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“I suppose doctors like ye are always trying to discover new medicines that will truly help people, not just ease their pain.”
He nodded. Here was another side of this remarkable woman. Intelligent, curious about the world. He’d never met a female who had the slightest interest in medicine. Sleep was clearly going to be elusive. Sitting cross-legged, he found it natural to tell her about the work of William Harvey and how it had advanced mankind’s knowledge of the circulatory system.
She imitated his pose, settling her rumpled skirts over her legs. “So, ye mean to say the heart pumps the blood around the body?” she asked. “How did he discover it?”
“Harvey was appointed physician to Charles I. The king was an avid hunter. Harvey often accompanied him, nay for the sport but so he could dissect the stags after the hunt.”
Even amid the unfolding tragedy, Eala managed to laugh at this interesting tidbit.
Ambrose described recent smallpox inoculations carried out by an Italian doctor.
“That way, the disease can be prevented before it even takes hold?” Eala asked, wide-eyed.
“Aye.”
She listened with rapt attention while he described the advances in the study of anatomy thanks to Lorenz Heister.
As the gray dawn crept beneath the door, he felt invigorated, despite the lack of sleep. He’d rarely had such an interesting conversation with his university colleagues.
She yawned, stretching both arms above her head. “I’m stiff,” she complained.
It was a moment of intimacy and he was glad she seemed sufficiently at ease with him to arch her back and thrust out her tempting breasts. Butstiffdidn’t come close to describing his cock’s reaction.
Petticoat
In the light of day, the bothy proved to be even more wretched than Eala had first thought. She stood on shaky legs, cringing at the sight of giant webs wafting in every nook and cranny as the wind buffeted the shed. Long-legged, black spiders waited patiently for their breakfast. In the darkness, she hadn’t noticed the rat droppings. She was exhausted, but couldn’t bring herself to lie down again.
The conversation with Ambrose had been stimulating. He wasn’t like most men who seemed to think women were only interested in sewing and planning menus. She felt comfortable with him, but the bothy gave her the creeps.
“How long do ye think we’ll have to stay here?” she asked Ambrose, who was examining his patient’s bandages.
He shook his head. “The longer we stay, the worse ’twill be for Evan. He’s feverish, and I need to bandage his arm with clean dressings.”
She lifted the hem of her skirt. “Will my petticoat serve? ’Tis cleaner than the rest of my outfit,” she quipped with a wry laugh.
“Ye’re a marvel, Eala Calhoun,” he exclaimed, retrieving scissors from his medical bag.
She preened under his admiring gaze. “So long as ye think so,” she replied.
Confusion crept into his eyes. He probably deemed her a wanton, flirting with another man while her betrothed lay stricken. But there was something else lurking in those blue depths. He wanted her. She wasn’t the only one moved by the strong alchemy between them.
She lifted her skirts, turning slowly while Ambrose cut off the bottom half of her petticoat. They were trying to save a life, but it was scandalously intimate. Her ankles were exposed, and Ambrose’s hands ventured close to her legs. She inhaled his masculine scent, longing to sift her fingers through his silken curls as he knelt, absorbed in his task. She had to speak, had to tell him of her feelings. “I’m drawn to ye,” she admitted in a whisper.
“I feel the same,” he replied after some hesitation, “but…”
Her gaze flew to Evan when he coughed, unintelligible words emerging between chapped lips.
Ambrose bent his head to listen. “What is it, Evan?”
“Let me die,” he rasped, clutching Ambrose’s shirt with his good hand.
“Nay. Yer betrothed is here. We’re going to do everything in our power to help ye recover.”
Tears threatened when Evan shifted his watery gaze to her. “Find another, my sweet Eala.”
* * *
Ambrose waited a few minutes after giving Evan another dose of laudanum, then began to unwind the soiled bandages from his amputated arm. Eala grasped Evan’s good hand and held it to her lips. She cooed words of comfort, but he didn’t react at all to the inspection of his stump. Ambrose suspected his patient had lapsed into a trance. “He’s given up,” he whispered.
