“Yes.”
“Good,” he said, opening his leather bag on the bed. “Stay still.” Wrapping his hand in a white cloth, he hovered over Graham’s prone form. Reaching up, he pressed into the wound.
Graham flinched and let out a slew of vicious curses that Hope had never heard before.
“Do that again,” he snarled at the doctor. “And I’ll put yer teeth out.”
“Not with your right arm, and not for some time,” Dr. Hall said, removing the soiled cloth from his hand. “It seems the bullet passed through, but it’s not a pretty wound. It’s shattered your skin being this close to the edge of your body.”
“What does that mean?” Hope asked.
“Well, I’m going to sew it up best I can, but I won’t be surprised if the edges blacken. It’ll be imperative to keep this would clean so infection doesn’t set in.” The doctor rummaged through his bag and began removing formidable silver instruments, lining them up on the bed. Hope shuddered. “The bandages must be changed once every four hours, I think.”
“Yes,” Hope said, as if she were taking orders.
“Will a maid or someone need to be informed?”
“No, I’ll do it,” she said.
The doctor paused in his movement and gave Logan a quick look. She wondered if the doctor didn’t believe she was capable of managing a wound, but if he had his doubts, he didn’tstate them aloud. Still, Hope became slightly defensive. She notched her chin up when his gaze landed back on her.
“Very well,” he said. “You must pay attention once I’ve sewn him up to understand how to clean it properly. Logan, assist me.”
Logan came around a put a gentle hand on Hope’s shoulder.
“You’ll not be wanting to see this,” he said, nodding towards the door. “It won’t be pretty.”
“I’m not leaving,” Hope said.
“Madam, I must agree with Logan,” Dr. Hall said. “It’s not for the faint of heart.”
“I’m not leaving this room,” she said firmly, her eyes on Graham.
“I really must insist—”
“No.”
“Hope,” Graham said. For a tense moment, all three men looked at her. “Sit down,” he said, nodding to a chair by the fireplace.
Sitting as quickly as possible, she watched the two men work on her husband. For nearly a half hour, they operated on him. The entire time, Hope was engulfed in excruciating worry. With every grunt and every shift, she had to fight not to leap up and rush to her beloved’s side. As she watched Logan and the doctor work together, Hope realized that they barely spoke. It was almost as if Logan had firsthand knowledge of what needed to take place. Though Hope couldn’t remember anything being said about Logan being a doctor, she remembered that he had been in the war. Perhaps he had learned something about medical treatment there.
When they finally finished, they cleaned the wound once more, put a slave on it, and wrapped their patient in bandages. Graham was offered a drink, but not more than one since the doctor didn’t want him to bleed through his wraps. Apparently the doctor believed that alcohol made wounds hemorrhage.
She followed the doctor and Logan to the doorway.
“Thank you, Doctor. Mr. Harris,” she said. “I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate it.”
“It was nothing,” the doctor said. “But I’m afraid I need to depart. I was supposed to be on the way to Glasgow hours ago.”
“Of course,” Hope said. “Thank you again.”
Dr. Hall nodded and turned to leave, with Grace at his heels.
“Where was he shot?” Grace asked, following the doctor down the hallway. “Was it the triceps or the latissimus dorsi?”
“The what?” Hope asked.
“It was an external wound through the latissimus—wait, who are you?” the doctor asked as he left, just as Faith, who had melted back into one of the corners of the room, stepped forward.
