A Night to Surrender (Spindle Cove #1)(81)
Author: Tessa Dare

As Susanna alighted from the cart, she winced, feeling a sharp pain where she’d fallen. She paused for a moment, pressing a hand to her bruised side, until the pain subsided. Then she moved to follow the men inside the smithy.

Miss Highwood did the same.

Susanna caught the fair-haired beauty’s arm. “Miss Highwood . . . Diana. This will be an unpleasant scene. I don’t think you should be here.” Susanna wasn’t at all sure how she would make it through, herself. This went well beyond her usual realm of poultices and salves.

“I want to help,” the young woman said, with clear-eyed resolve. “You all helped me, during my time of distress. You, Lord Rycliff, Mr. Dawes. Rufus and Finn, as well. I want to repay the kindness. I haven’t the men’s strength, or your knowledge, Miss Finch. But I’m not a swooning sort of girl, and I’ll do anything I can.”

Susanna regarded the young woman with admiration. Apparently, the delicate Miss Highwood was made of stronger stuff than everyone else had imagined . . . Susanna included.

Good for her.

“You’ll be certain to step out, if it becomes too much?”

Diana nodded. “And I have my tincture, of course.”

Susanna gave her arm a grateful squeeze before releasing it. “Then let’s go in together.”

Aaron Dawes hurried ahead of them all, clearing the tools from a long, wooden table and moving it to the center of the space. “Set him down here, my lord.”

Bram hesitated for a moment, as if reluctant to let Finn go. But then he silently moved forward and lowered the moaning boy to the smooth, sanded surface. Thorne still held his viselike grip on Finn’s wounded leg.

“Easy, Finn,” Bram murmured. “We’re going to take care of you.” He turned to Dawes. “Laudanum?”

“I sent Rufus—”

“I’m here.” Rufus dashed into the room, holding up a brown glass bottle. “Took it from All Things.”

“I’ll fetch a spoon or a cup,” Miss Highwood offered.

“Save it for afterward,” Dawes said. “He’s already unconscious, and we can’t wait for it to take effect.” The smith poked gingerly at what had recently been a recognizable foot. “There’s no saving it. I’ll start readying the tools.”

Susanna was saddened, but unsurprised. Even if the bone weren’t splintered, the wound was an unholy mess—studded with bits of metal, boot leather, and other debris. It would prove impossible to clean thoroughly. If the blood loss didn’t take Finn’s life, infection would.

“What can I do?” Lord Payne asked. He stood at the edge of the room, his face ashen and drawn. “Dawes, give me something to do.”

“Get the fire going. It’s growing dark.” The smith jerked his head toward the forge. “And there’s a lamp in my cottage, across the way.”

“I’ll get the lamp,” Diana said.

“Everyone, halt!” Bram shouted. He loomed over Finn, his face hard and commanding. “No one is touching this boy’s foot, do you hear me? I’m going for a surgeon.”

Susanna winced. She ought to have known how Bram would receive this, after he’d so nearly lost his own leg. But that was a different sort of wound, incurred under much different circumstances.

Drawing up to his full height, Bram looked around the room and spoke with cool authority. “No one cuts into this boy. Not until I return. That’s an order.” He turned to his corporal. “Do you hear me, Thorne? No one touches him. You have my permission to use whatever means you must.”

He turned and strode from the forge, leaving everyone stunned, staring blankly at one another. They all knew what Bram refused to admit—that preserving Finn’s foot could mean losing his life.

“I’ll talk to him,” said Lord Payne, moving for the door.

Susanna stopped him. “Wait, my lord. Let me try.”

A look of understanding passed between them. He nodded. “Stubborn fool never listens to me. Never listens to anyone, I’d wager. But he loves you, so perhaps there’s that.”

Susanna blinked at him, startled.

“Hasn’t he said so yet?” Payne shrugged. “Cowardly bastard doesn’t deserve you. Go on, now.” He gave her a fond nudge.

Susanna rushed out of the smithy and into the yard, where Bram was readjusting his horse’s saddle, preparing to mount.

“Bram, wait,” she called, dashing to his side. “I know this is horrible for you. It’s a tragedy, truly. But we can’t wait on a surgeon’s opinion tonight. Dawes must operate quickly, if Finn’s to have any chance.”

“I won’t let you lame him. He’s fourteen years old, for Christ’s sake. Full of a young boy’s plans and dreams. Take that foot, and you take his whole future with it. The Brights aren’t a privileged family. They work for their living. What kind of life is Finn going to have, with one leg?”

“I don’t know. But at least he will have a life. If we delay, Finn will die.”

“You don’t know that, Susanna. I’ve seen a great many more wounds of this nature than you have. You may have a talent with herbs and such, but you’re no surgeon.”

“I . . .” She stepped back, feeling the sting of his rebuke. That ache in her ribs reasserted itself. “I know I’m not.”

“Do you?” His jaw clenched as he tightened the saddle girth. “You seem eager enough to pretend. You’d sentence that boy to life as an invalid, just because you’ve been hurt in the past. You’re letting your own fear of doctors put Finn at risk.”

She grabbed his arm, forcing him to face her. “It’s not my fears that are putting Finn at risk. It’s yours, don’t you see? You’re still so caught on this notion that you can’t be a whole man, can’t be worth anything unless you prove you have two strong, perfectly functioning legs to carry you into battle. You’d even drag me along to Portugal before you’d admit otherwise. But this is not about you, Bram.”

He shot her a defensive glare. “I hadn’t planned to drag you anywhere, Susanna. I’d planned to take you willingly, happily—or not at all. Are you telling me you don’t want to come?”

How could he put such choices to her, at a time like this?

“I love you. I want to be with you. But dashing off to Portugal next Tuesday, just because my father’s a selfish, unfeeling old stick? It sounds romantic, to be sure . . . but also a bit juvenile. Aren’t we both a little too old to be running away from home?”