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‘I’ll annoy you as much as I damn well please if it helps keep you awake! Pull yourself together! You need a doctor, and I can’t drag you back to Paris unconscious.’
‘A doctor? Are you out of your mind? Do you have any idea how much medical professionals in Paris charge for—’
I kissed him. That shut him up, and probably would have the added benefit of keeping him from falling asleep. If it didn’t, I honestly would have been rather miffed.
‘Listen to me, you stubborn sack of money!’ I growled against his lips. ‘I’m going to get you back to Paris, and then I’m going to get the best, most expensive doctor for you I can get my hands on, and I’m going to pay him out of your pocket! That’s what you get for being stupid enough to let yourself be shot! Understood?’
When he opened his mouth to fire back, I kissed him again—and he was silent.
I should employ this strategy more often.
Finally, I had to break away and gasp for air. Mr Ambrose was breathing heavily as well—but I didn’t really think it was from my marvellous kissing skills. He was swaying back and forth on his horse, and I barely managed to keep him upright.
‘Come on, Karim! Come on! Where are you? Get your butt back here!’
The door of the inn slammed. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the figure of the governor-general hurrying towards his coach. Moments later, the coach started to roll down the road, back towards the port it had come from. The sight lifted a heavy burden from my shoulders. Unfortunately, there was another, even heavier one, already there.
‘Miss…Miss Linton…I…’
‘Come on, Mr Ambrose, Sir. Hold on! Karim will be here any minute!’
He started to sway more heavily, just as I heard hoof beats from the direction of the inn.
Hurry up, Karim! Hurry up! Hurry up!
Another big sway. I struggled, fighting to stay upright, and—
Thud!
‘Mmmph!’
I lay on the ground for a moment, contemplating what a heavy burden love could be. Karim’s voice tore me from my philosophical contemplations.
‘Sahib? Sahib, where are you?’
I cleared my throat. ‘Down here on the ground, Karim. Could you give me a hand?’
Healing Stone
Back in Paris, I kicked out the first doctor who came to look after Mr Ambrose, and the second, too. The third I kept, because (a) he was the first one to speak English, and (b), he didn’t propose to use leeches. I wasn’t exactly a medical professional, but considering the massive amounts of blood my dear employer had already lost, I didn’t really see the point of bleeding him some more. Besides—the doctor was already going to suck him dry with his bill. That would be hard enough for poor Mr Ambrose to handle.
If he survives, a tiny, scared voice in the back of my mind whispered. A voice I had never heard before.
I straightened my spine. Of course he’d make it! I wouldn’t allow him to die!
‘Well, doctor?’ I demanded. ‘Are you done yet?’
In response, the doctor looked up from his patient. He had a pincer-like instrument in his hand, and gripped between the pincers, I saw what looked little marble covered on tomato sauce. When my stomach realized what it really was, it rebelled.
‘Nearly, Monsieur.’ With a plink, the doctor dropped the bullet into a metal container. ‘’and me the bandages, if you please?’
Trying not to look at the prone form of Mr Ambrose on the bed, I handed him some strips of pristine linen—not ripped out of my shirt this time, but bought from the finest store in Paris. Mr Ambrose was going to be so furious.
Please let him be furious! Please, let him live to be furious!
Calmly taking the linen strips, the doctor used one to clean the wound, then wrapped it with another and tied the bandages with agile fingers. While he was still working, he glanced up at me out of the corner of his eye.
‘Monsieur…Linton, was it?’
