As she’d sat watching her patient, she’d had plenty of time to consider the implications of his current situation. If a lord had ordered his death, then this had never been a simple robbery. Most likely, the attack had to do with honor. Perhaps her guest had ruined some debutante and refused to act honorably.
Daisy frowned, her gaze drifting over him as her mind churned.
A single whiteband wrapped around the base of his right pinky finger, the only evidence of a missing ring—likely stolen by those so-called officers before they left him to die.
But nothing indicating he’d worn a wedding band.
So who was he?
Had he been a gambler who wagered one too many vowels?
Or had he witnessed something he shouldn’t have—perhaps evidence of political corruption, or even a murder? Her mind darted in all directions, trying to fit this broken man into a story that explained why someone had wanted him dead.
And then?—
“Hrgmph…?” A rough, garbled sound broke the silence.
The stranger turned his head, and his eyes fluttered open for the first time.
Eyes that were the deepest green, framed by thick lashes.
And holding her breath, for a fleeting moment, she could almost believe…
Butno.
The exhaustion from her overnight vigil was playing trickson her, allowing her foolish mind to conjure impossible memories.
She blinked hard and rubbed her eyes, forcing herself to focus.
Before she could say a word, the man stirred, a flicker of awareness sharpening his gaze. Then, with a low grunt of effort, he tried to push himself up.
Pain contorted his features, and his arms buckled beneath his weight as his head fell back onto the mattress. A sharp hiss escaped his lips, his breath ragged.
And in that moment, she saw it—not just pain, but fear.
Daisy instinctively leaned forward, her voice firm but soft. “You’re safe.”
His gaze snapped to hers.
She hesitated, then placed a steadying hand near his shoulder, careful not to startle him. “You are safe,” she said again. “No one knows you are here.”
His chest rose and fell in uneven bursts, his fingers twitching as if still expecting a blow.
The older wounds, layered beneath the fresh bruises and gashes, told her enough—he’d been held captive.
Daisy had endured much in her eight and twenty years—loss, hardship, hunger, grief—but still, the depth of cruelty men could unleash upon one another never failed to astonish her.
It was so very senseless.
Pain for pain’s sake. Suffering without reason.
Bile crept up her throat.
What kind of man did this to another? What grievance had earned this stranger such brutal treatment?
Someone had not only wanted him dead, but they’d wanted him broken first.
Daisy determined she would do what she could to undo even a fraction of this harm.
