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Inventive & Courageous
Trembling, Eala filled her lungs. The last thing she wanted to do was follow Ambrose out to the wagon, but the soldiers would deem it odd if she didn’t—especially after the tirade that had erupted from a lass she didn’t recognize, a woman who more resembled a fishwife rather than the refined Miss Eala Calhoun.
Ambrose was kneeling in the crude wagon when she exited the inn. “Get my medical bag,” he hissed through gritted teeth, his blue eyes darkened by anger.
She scurried back inside and up the stairs, grateful he’d spared her the sight of Evan’s agony.
Breathless, she returned to the public rooms, dismayed to discover Ambrose had convinced the soldiers to carry Evan inside. There was no choice but to hurry to the side of the feverish man thrashing about on one of the inn’s flimsy tables. She could only hope her betrothed didn’t recognize her.
As she gazed at him, a brazen idea occurred. “I thought ye said he’s a Jacobite,” she announced.
Her question was met with blank stares, as she’d hoped. “This man is Evan Bruce, son of the Lord Provost of Perth. The Bruces are staunch loyalists. I wouldna like to be the person who tells his powerful father ye’ve mistaken him for a Jacobite.”
She kept to herself the knowledge that Evan hated his father and had joined the rebel cause out of spite.
Gooseflesh marched up her spine when she felt Ambrose’s eyes on her. She hesitated to meet his gaze but, when she plucked up the courage, admiration glowed in those blue depths.
“What was he doing on the moor?” someone asked.
Eala improvised. “Perhaps, this doctor who was tending him…what did ye say his name was?”
The soldier in charge scratched his head. “Raincourt.”
The landlord reacted predictably. “Dr. Giles Raincourt? He’s no Jacobite,” he declared. “A saint thatmonis. Saved my Ollie’s life when he choked on a bit of gristle.”
* * *
Despite the gravity of the situation, Ambrose had to chuckle inwardly. His Eala was proving to be an inventive and courageous woman. He took up the challenge she’d thrown down. “In that case, I suggest someone go as soon as possible to inform thismon’sfather. He needs urgent care that I canna provide here.”
“Aye,” Neville agreed. “And ye have to right the wrong as far as Dr. Raincourt is concerned.”
The corporal squared his shoulders. “Naught I can do for the doctor. Out of my hands. But I’ll send word to the Lord Provost about his son.”
Acknowledging there wasn’t much else he could do for Giles at the moment, Ambrose spoke to Neville. “Can we take thismoninto your back room for now?”
“Aye,” the innkeeper replied. “Anything for the son of the Lord Provost.”
Ambrose resisted the urge to wink at Eala as Evan was lifted carefully by the soldiers and carried into the inn’s snug.
He shooed everyone out of the tiny room except Eala, closed the glass-paned door and prayed.
* * *
Ambrose took charge of Evan’s care, issuing clear instructions to Eala, Neville, and Ollie. His face remained stern, but his calm demeanor helped get her racing heart under control as she watched him pull instruments and vials from his seemingly bottomless medical bag.
It was thanks to him she’d dragged up the courage to fabricate the outrageous tale to the government soldiers. She found she rather liked this new Eala. Ambrose inspired her active participation in life instead of the role of passive acceptance she’d too often assumed.
Following his directives, she plied back and forth to the kitchens, applying cold compresses to Evan’s forehead. Neville agreed without hesitation to having Ollie tear up linens so Ambrose could replace the bandages.
Eala braced herself when the last of Evan’s filthy dressings were removed, relieved when Ambrose seemed pleased with what he saw. “No putrefaction, ’tis something to be grateful for.”
To her, Evan’s stump looked raw and angry, and he still writhed in pain, despite that he remained witless.
Conflicting emotions swirled in her heart. She wanted him to live, to survive the torment he’d borne so bravely. But, if he recovered and the ruse to save him from the chopping block worked, she’d still be betrothed to him, and Ambrose would be lost to her forever.
Eala Dhubh
Ambrose had never met the Lord Provost of Perth, but he recognized Evan’s father as soon as he entered the snug accompanied by the corporal. Apart from the older man’s corpulent belly, the resemblance between father and son was remarkable.
