There was no time to waste. She needed to clean the wound so that Crawford could see what he was doing.
Louella wet a second cloth and stood at her husband’s side.
“Tie his hands to the post, Olivia,” the duke ordered. The man Olivia presumed to be Gabriel’s valet had already tied one of Gabriel’s wrist to the bed frame snugly. Taking a strip from him, she followed suit with Gabriel’s other hand. “Don’t be shy about it,” Crawford added. “It needs to hold. If he breaks free while I’m digging this damn bullet out…”
“Right.” She gulped and pulled at the knot tightly.
Gabriel stirred. “I’ve dreamed of you doing this, Oluvia, but never with company.” And then he chuckled. She leaned down to shush him and then met Louella’s eyes from across the room. Louella might be angry, but Olivia didn’t really care what anyone thought at that moment. Not even her sister. She only wanted Gabriel to live.
Sheneededhim to live.
“Pour some whisky on the wound, Louella.” Crawford’s steady orders seemed to keep them all calm.
And then her sister’s husband was standing over the wound with the knife. With a nod at the manservants, who grasped hold of Gabriel’s legs, he lowered the gleaming metal to Gabriel’s flesh.
Gabriel was still awake, though, and turned his head to Olivia again. “I got shot, love,” he slurred. “Shoulda checked for a pistol…”
Blinking back tears, Olivia did the only thing she could think to help him through this. She reached for the bottle of whisky and dribbled some into his mouth.
“Drink as much as you can, you fool, this is going to hurt.” She dribbled some more. “It’s going to hurt… really bad.”
Gabriel chuckled but swallowed a mouthful. And then another. And then Crawford ordered, “Brace yourself, Kings.” And to Olivia, “Hold him tight. Sit on him if you must.”
Gabriel’s wicked grin was wiped away in an instant to be replaced with the shock of pain. Her own tears threatened but she blinked them away as she sprawled across his chest with her weight.Hold him down, Olivia.The knife was sharp. One wrong move…
She glanced over her shoulder and watched as Crawford cut into the wound.
Gabriel convulsed beneath her, his breath hissing against her face. He hissed again. So much blood. She couldn’t look.Oh, Gabriel!
Touching his face, smoothing his hair, she did her best to distract him from what was happening at the other end of the bed.
“Hold on, love,” she whispered. “I’m right here.” When Crawford let up a moment, she dribbled more whisky past Gabriel’s lips and then dabbed at his forehead with a damp cloth. But then more cutting, more digging. Almost like a living nightmare, Olivia held him tightly while he writhed and gritted his teeth in agony. Every fiber of her being wanted to weep for his pain but instead she tried to distract him, to comfort him.
After one particularly long and painful moan, he stilled and then went limp.
Olivia felt lightheaded for a moment. Was he…?
