Page 11 of Lord of Fortune
“Would you have warm water brought up to their room? I need to dress a wound on Mr. Howell’s arm.”
Alarm flashed in the innkeeper’s gaze. “Nothing serious, I hope?”
Amelia offered a pleasant smile. “Not at all. Just send up some water and a bit of spare toweling if you have it. Thank you, Mr. Tarleton. While you do that, I’d be happy to show the gentlemen to their room.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Mr. Tarleton inclined his head and disappeared from whence he’d come.
Amelia turned to the stairs. “This way.” At the top, she led them along the short corridor to the room on the left. Opening the door, she saw that it was indeed smaller. The roof pitched on the front of the inn, causing a lower ceiling and less space. There was one bed and a pallet in the corner. Amelia’s room had a larger bed and a smaller bed instead of a pallet, which her maid, Culley, used.
She gestured to the small table near the cold fireplace. “Sit while I fetch my things.”
Bowen set down the bags he’d brought up from the horses and moved to the hearth. He leaned his bicep against the mantel and looked at the older man. “Sit, Egg.”
Amelia hurried to her chamber and fetched the salve from her bag. Upon her return, she surveyed Egg, sitting rather morosely in the single chair. “Off with your clothing, then.”
Penn dropped his arms to his sides. “I beg your pardon?”
“I was talking to Egg,” she said, noting the spark of interest in Bowen’s gaze. “I can’t very well tend his arm if he doesn’t remove his coat and shirt.”
“Of course not.” Bowen threw his assistant a dark look. “Don’t be difficult.”
Egg muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “No more than you can be” and Amelia wondered at the nature of their relationship. They were clearly protective of one another, but she sensed they liked to bicker.
Grumbling, Egg removed his coat, wincing as he eased it from his arm. Amelia offered assistance, peeling it back from his appendage with care. “You’ll ’ave to ’elp me with the shirt too, I’m afraid.” His expression and tone were more akin to someone who’d had to ask for assistance climbing the gallows.
She gave him a wide smile and was pleased to see it surprised him. “Happy to.” Grandmother had always told her to be kinder to the people who were grumpiest, for they needed compassion the most.
He pulled the shirt from his waistband, and she drew the linen over his head. Egg was a mass of compact muscles and hair. So much hair. And all of it gray.
Separating the fabric from his wound proved a bit troublesome and he gritted his teeth as she finally worked it free. “There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” she asked.
He gave her a sour look but said nothing.
“You’re being difficult,” Bowen said, refolding his arms and glowering at Egg.
“You know it’s my way.”
“Indeed I do, but you could endeavor to be indifferent if not pleasant. For Mrs. Forrest’s sake. She may have tried to shoot you, but sheishelping you now.”
“’Tis the least she can do.”
Mr. Tarleton arrived with the water and some toweling. After they’d assured him they could handle things, he bustled from the room.
Amelia lightly touched the angry flesh around the tear. “A handful of stitches ought to do it. Can you manage, or do you need spirits?”
“Just get it over with,” Egg said hoarsely.
“You need whiskey,” Bowen said, turning to one of the bags he’d brought up. He thrust his hand inside and produced the same flask from earlier, which he handed to Egg. “Just drink the lot. You’ll sleep better.”
“Aye, I will.” He took a long, deep draught.
Amelia prepared her needle, and Bowen fetched a lantern to provide light. Egg grimaced and let out the occasional hiss as Amelia cleaned the wound and sewed it together. When she was finished, she applied the salve.
“What’s that?” Egg asked suspiciously, wrinkling his nose.
“It will stave off infection from the wound.” Amelia plucked up some of the toweling provided by Mr. Tarleton and used it as a bandage. “Try to keep it clean,” she advised.
Egg rose from the chair, his face gray. “I’m going to lie down.”
