The welling tears finally spilled down her cheeks. “Ye must have realized by now ours is a betrothal of convenience. I’m nay in love with him, but ’tis heartbreaking to see him suffer so horribly.”
An urge to shout out his joy seized Ambrose. If she didn’t love Evan…
But, suddenly, it was even more vital he save the man’s life. He’d never forgive himself if Evan died.
He closed his eyes in an effort to clear his confused thoughts. Reapplying bandages to the wound would take all his concentration.
Eala tensed. “Someone’s coming,” she whispered, panic plainly visible in her eyes.
Ambrose stood, ready to defend his patient and the woman who’d risked apprehension by the authorities for a man she didn’t love.
Relief swept over him when Giles Raincourt proved to be the man bundled in a black cloak who shoved open the stubborn door.
* * *
“Hell’s bells,” Dr. Raincourt exclaimed. “This won’t do.”
Eala wanted to throttle him. “’Tisna Dr. Pendray’s fault we’re in this shack,” she hissed.
“I’m not blaming him, dear lady,” he replied with a frown. “I know who’s responsible. Mr. Molloy explained to me what his wife did. She’s ranting and raving because the authorities told her they’d get here as soon as they could, but they had a lot on their plate. I never would have sent you here if I’d thought…”
“We dinna have time to worry about blame,” Ambrose interrupted. “I’m glad ye’ve come. My patient isna doing well.”
Sick at heart, Eala stepped back and watched the two surgeons examine Evan. She’d always considered men selfish, often vain, creatures. These brave doctors were a breed apart, their attention focussed solely on saving a wounded soul neither of them knew.
“You did a fine job, laddie,” Dr. Raincourt said after examining Evan’s stump. “Always knew you had the makings of an outstanding surgeon.”
“But will it be enough?” Ambrose replied modestly, picking up the strips he’d made from her petticoat.
“Only time will tell. We cannot work miracles. Now, Miss Calhoun looks worn out, and there’s no telling how long before government soldiers arrive.” He eyed the linen strips, then took them from Ambrose. “There’s an inn on the north road called The Black Swan. Take Miss Calhoun. Mention my name. You’ll be safe there.”
“I’ve heard my father speak of it,” Eala said, anxious to be gone from the bothy.
“But Evan is my responsibility,” Ambrose began.
“You’ve done all that’s humanly possible. I’ll do what I can for him. I’d never forgive myself if the authorities somehow prevented you from helping other folks in the future. Scotland needs gifted surgeons like you. And we must protect Miss Calhoun, else we’ll never hear the end of it from her father.”
The Moor
Ambrose had always considered himself a rational man. His brain argued Evan was dying, yet he felt bound to insist on his right to stay with his patient.
The tearful goodbye kiss Eala pressed to her betrothed’s lips was the compassionate act of a sorrowful woman, but jealousy howled like a savage beast in his breast.
She had to be taken far away from this dreadful place as soon as possible, yet his feet refused to move.
He longed to tell her he’d never felt such intense feelings for any woman before, but he’d failed to save her fiancé’s life.
Nothing made any sense. The world had gone mad.
“Go,” Giles commanded sternly, jolting him back to reality.
Jaw clenched, he donned his dusty cloak, picked up his scuffed medical bag and put an arm around Eala’s waist. “Come,” he rasped.
She nodded woodenly and allowed him to lead her to the door where she paused to look back at Evan. “He deserved better,” she said softly.
She’d claimed she didn’t love him but…
Ashamed he was jealous of a dying man, he braced himself against the icy wind sweeping down from the distant Cairngorms and furled his cloak around her shoulders. “How far to this inn?” he asked.