Page 74 of The Texan Duke
“Maybe he’s a good shot. A very good shot. It would have taken someone with skill to have made that shot through the window.”
He didn’t reduce Sam to speechlessness often, but it always pleased him when he did.
“You think he shot you?”
“He’s the only one around here who’s been bragging about what a great marksman he is.”
“Why would he shoot you?”
Connor swung his legs over the side of the bed, gripping the edge of the mattress with both hands. The room tilted a little, and he was suddenly violently nauseated. That’s why he didn’t like to take pain medication. The stuff was vile. He didn’t like going around with his shoulder on fire, either. Wasn’t there some kind of happy medium?
He glanced down at himself. “What the hell am I wearing?”
Sam’s laughter was irritating.
“A nightshirt.”
“A nightshirt?” The garment was white with long sleeves that ended in buttoned cuffs. From what he could tell it was long enough to fall to his ankles and had a row of buttons from his neck to his waist.
“It looks like a woman’s nightgown,” he said.
“It’s what all the proper dukes are wearing.”
“Who the hell undressed me?” He turned and looked at Sam, who was grinning at him.
“Relax, Connor, your virtue is safe. The doctor and I did the honors.”
It was going to play hell on his arm to get the damn thing off. Maybe he could just rip it at the shoulders.
“But you didn’t answer me. Why do you think Felix shot you?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea why, Sam, other than it was some fool idea that killing me would make everything better. I wouldn’t sell the house. They could live here just like they always have.”
“Maybe it’s time to tell them you’ve already made a will, Connor. That your mother and sisters are your beneficiaries.”
He nodded. “I don’t expect Mom or my sisters would evict them, though. They’d probably let them stay on.” He glanced over at Sam. “If anything happens to me, I want you to insist that they sell Bealadair. Don’t dicker about the price. They need the money more than they need a place in Scotland. Besides, I can’t see any of them—except for Dorothy—wanting to leave Texas. Dorothy might like living here.”
He could even see Dorothy being Elsbeth’s friend. The two of them would probably get on well. He could almost hear their laughter now. A thought that shouldn’t have put him in a bad mood.
“Where are my clothes?” he asked, only to hear Sam laugh again.
“You have your days and nights mixed up, Connor. It’s not time to get up. It’s midnight. Now tuck yourself back into bed.”
“I’m hungry.” Despite his earlier nausea he was suddenly feeling starved.
Sam laughed at him again. “If you’re a good little boy and get back in bed I’ll call for dinner. Maybe gruel and one of those jellies they’re always talking about.”
“Make it salmon or beef.”
At home, he wouldn’t be eating this late, but at home he wouldn’t have been shot, either. Or if he had, there would’ve been at least thirty ranch hands out to find the man who’d done it.
“Did you find anything at the castle?”
He glanced over at Sam, who was standing at the end of his bed with his arms folded and a grin still on his face.
Sam reached out and made a twirling motion with his finger. Connor knew what that meant. Get back in bed like a good little boy and he would answer. He debated for a moment—just a moment—making a break for it, finding his clothes, and then doing something constructive for an hour or two. When he stood, however, the room tilted again and it took him a moment until he got his equilibrium back.
That was the effect of the laudanum. Or the gunshot wound.
