Page 83 of Wicked Exile

He exhaled his held breath. If Gilroy had found Ness and hurt her—or worse, killed her—he would never forgive himself.

Evan turned around and waved the physician into the room through the open doorway. He stepped away from the bed, his boots crunching on broken glass as the physician took his spot next to Juliet.

Dr. Langtree set his fingers along Juliet’s forehead, then along her neck.

Evan froze, staring at the man’s fingers. It’s where his blasted fingers should be. His touch on Juliet, not the doctor’s.

Dr. Langtree looked over his shoulder at Evan. “I’ll need a lamp.”

Evan nodded. “I’ll get the fire started. Lots of light.”

He dodged out into the hallway, walking toward the lamp that sat on a short table at the end of the hall.

Lots of light? That was the best he could utter? He’d seen the hovel she’d been chained into by his brother’s hand. And that was all he could offer? Lots of light?

What he needed to do was crawl into bed with her and sink her body deep within his hold, never to let her go again, never let another harm her again.

Not that she would want him after what Gilroy did to her—what he let happen to her because he was too damn stubborn to see what was right in front of him.

The evil that he’d always suspected was in his brother but refused to acknowledge.

Offering light would have to do.

He grabbed the lamp and then looked over the railing down into the main foyer and whistled. Brooks appeared two levels below, his hands behind his back and looking up at Evan.

“I need a maid to clean up broken glass and water. And send up tea. And broth.”

Brooks nodded. “I’ll send the maid and the tea up directly, my lord.”

Evan returned to the room and set the lamp onto the side table on the opposite side of the bed from where Juliet had fallen.

He kept his eyes averted as the physician poked and prodded Juliet’s body. He didn’t want to watch her face flicker in pain. Look at the blood marring her lips, her cheeks.

His stomach churned. He hadn’t even had time to clean her face.

He was miserable at this. Taking care of her. Keeping her safe.

His gaze taking the coward’s way out, he turned to the fireplace and started stacking logs. He’d lit the fire, working on it to catch to healthy flames when the maid arrived balancing a tray of tea and broth. She set it on the small round table in the room and quickly started cleaning the mess of shattered glass and china that had been sitting on the side table.

The flames flickering ever higher in front of him, Evan sat on his heels, keeping busy with the fire long after the maid had left the room. He didn’t look up until the physician appeared next to him. “My lord, a word.”

Evan drew himself to his full height and looked down at the physician, his open palm ushering the man out the door. With the shortest glance at Juliet, he noted her eyes were closed and he stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door halfway closed behind him.

“How is she?”

“She doesn’t need a surgeon. All her bones seem to be intact. She’s bruised and scraped and the knife that had gone into her chest—”

“The knife had gone into her chest?”

“Yes, you did not see the blood?”

Evan’s arm swung to the side, sending his fist into the wall beside the door. Plaster crumbled.

A damn blade in her chest.

All he’d seen was a blinding, raging red when he’d found Gilroy over her with a knife aimed at her body. He hadn’t seen it actually cut her, he’d been so consumed with fury.

“Sir, as I was saying…” Dr. Langtree’s countenance didn’t change at Evan’s outburst. “The blade did not have a chance to sink too deeply into her skin. Clean the area with the whisky you keep about here and it should heal fine without stitches. As it is a delicate area, I assume I can leave that task with you?”

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