“How are you Dr. O’Leary?” Flynn smiled. “It’s been a long time.”
“I’m in fine fettle, but what about you?” The surgeon approached the bed. “I would’ve preferred our meeting to be under better circumstances.”
“This is Lady Brookwood, doctor. My betrothed.”
Dr. O’Leary bowed his head. “My felicitations, my lady. Now let’s see to this wound, or you will make for a sorry bridegroom.” He removed his half-hunter from his waistcoat pocket and took hold of Flynn’s wrist. “I won’t need to bleed you. And I see someone who knows a thing or two has strapped you up. A shame I must remove it.” He opened his bag.
“Will he be all right, Doctor?” Althea watched him cut away the bloody bandages.
The doctor leaned over Flynn, examining the wound. “He’s a strong, healthy specimen. A clean wound by the look of it, so, baring infection, I believe so.”
“Do you need my assistance?”
“No, my lady. All is well.”
“Then I’ll leave you to treat his lordship,” Althea said, the relief making her voice tremble. She left the room before she cried again. She hurried down to see how Quinn fared. Flynn loved her. He had asked her to marry him. He must get better. He must!
