Her Rebel Lord

He wrapped the woollen covers all around Gavin in spite of the heat from the fire. She noted that he had saved none for himself.

She fetched clean cloths and several herbs to make a poultice. After she laid everything down, she got a brace of candles, which she handed to The Ferguson.

‘I will need the extra light from these to see what I must do.’

He grunted as he took the brass holder. Wax dripped down the sides, but he managed to keep the candles angled so the hot material did not fall on Gavin.

Her cousin moaned as she wrestled with the soaked bandages.

‘It would be easier if you cut those off.’

‘You are right. I should have thought of that.’ Chagrin at her failure made her voice skip. She had been too self-conscious at his nearness. This was not like her.

‘No one is perfect,’ The Ferguson said softly. ‘Even you.’

Not knowing how to answer, she ignored his comment. All her life she had striven to be the best she was capable of. Nothing else was acceptable. That was Papa’s motto, and she had taken it as her own.

‘A knife is on my work table—will you get it, please?’

She sensed him standing and leaving. The fire still heated the side of her closest to it, but there was an emptiness on her other side, a coldness not born of temperature. More like loss.

She took several deep breaths and willed her fingers to be still. She was not normally fanciful.

‘Here.’ He held the knife, handle first, to her.

She took the sharp instrument from his hand, careful not to touch his fingers. She didn’t want to know if she would experience the same frisson of awareness that she had before when their skin had met.

Gingerly, she cut away the blood-and-water-soaked bandage. She could not smell rot in the wound, but knew it was too early. She must ensure that it stayed this way.

‘Please pour the tea,’ she said. ‘Mugs are on the shelf above.’

She was grateful that he did as directed without protest. Her mug he set on the fireplace grate. Gavin’s he gave to her.

She shook her head. ‘I need you to get it down him.’

Without waiting to see how effective he would be, she took one of the clean cloths and dipped it in the nearby bucket of water. Gently she cleansed the wound. Even sedated, Gavin began to move and groan. Some of the tea dribbled down his chin. The Ferguson stopped.

‘He needs it all. The warmth and the willow bark I put in it will help him.’

The Ferguson nodded and continued dripping the hot fluid into Gavin, wiping up what spilled.

She found the small knife where she had laid it near the fire. Using the tongs used to put coal on the fire, she picked up the knife handle and held the blade in the flames. She felt rather than saw The Ferguson tense, but he said nothing.

He had been in many battles and seen many men wounded. He knew what she intended. She would cauterise the flesh. Better pain now than lingering death from rot.

‘Please hold his shoulder.’

She pulled the knife from the fire and grasped it with a wad of cloth to protect her fingers from the heat. She took a deep breath to steady her hands and pressed the hot metal to Gavin’s skin.

The hot sizzle of burning flesh filled the room. Gavin’s eyes started open, and his body jerked beneath The Ferguson’s hold.

‘Hold still, Gavin,’ The Ferguson ordered, his deep baritone a soothing rumble that even Jenna started to obey before catching herself. ‘She needs to make sure there is no dead flesh to fester later.’

Moisture filled Gavin’s eyes, and his jaw clenched into harsh angles. But he stopped fighting.

Jenna finished as quickly as possible. The bleeding had also slowed with the burning. ‘Good.’ Her murmur was barely audible. ‘I am sorry, Gavin.’

He looked at her. ‘I know, Jen. I know.’ Exhaustion dragged his eyelids down, and his entire body relaxed.

She took another deep breath, this one shuddering as tears threatened. It was hard enough causing pain to someone she did not know or knew slightly, but to cause her beloved cousin such agony was hard to bear. But she knew it had been necessary.

‘I am going to bind you back up, Gavin, but first I want you to finish the tea.’ She nodded for The Ferguson to put the mug to Gavin’s lips. ‘You need the warmth. Then I am going to finish with you, and we are going to get you into hiding.’

Gavin drank greedily now that he was awake. Still some dribbled on to the blankets.

Over her cousin’s body, The Ferguson watched her. She felt uncomfortable at his intense scrutiny.

‘Have I blood somewhere?’ She wiped at her chin, then her cheek.

He shook his head. ‘I am trying to figure out how a woman who looks as though a stiff wind will blow her over has the strength you have shown tonight.’

She flushed, wishing she had a smudge instead of having him compliment her. ‘I only did what was necessary. Anyone would have.’

He shook his head again. ‘No, they would not. I have seen battle-hardened men balk at what you have done tonight.’

Heat engulfed her at his continued praise. ‘You exaggerate.’

He stared at her, his eyes first hazel, then tawny, depending on how the firelight reflected from them. Unable to continue under such study, she turned her head.

‘I will make sure none of the servants are about.’ She started to stand, only to have her legs refuse to cooperate. She was exhausted.

The Ferguson carefully laid Gavin back down before surging to his feet. He held his hand to Jenna. ‘Let me help you.’

She stared at his outstretched hand, not wanting to touch it. The last thing she needed in her current state was to have his help. She was too susceptible to him when he was threatening to kill her. How much more so would she be when he was being sympathetic? Too much.

‘Thank you,’ she muttered, ‘but I am fine.’

She reached for the stone-set fire surround and gripped one of the protruding rocks, intending to pull herself up. She didn’t realise he had moved with her until she felt his hands on her waist. His fingers felt like bands of iron as they closed over her softness.

‘You don’t wear stays,’ he said, his voice gruff as he lifted her as though she weighed nothing.

Her flush became a full-fledged blush. ‘That is none of your business.’

She turned to face him, only to find her nose level with his loosely tied and dirty neckcloth. Musk filled her senses. His scent. She shivered, but not with cold.

He released her and stood back. ‘Of course it is not the business of a gentleman, but I am no gentleman. I thought we had established that.’

She tilted her head and tried to stare down her nose at him. Papa did it so well. All she accomplished was to make him grin.