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Audrey pulled the bench closer to the table with a loud scrape of wood on stone. She rifled through her valise, the clink of glass and metal instruments marking her preparation, then stepped away. The sound of water splashing followed. She was washing her hands. Moments later, she returned and sat beside him.

She picked up the damp towel he had used earlier and bundled it gently against his side, likely to prevent further mess on the worktable.

Rose arrived and deposited a bowl beside her. Audrey poured something into it, the sharp tang of vinegar catching Julius’s attention.

She turned to him, her teeth pressing into her lower lip. “This is going to sting.”

“What is it?”

“Warm water mixed with vinegar.”

Julius squinted at her in confusion. “Why?”

“My father had me study ancient texts—Roman techniques for treating battle wounds. They are surprisingly effective. In fact, far more reliable than many modern practices.”

Of course, she could read Latin. Julius gave a weak smile. Audrey Gideon was unlike any woman he had ever known.

“Once we are done, you will eat.”

She swabbed the wound with the vinegar mixture. Julius clenched his teeth so hard his jaw trembled. It hurt like the devil. He turned his face away, hoping to hide his grimace.

Eventually, the worst of it was over. He risked opening one eye, only to see Audrey threading a needle. His stomach dropped.

She caught his expression and paused. “Would you care for some brandy before I continue?”

He swallowed hard and nodded. His throat was too tight to speak.

Audrey arched a brow at Patrick, who had been hovering with visible distress.

“Ah’ll be back.”

Soon, Patrick returned with a tumbler and decanter. Julius pushed himself up on one elbow and took the drink in both hands, downing it in two swift gulps. The brandy burned all the way down, but it steadied him.

He sank back, catching the scent of something frying on the hearth. His thoughts drifted toward breakfast.

Audrey’s hands returned—gentle, careful, confident. She worked quickly. Her stitching was neat and precise, and though each prick of the needle made him wince, she moved with such economy that the pain was bearable.

“It is complete,” she said softly.

Julius opened his eyes, peering down at the neat row of sutures aligned along the left side of his midriff. The skin around them was blotched and taut with drying blood, the puckered edges pulled close by Audrey’s careful hand.

“Good grief! A couple of inches up and that dirty dish would have nicked my heart!”

“You were fortunate,” Audrey replied, her voice composed but brisk. She reached for a cloth with one hand while her eyes stayed focused on the wound. “Rose, I need honey for the wound before I bandage him. Then he can eat.”

Rose’s mouth parted in alarm. “Honey? We don’t ’ave any honey, Miss Gideon.”

Julius, who had been eyeing the plate of food Rose carried with increasing desperation, realized the kitchen had gone quiet. The only sound now was the steady hiss of water heating in the hearth kettle and the faint ticking of the longcase clock near the scullery door.

He turned his head toward Audrey. She was frowning, her brow drawn in a way that made him uneasy.

“I must apply honey to the wound,” she said again, quieter this time.

Clutching his side, Julius rose carefully to a seated position on the edge of the table, the linen beneath him rustling and catching where it had stuck slightly to his damp shirt.

“What is it?”

Audrey hesitated. Her hands hovered over the bandaging materials as though she were selecting her words.