Page 26 of Devoted to the Duke (The St. Clairs 1)

Chapter Nine

Catherine awoke toexcruciating pain in her leg and gasped. Her sharp intake of breath sent spikes of pain through her head and she raised her hands to cradle it.

“Lie still,” a voice warned. “Rowney, you know what must be done.”

She looked up and saw two men hovering over her. Before she could ask what was happening, one of them yanked sharply on her injured leg as the other pushed and pulled it. Her scream resounded through the room.

“It would be better if she fainted again, sir,” the man who’d jerked her leg said. He still gripped her foot and ankle tightly, keeping her from moving it as the other man kneaded and pulled more.

“What are you doing?” she cried.

The older gentleman paused and released the pressure on her leg. “I’m Mr. Jones, your surgeon. I’m trying to set your leg, my lady. Legs are more difficult to remedy than a fractured arm, thanks to the size and strength of the muscles they contain. I need to get this right—else your right leg will be shorter than the left. Be patient.”

He returned to manipulating her leg again and the pain caused her to see red and then black. When she came to, the surgeon fussed with her forehead.

Seeing she was conscious again, he told her, “Your leg has been stretched in order to put the bones in their natural position. I’ve encased it in plaster so it will mend. I’m attending to your head now.”

Reaching behind him, he handed her a cup. “Drink this.”

Catherine looked at it with suspicion. “What is it?”

“Laudanum. It will help you with the pain of your leg and the stitches I’m about to sew.”

Her leg ached so badly that she downed the liquid in the cup in one swallow. The surgeon dipped a cloth in a basin and blotted it against her forehead. She sucked in her breath.

“That stings,” she accused him.

His grim look told her it would do worse than sting.

She glanced down at her leg while he readied his equipment. “How did this happen?”

“You don’t remember?” he asked.

“No,” she said slowly, although a feeling of dread suddenly filled her. She tensed as she heard a scream echoing in her mind. A flash of motion sent a dizzying rush through her.

He blotted a cloth against her brow. “Rowney, come hold her down.”

Panic swept through Catherine as the assistant came toward her. “No,” she begged softly as her eyelids fluttered. Weariness filled her.

The young man gripped her elbows, pinning them to the bed. Her heart beat wildly but struggling was beyond her.

The surgeon said, “Go to sleep, my lady. This will all be over when you awaken.”

She fought the urge even as her eyes closed and then succumbed, too tired to fight anymore.

When she awoke again, Tilly sat in a chair next to the bed. Her maid’s eyes were rimmed with red and swollen from crying.

“Oh, my lady. You’re awake.”

Catherine swallowed. Her mouth was so dry. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips and found them dried and cracked.

“Tilly?”

“Hush, now. You’re going to be fine. I need to get a little broth in you. Does that sound good?”

She nodded but a sharp pain filled her head. The leg ached dully.

Tilly helped her sit up some, propping a few pillows behind her, and then held a bowl to her lips. The broth was tepid but tasted so good. She drank it all. Her maid eased her back onto the pillows.

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