“I’m sure that’s what Angus thought too,” she said dryly.
“He only wanted us to find good wives. Just like you, Nick,” Grant said.
Victoria winced.
“We’ll talk about all that later,” said Nick. “And how are the young ladies, if I may ask?”
“Ah, they’ve decided they’d rather die a hideous death than marry your brothers,” Victoria said.
“Really?” That was almost too much to hope for.
She gave him a slight smile. “It seemed they were initially in favor of the elopement but changed their minds over the course of the journey.”
“That must have been some carriage ride,” Nick said.
Grant shrugged. “It’s just that they didn’t get along with Grandda.”
“That’s because he’s so horrible,” Ainsley piped up.
“Not as horrible as you are,” Royal said.
The surgeon made an exasperated noise. “I’m ready, my lord.”
“Everyone out,” Victoria ordered.
“I’m staying,” said Grant in a tight voice.
“Fine, but keep out of the way.” She took the towels from the maid and shooed her out, along with Royal and Ainsley.
“I don’t think we have to worry about a marriage between those two,” Victoria said when she returned to the bedside.
“Ready, Mr. Graeme?” the surgeon asked. “It’ll hurt like the devil, but it won’t take long if you stay still.”
Victoria rolled a small cloth into a tube and handed it to Graeme. “Bite on this. It’ll help.”
Nick clasped one of his brother’s hands while Grant took the other. The next few minutes made him sweat almost as much as his poor brother. When the surgeon and Brody manipulated Graeme’s leg, the lad let out a groan, then clamped down hard on the cloth and held Nick’s hand in a punishing grip. Through the entire gruesome process, Victoria stroked Graeme’s hair, murmuring quiet encouragement. He kept his gaze fastened on her face, as if her calm reassurance was the only thing that kept him from breaking down.
Nick had never been more grateful for her presence or more convinced that he’d be the luckiest bastard in England if she could bring herself to forgive him.
“Almost there,” the surgeon muttered.
He gave one more tug on Graeme’s leg. The lad went limp, but his eyelids fluttered up a few moments later, and he stared blearily up at Nick.
“Well done, Mr. Graeme,” Dillon said. “I’ll just strap your leg, and you’ll be mending in no time.”
“Mr. Dillon, please give me the instructions for his care,” Victoria said. “Mrs. Taffy and I will be nursing him.”
“Thank you, love,” Nick said, giving her a grateful smile from across the bed.
Her reply was a brisk nod.
“Brody can make some helpful poultices,” Dillon said, “and I will write up my instructions.”
Victoria felt Graeme’s forehead. “He seems a mite feverish to me.”
“Aye,” Dillon said. “That concerns me a wee bit.”
She and Nick exchanged a worried glance.
