Graham kissed Cam’s cheek, her slack mouth. He clutched her shoulders, gently shook her. “Cam, wake up, you can do it. Please, open your beautiful eyes.” He said her name over and over, but there was no response. He lifted the handkerchief. It was covered with her blood. He pressed the handkerchief harder again at the wound. When he lifted it, the bleeding had nearly stopped. He whispered her name over and over, but she didn’t open her eyes. He lightly slapped her face. Still she didn’t move. Was she possibly injured internally? He couldn’t stand it.
He gathered her against him and rose, pressed her head against his neck. He felt the wet of her blood against his flesh.
The walk back to King’s Head was the longest in his life.
She didn’t wake up.
She’d saved him, curse her.
CHAPTER 61
Dr. Edison Crutcher, newly moved to St. Lucy, wasn’t old at all, but he walked slowly because he’d been struck with arthritis in his knees when he was only thirty years old. Thankfully that condition had nothing to do with his brain or his hands. He was riding his beloved mare Tamsyn not five minutes after Riker, white-faced and grim, had arrived in his surgery. He’d immediately called to his sister to clean and bandage Mr. Stave’s neck boil.
When Edison walked into the bedchamber, he saw Lord Graham sitting beside his wife on the big bed holding her hand. He said the moment Edison appeared, “An ancient beam in the abbey ruins split apart and fell. It struck her on the temple. I staunched the wound but—she hasn’t woken up, hasn’t moved.”
His new young lordship’s voice was flat, emotionless. Edison didn’t have to see his dilated eyes to know he was in shock. He was struck as he had been at church on Sunday by the young viscount’s beauty, his startling blue eyes. He bowed briefly to Lord Vereker, who stood close on the other side of the bed, his face nearly as pale as his son’s. There were twoother men and a woman standing off to the side, all looking worried, actually, he realized, they looked afraid.
Edison said as he gently moved the viscount aside and sat down beside the unconscious young woman, placed his hand over her heart, “My lord, you said she has been unconscious since she was struck down?”
“Yes.” He heard Lord Graham swallow. “I tried to wake her but she hasn’t opened her eyes. Her head was bleeding. I did manage to stop the bleeding.”
“You did well.” Edison looked down at the young woman’s pale lovely face, saw the bruising all along her cheek. “How long ago was she struck?”
Lord Vereker said, “Nearly an hour ago. As my son said, she hasn’t moved.”
Edison lifted a bloody tress of hair from the wound, leaned close, lightly probed with sensitive fingers. He said without looking away from the wound, “Thankfully, the gash isn’t deep but still I will have to stitch it. My lord, please hand me my bag. I will get this done while she’s still unconscious.”
Cilly said, “Please don’t shave off her hair. It’s so beautiful.”
Edison looked up at the striking woman, smiled. Her maid? “I promise, only a bit, only a very little bit.”
Graham watched every move he made—shaving off only a small square of hair, cleaning the wound in alcohol, threading a needle. He couldn’t help it, he flinched as the needle went into her flesh, the black thread in and out, pulling tight. It was obscene. He heard Cilly catch her breath but he never looked away from his wife’s still face. He wanted to cry and kill. He felt buried in fear and deep, deep rage.
His wife. She lay so still, as if her life force were extinguished. Always, always, Cam was moving, so energetic, so filled with life, with the excitement of sheer living, and she’d given herself to him, all of herself, and the fullness of her big heart, yet now she lay motionless, her face deathly pale, andso still, she was so utterly still. He’d never been so afraid even when he’d been a boy and locked in the dim hold of a boat—what, what? Graham started, tried to grasp the thought, no, the memory, he knew in his gut it was a memory, but it fell away and there was nothing and he couldn’t be sure of anything.
Cilly had removed her boots, straightened her gown. She should have looked like she was simply asleep except for the line of dried blood on her neck. He swallowed.
