Persephone was holding his hand, tightening her grip every time he moved. Adam’s eyes drifted to her. She was awake, definitely a good sign. Her face had swollen more, the bruise deepening. She looked up at him. No words, just stark need in her eyes.
Adam squeezed her hand and kept it securely in his own. He shifted to sit on the edge of her bed, facing the chair near the door where Harry had deposited Mother. She looked decidedly unwell, pale and fidgeting.
His eyes burned and his head remained cloudy. He’d never had so much difficulty awakening before and after only drifting off for a moment or two. “Harry, will you ring for Persephone’s abigail, please?”
Harry turned to Adam with a look of complete shock, which he quickly shook off, and crossed the room to comply. A few drawn-out blinks and a roll of his shoulders awakened Adam a little further.
“Adam?”
He turned back toward Persephone, shifting so he could face her.
“Can you take my boot off? It feels too tight.”
She’d been limping. How had he forgotten that? A person could break an ankle being thrown from a horse, and, of course, it would swell.
“Which foot?”
“The right foot,” Harry answered.
Adam looked over at him, standing on the right side of Persephone’s bed. He followed Harry’s wide-eyed stare to the bloody, torn mess of her riding habit. Adam jumped to his feet, crossing to where Harry stood.
“A compound break?” Alarm filled Harry’s voice.
Adam shook his head. “She couldn’t have walked on a compound fracture.” Then why all the blood?
He pulled back the tattered hem of Persephone’s riding habit. Blood soaked every layer she wore: boots, stockings, petticoat, riding habit. Bits of rock and wood were embedded in long, deep gouges.
“She needs a surgeon,” Harry said.
“I know,” Adam whispered in reply, feeling entirely inadequate. All she had was him.
Chapter Thirty-One
Persephone’s abigail arrived in the next moment.
“Boiling water,” Adam commanded. “Several cans of it.”
Staring openmouthed at the bloodied mess that was Persephone’s right leg, the abigail managed a nod.
Long, deep cuts ran down her leg, bleeding and swelling. None ran parallel to one another, however, and Adam felt immediate relief. If she had been bitten, there would have been a pattern.
“And the strongest brandy Barton can find,” Adam added, taking another look at the mud and dirt and rocks.
Adam took off his greatcoat, laying it over the back of a nearby chair, and set to unlacing Persephone’s boot. Her leg continued to swell, further tightening the boot. It wouldn’t tug loose.
“Help me, Harry.”
Persephone moaned in pain as both Adam and Harry attempted to pull the boot free.
“You’ll have to cut it,” Harry said.
“Scissors, Persephone,” Adam said. “Do you have scissors in here?”
“Sewing room.” She kept her eyes shut, tears streaming down her face.
“Mother—” But she was sobbing in the corner.
“I’ll get them,” Harry said.
