Adam rinsed and scrubbed, again and again, until his hands were no longer red from blood but from scrubbing. Still, every crease, every wrinkle remained unnaturally darkened and residue remained under his fingernails. It would take time to clear the remainder away entirely, although Adam didn’t believe he would ever get the images of the last few hours out of his mind.
“Adam” reached him as a choked whimper.
He quickly dried his hands and abandoned the basin of salmon-colored water. He sat beside Persephone and wrapped his fingers around hers. A tear trickled down the length of Persephone’s nose. Adam gently brushed it away.
“Is she almost done?” Persephone struggled to get the words out.
“Very nearly,” Adam whispered.
She looked relieved, if only a little. Adam didn’t imagine she could see very much through her badly swollen eye. Her pain must have been nearly unbearable.
“Adam?”
“Yes, dear?”Dear?Adam sat stunned for a moment that such a word had come so naturally to his lips.
“Please stay with me,” Persephone whispered.
He didn’t know what brought on the impulse, but he leaned over and kissed her lightly on the forehead, lingering a moment longer than necessary. “If you will stay with me,” he answered silently.
He remained at her side until the abigail tied off the last stitch and Persephone’s leg was wrapped in clean strips of linen.
A few minutes later, he sat on the bench at the foot of her bed, Persephone curled up beside him, leaning against the side of his chest, his arm wrapped around her. The maids were changing the linens on her bed, those that had been there having been destroyed by blood, water, and brandy. She could just as easily have lain on the settee in her sitting room, but Adam had insisted. In the short few minutes he’d held her, Persephone had fallen asleep
Watching her sleep had become a hobby of his over the past two months. But never had he watched her with the level of intensity he did just then.
She was pale and bruised and in such obvious pain. Until the surgeon in Hawick or the apothecary in Sifton arrived, they could not know if her ankle was broken. Only time would bring down the swelling in her face.
Suppose her leg became infected? Wounds could turn septic quickly.
No, Adam shook his head. He’d used enough brandy to cleanse the wounds of an entire army regiment.
But would it be enough? He was not a medical man.
“Your Grace?”
He looked up at the abigail.
“Her Grace really ought to be changed into a fresh nightdress.”
“Of course.” Adam leaned toward his wife. “Persephone.” A slight nudge and she roused. “Persephone?”
She looked up at him, exhaustion and confusion clouding her eyes.
“Your ladies’ maid is going to change you now. It would help if you were awake.”
She nodded but still seemed distant, half asleep.
Adam glanced at his blood- and mud-splattered clothing. “I should change as well.”
Persephone sat up a little more and offered a shaky smile. Obviously her pain lingered. Adam touched her gently on the cheek.
“We’ll take care of her, Your Grace,” the abigail said. Adam caught the other maids nodding out of the corner of his eye.
“You’ll send for me if she needs anything?”
“Of course,” was the reply.
The maids were all looking at him with that look one gives a calfling who is quite unmistakably enamored: overly emotive eyes and sentimental smiles. Adam grew suddenly terribly uncomfortable.