After Edison set six stitches and knotted off the thread, he took a small bottle of brandy out of his bag and patted it on the wound, then dusted with white basilicum powder and covered the small square with plaster. He washed the blood out of her hair with a wet towel Cilly handed him. Then he silently studied her face, listened again to her heart. Finally, he looked up and blinked. The bedchamber was filled with people, and when had they all come in? There was the earl, two strange men who looked to be valets and Riker stood by the bedchamber door.
Edison looked across the bed at Graham, a young man with no memory of his formative years, if all the village stories were to be believed. And now his new bride had been hurt. He said as he rose, “My lord, you told me there were overhead beams in a room at the abbey ruins. One was rotted through and fell, struck her ladyship.”
“Yes,” Graham said, his voice still flat. “Be honest with me, will she be all right?”
Edison knew stark fear when he heard it, but he knew he had to tell him the truth, tell the roomful of people the truth. He kept his voice calm, straightforward, “Even in this modern day, we still know very little about head injuries, about how the brain deals with injuries.” He paused, looked at their faces and didn’t say,Will she wake up? I’m sorry but I do not know.He said instead, his voice firm, “Her ladyship is young and healthy. Riker told me she’s very active. I have every expectation she will wake up.”But if she does wake upI do not know if she will have all her wits. He added firmly, “She will be fine, perhaps headaches for a while, but she will recover.” He slowly rose, wincing because his left knee pained him today.
He said, “Give her laudanum when she wakes up because as I said she will have a headache. Keep her awake for a while until she’s solidly back. We do know it’s possible if she falls back asleep”—she might not wake up again—“it may be more difficult for her to wake up again.” He searched their faces and saw hope. He smiled. “Her ladyship has an excellent chance to recover. I’ll be back tomorrow. If something happens to concern you, I shall come immediately.”
After Riker escorted Dr. Crutcher from the bedchamber, Graham looked at everyone hovering around the bed. “Thank you all. Please leave now, Cilly and I must get her into her nightgown.”
Lord Vereker placed his hands on his son’s shoulders. His voice was as gentle as windless rain, yet as believable as a promise from God, “She will recover, Graham. I know your children and their children will lead the Hepburn family into the next century and beyond. Now, I’m taking a good dozen men to examine the abbey ruins. If there are signs of anyone tampering with the falling beam, we will find it.
“Graham, you remain here with your wife. It is not only for her protection but yours as well. Trust me to be thorough.” Vereker drew him to his feet and hugged him tightly against him, patted his back and left the bedchamber.
Cilly knew she had to be calm. She couldn’t show fear even though her belly was roiling with it, fear and rage and impotence. She wanted to strangle the person responsible, but who could it possibly be? She knew she had to hold herself together for Cam and Graham.
When she and Graham were alone in the bedchamber, they gently removed Cam’s clothes, now torn and dirty, her ripped stockings. Graham saw a hole in one toe. It nearly broke hisheart. Graham held her up while Cilly slipped a fresh nightgown over her head. It wasn’t one of her wicked satin nightgowns, it was, he imagined, from her days before they’d wed, simple cotton, white, and finely stitched, covering her from head to toe. The white made her look so pale he wanted to cry. Dr. Crutcher had gently removed her glasses so they now dangled from her gold chain. He gently eased the chain over her head. He saw one earpiece was bent and automatically straightened it.
Her eyelids looked bruised, and why was that? He took one of her limp hands into his. Her flesh was warm, a relief. He said to Cilly, “It was like the falling statue in Ventnor. It had to be the same person, no doubt in my mind. I agree with my father. The falling beam had been weakened even more, by the same person in Ventnor. You’re nodding, Cilly. It has to be. I know it was meant for me. Both Cam and I heard it break apart. As I said, she hurled herself at me, knocked me down, threw herself on top of me. The beam struck her head.” He swallowed. “Cilly, she saved me.” Just saying the words again made rage build in his belly, and god-awful fear. It nearly broke him. “She can’t die, she can’t. She has to get well so I can thrash her for what she did.” He stopped cold, and his voice became deep and hard. “As God is my witness, I will kill who did this.”
