Page 10 of The Scot Who Loved Her

Daniel put his scissors back into his satchel and pulled out a piece of cloth along with two jugs. He rinsed the wound with herbal water, washing away the blood, and then poured another liquid that smelled like spirits on the gaping wound. Olivia fully expected the Scot to wake, to bellow his anger, but he didn’t move—not even a hitch in his shallow breathing.

“My lady.” Daniel glanced up at her. “I’ll need you to hold his arms down.”

“But he’s not awake.”

“When I start looking for the bullet, the pain may wake him. It wouldn’t do for him to jerk his arms. I may hurt him further.”

“All right.” Olivia knelt beside the behemoth, feeling the warmth of him seep into her bones. She held one wrist, leaning over his abdomen to hold the other. “If he wakes, he will likely toss me,” she muttered. Her fingers barely wrapped around his wrists. One flick of his arm, and she’d be forced to release him.

“Do your best.” Daniel peered into the wound, ready to begin his search.

With what looked like a large pair of tweezers, Daniel began digging in the wound for the bullet. Olivia watched with fascination as blood oozed. She fully expected to become dizzy, but instead, steel encompassed her that she hadn’t realized she possessed. Perhaps in another life, she could have been a nurse.

The mighty Scot did twitch and shift, the muscles beneath her fingertips rippling, but he never opened his eyes, and he didn’t move hard enough that she couldn’t hold him in place. The way she hovered over him, her breasts barely grazed his chest, and she feared moving for some of the blood on his shirt might get on her riding habit. Their breaths mingled, his slow and shallow, hers speeding up. Rather than paying attention to her friend as he performed minor surgery, she stared at the shadow of stubble on the Scot’s strong jaw. A nose with a slight bump at the top, broken at least once. The shape of his mouth. High cheekbones and lashes a lady would be jealous of that fanned over his tanned skin. Dark eyebrows slashed over a broad forehead. His lips were full and wide. Masculine and...sensual at the same time. Her exploration of his face was extremely inappropriate, given his current state, but she couldn’t help it. She’d never been this close to a man like him before.

“Good job, my lady,” Daniel murmured, then “I’ve got it!” He pulled the tweezers from the wound, showing a round lead ball.

“Thank goodness.” Olivia let go as if she’d been burned, sitting back on her heels, an audible sigh escaping her.

“Thank the war.” Daniel had served on the Peninsula. He tucked the lead ball and tweezers back into his bag.

“Thank you for your service, and thank you for helping me.”

Daniel poured more of the spirits over the wound. “Hold him once more, my lady, while I sew.”

“Right.” While Daniel sewed, she studied the man who lay on the ground, reminded of the tales her tutor had taught her of Highlanders fighting fiercely for their freedom in the Wars for Independence and again at Culloden Moor just a few decades ago. The sheer size of him alone was breathtaking, and combined with his handsome features, it made her stomach do funny things.

“Are you all right?” Daniel asked.

Too late, Olivia realized she’d been breathing heavier. Quite embarrassing.

“Nerves.” She let out a short, awkward laugh, avoiding eye contact.

“He’ll live, my lady.” Daniel threaded a hooked needle with thick black thread. Still, the man had not woken.

Absently she brushed at her skirts, wiping away leaves and smudges of dirt. “I’m glad.”

“And,” he paused until she met his gaze, “I’ll not be telling your secret.”

At that, she let out a breath she’d not even realized she had been holding. “Thank you, Daniel.” She chewed her lip. “If my father were to find out... He’d not let me into society again.”

Daniel shook his head. “I know.”

Everyone knew. One day Marian was happy, dancing her way through society. And the next, raving mad before she simply vanished. Though the staff at both the manor house in the country and their London house had not been specifically told where Marian was, everyone knew. Rumors spread quickly through the servants. They were also as painfully aware as Olivia was of her parents’ constant scrutiny since.

Olivia glanced down at her hands, where once more she’d absently touched the Scot. These hands had pulled the trigger and sapped the strength of her victim. A man who looked as if he could withstand almost anything. “I didn’t mean to shoot him. I swear. I’m not...I wasn’t...”

“Accidents happen. Especially with moving targets. ’Tis why I still have this bag.” Daniel chuckled and smacked the leather satchel.

Olivia deeply appreciated the way he brushed aside her fears, her mistake. While the mistake was a heavy thing, it was infinitely lightening to know that he did not think her crazy.

“Have you not heard that our own dear Duke of Wellington has shot more than one person while on the hunt?”

Her eyes widened at that, a kernel of hope taking hold. “Truly?”

Daniel nodded, the face of all seriousness. “Yes, truly.”

“Then I do not feel as bad since he is a man seasoned on the battlefield.” And it was true—she did feel a little better.

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