“First time?” she asked, seemingly assured of my hand’s ability to function again someday.
I nodded.
“Thrilling, isn’t it?”
I ignored the implications ofthatquestion because my heart quite literally could not take it. “A bit, yes.”
Just then, Alfie and Rory appeared from the stables wearing rather quizzical expressions.
“What’s this?” Alfie drawled.
“Gambling misfortune.”
“That’s not what I meant when I told ye to go get him, lass,” Rory added.
“You should have been more specific. Come on in, Kit has just earned us free drinks,” Davina said, gesturing to the inn with her thumb. I rather thought the offer hadn’t extended to our drivers, but I had no doubt Davina would work her magic.
The three of them made their way inside while I tried to gain the attention of the—still slapping—Wickens. I kicked the bottom of his boot. “I’m going inside now. Don’t let him back in.”
The man nodded, or perhaps that was the way his head moved while he was wheezing. Regardless, I was sufficiently assured of having done my duty and joined my companions.
Davina was up against the bar, speaking to the frail, elderly barman. Rory and Alfie worked together to right the overturned tables. In but a few steps, I found myself at Davina’s side.
“Mr. Matthews, I really do not think my husband is in want of a poultice for his hand. Particularly not one made of cow dung.”
“Well, I’ve never heard of anyone refusing a dung-poultice works miracles. We’ve no ice anyway. We could do a vinegar bath. I’ll even add a splash of brandy. It’s not as good as the dung, but if he’s a dandy, it’ll do in a pinch.”
“Thank you, Matthews was it?” I interjected.
“Yes, sir. I owe you a debt of thanks. Those three were fixing to destroy my establishment.”
“You’re most welcome. And I appreciate the effort to locate a cow-dung poultice, was it?”
“Aye.”
“Thank you, truly. But my hand is not so injured as to require treatment.”
“If you say so. I’ll have Sally fetch the ingredients if you change your mind later.”
“Oh, I’m certain that’s not necessary,” I insisted.
“It’s no trouble.”
“Oh really, I couldn’t possibly. But do you know what would improve matters? My friends and I find ourselves quite in need of a drink.”
“Of course, what’ll it be?”
“Four whiskeys. Bonnie Barrel, please,” Davina supplied.
“Anything else?”
“The roast? For our friends.”
“Aye. I’ll send Sally out with it.”
I thanked the man and dragged Davina away before she could argue against the efficacy of bovine feces in healing. Alfie and Rory had made themselves comfortable at one of the larger tables and we settled in to join them.
I eyed our original plates of roast wearily. It hadn’t been particularly appetizing before it had sat there for nearly an hour.
