“She didn’t deny the accusations!”
“The evidence points to the truth that Kitty has been blackmailed. Need I tell you its horrors?” Thomas lunged, growling in Nathaniel’s face. “It can destroy a man. And I can only begin to imagine what it would do to an innocent woman.”
Pulse slowing, Nathaniel gazed across the room, his breathing shallow. Intermittent flashes of lightning illuminated the room, as the pieces of truth began to illuminate his mind. It couldn’t be...
Thomas raked his hand over his head and turned to the fire. “How did I not see it until now? How could I have been so blind?”
Nathaniel blinked, his arms limp at his sides. The impact of the truth on his heart crashed through him like a ball from a cannon. Lord, what have I done?
“What else did Cyprian tell you?” Thomas’s bellowed question jerked Nathaniel away from the pit of his sins. “Did it not occur to you that perhaps he had been the one who’d threatened her, had in fact attacked her those many weeks ago? Blast it, Nathaniel! Even I can see that now!”
It had occurred to him. How had he so quickly forgotten what for so long had been so plain? Nathaniel gripped his hair at the root. Cyprian had used them both! He dropped his hands to his sides and stared motionless into the fire.
He had failed her.
Like a flailing sailor tossed among the waves, Nathaniel groped for anything that might save his drowning soul. How could he make her feel the depths of his regrets? Would she ever forgive him?
With a loud crack the front door burst open and thre
e figures stepped in from the storm.
“We need Doctor Smith!”
“I’m Doctor Smith.” Nathaniel rushed forward as two strangers carried a man between them, his body limp.
Rain trailed off them in little rivers, joining together on the floor in a large puddle. Thomas came behind and helped lay the victim on the rug in front of the fire.
Nathaniel snatched a glowing lamp from the table and crouched, scanning the man’s body. “What happened?” No bleeding wound was immediately evident. “Who is this man? Who are you?”
He opened the victim’s sopping jacket and searched for signs of injury along his chest.
The oldest man with a dripping beard spoke first. “I’m Jack Green and this is my son. We were going up to Boston when we found this fellow just a few miles west of here. West, wasn’t it?” He looked at his son for affirmation, face crunched. “We thought he was dead, but he started babbling on about a message he had to get to Plymouth. Didn’t say his name or where he was from.”
Nathaniel exchanged a passing glance with Thomas who dipped his chin in agreement. These men were speaking the truth. “Help me remove his jacket. I need to find where he’s hurt.”
As they lifted him, the man roused and his eyes circled, round and white. He clutched onto Nathaniel’s jacket, the urgency in his stare cutting Nathaniel clear through. “My note, my satchel, the British...” He dropped his head back, groaning as his eyes closed. “They took my satchel.”
“Satchel? What satchel?” Nathaniel glanced at the two strangers before locking eyes with Thomas.
Thomas lowered to his knees and spoke up to be heard above the booming thunder. “He could have been a courier.”
“That’s what I gathered from his bumbling.” The old man sat back on his heels, his white beard shining as another flash of lightning gleamed.
Lifting the man’s limp head, Nathaniel ran his fingers gently against his neck and the base of his skull. Even with his soaking hair, the sticky lump behind the courier’s ear made Nathaniel growl. He pointed to the surgery. “Help me carry him.”
Once they hefted the man on the table Nathaniel fully stripped back the coat and scanned for other wounds. He ran his fingers along the man’s ribs while Thomas lifted the lamp. So far he saw only the head wound.
Nathaniel pointed at Thomas. “Hand me some bandages.”
Thomas tossed over empty baskets, and opened and closed drawers. “I don’t see any.”
Blast! “Upstairs you will find an extra sheet in my trunk—grab a quilt as well.”
Thomas darted out of sight while the other two men cowered in the corner, their dripping hats in their hands, looking more like frightened children than grown men.
“You’ve done enough.” Nathaniel pointed toward the kitchen. “There’s nothing more you can do here, go into the—”
The back door burst open.