Kimberly Nee - The McKenzie Brothers (12 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Gathering the tattered remains of her gown together, Heather leaped to her feet and dashed through what was left of the door to run to the surgeon’s cabin.

The door was closed, but she paid no heed as she pounded on it, calling out, “Mr. Mason!”

He jerked open the door, snapping, “What is it?”

“Please, you must come at once!” She grabbed his arm to drag him back toward Drew’s cabin. “Henry had a pistol! He shot Captain McKenzie!”

“How the devil — ” Sam sputtered, breaking free of her hold to sprint ahead. “How did he get out of the hold? Mr. Allen wouldn’t tell me when he brought Mr. Donaldson to the infirmary, only that Captain McKenzie nearly killed him.”

That was the last of the conversation as they reached Drew’s cabin and Mr. Mason threw open the door.

He knelt beside Drew, whose face was ashen as he slumped against the bed. The scarlet stain spread, soaking into the fine fabric, dripping onto the satiny wood beneath him. His eyes were closed, one hand rested on his belly while the other lay, palm up, in the sticky puddle on the floor.

Mr. Mason lifted the saturated shirt pasted to Drew’s side to reveal the small, bloodied wound just above his right hip. She swallowed hard against the sour taste flooding her mouth.

Mr. Mason looked up. “Help me get him into bed.”

She stared down at Drew. “Lift him?”

“No lip now.” Mr. Mason took Drew’s right hand from the puddle of blood, crouching to loop it about his neck. “Help me.”

There was no way to help him
and
hold her bodice closed, so she took a deep breath, bid her modesty farewell, and crouched to drape Drew’s left arm around her neck. Her spine threatened to crumple as she heaved.

Drew groaned, she grunted, and all three straightened onto unsteady feet. Together, she and Mr. Mason managed to walk Drew from the floor to his bed, where they gently placed him. he let out a long, low moan, then went quiet.

“You lay still, Captain,” Mr. Mason ordered, his voice brooking no argument. “This is going to hurt like the devil, but it’s important you remain perfectly still. Do you understand?”

Drew’s tongue flicked out to moisten his dry lips. “Yes.”

His voice was reed-thin, sending a rush of panic skittering through her. Turning to the doctor, she asked, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Yes. You can hold him whilst I remove the bullet and pack the wound.” Mr. Mason went to the door. “I’ll return momentarily to extract it.”

She nodded, moving to sit up by Drew’s head. Clasping his hand in hers, she stroked his damp hair with her free hand. “Everything is going to be fine,” she murmured, blinking back tears as she gazed into his cloudy dark eyes.

“Hurts like hell.” He winced as he shifted.

“I know.”

He fell silent for a moment, his breathing rapid and shallow. Then he whispered, “Did he touch you?”

“Aside from the bruises?” She waited for his slow nod. “No. You have perfect timing.”

“I’m going to kill him.”

“Don’t worry about that now,” she chided, still smoothing his hair from his forehead.

He shifted again, a low hiss of pain escaping his clenched teeth. “Goddamn, it hurts.”

Heather moved away from him. “It won’t much longer.”

“Where are you — ”

“I need to cover myself before Mr. Mason comes back.” She hurriedly stripped off her torn gown and replaced it with Drew’s dressing gown. It wasn’t perfect, and was far too large, but at least she preserved
some
of her modesty.

Mr. Mason returned with a bottle of whiskey, a pair of scissors, a bowl and a wad of bandages. He glanced at Heather. “I need you to hold his arms down, Miss Morgan. Are you ready, Captain?”

Drew nodded, setting his jaw as Heather pressed into him. “I am.”

Heather held her breath as Mr. Mason began, only exhaling when dots danced before her eyes. Dampness seeped into her sleeve as sweat beaded Drew’s forehead, pressed against her arm, his breathing ragged as the doctor probed about in the wound. He stiffened against her, and she stared down as Mr. Mason dug about deeper. Her stomach did a slow, twisting flip, yet remained otherwise calm. It was morbidly fascinating, watching the doctor work. At least it was until he sloshed more whiskey over the wound. Drew’s body snapped taut and he let out a roar of primal agony.

Her fascination deflated as nausea filled her. Still, she swallowed hard against it and murmured, “It’s almost over, love.” She released his right arm to stroke his hair tenderly. “Mr. Mason has found the bullet now and it is almost out.”

Sam withdrew the scissors and the sour taste sharpened at the sight of the bloodied, misshapen lead ball clamped between the blades. He dropped it into the bowl, then poured more whiskey into the gaping wound.

“
Jesus!
” Drew hissed again, then went limp.

“It’s out,” she murmured, still stroking. “It’s out.”

Sam pressed a folded square of linen against the wound, wrapping a rough linen bandage about Drew’s midsection. “We’ll keep an eye on the bleeding,” he told Heather. “And for fever. I think the worst is yet to come.”

She took a deep breath to calm her racing heartbeat, and sank back against the pillow, cradling Drew in her arms. His head came to rest on her breast and she watched over him even as his eyes closed and he slumped into unconsciousness.

It was a long night for Heather. Sam stayed long enough to show her how to clean the wound and change the bandage as needed. He left her the whiskey, promising to send Nick down with another bottle as soon as possible. Then he had to leave, concerned now about Henry.

“I’ve known the captain since he was a boy. I’ve never seen him lose his temper in such a manner before.” His gray eyes rose to meet hers. “I hope he hasn’t killed the man, even if he might deserve it.”

She didn’t give a damn about Henry’s condition. Drew was her only concern.

After Sam left the cabin, she attempted to clean up the blood, using the tattered remains of her torn gown to mop it from the floor and the wall. Then she dragged the desk chair over beside the bed to curl into. Drew looked so pale, his skin nearly as stark as the bed linens, his dark brows standing out against the pallor of his face.

Thomas Carmichael, the ship’s carpenter, arrived to fix the door. Heather paid scant attention to him as she sat beside Drew. Her energy was focused on him. He was all that mattered to her.

So she sat, just watching over him as day stretched on. Darkness fell and she lit the lamps in the cabin. Nick arrived with the promised whiskey and with a tray.

“Cook sent down broth for Captain McKenzie and supper for you, Miss Morgan,” he said as he set the tray on the table, thunking the bottle of whiskey down beside it.

“Thank you, Mr. Stevens,” she replied, glancing at the steward. “I am afraid I am not very hungry right now.”

“Still, you need to eat,” he reminded her gently. “I’ll just leave it there and pick it up later tonight.”

“Thank you.”

He gave her a sympathetic smile and left the cabin as quietly as he had entered it.

She turned back to Drew, her brow furrowing as she reached out with a damp towel to sponge off his forehead. She didn’t know how serious his wound was and Mr. Mason hadn’t said, but he didn’t look happy when he’d left.

Drew stretched in his sleep, groaning as he did so. A fresh wave of perspiration broke out on his forehead. She touched a hand to his forehead. Hot. Fever had struck.

A while later, he began thrashing about, kicking at the sheet, now tangled about his legs. He shoved one pillow to the floor, the other to the far side of the bed.

Heather went to fetch Mr. Mason. She had precious little experience with fevers, so whatever advice he could offer, she would gladly accept.

The surgeon pulled open the door on the second knock. “Yes?”

“Mr. Mason, Drew — that is, Captain McKenzie — is running a fever now.”

He sighed, coming his fingers through his thatch of curly blond hair. “I was afraid of this. The only thing we can do now is try to keep him cool and hope that it breaks.”

“What should I do?”

“I’ll send Mr. Stevens up with an ewer of water. Just keep Captain McKenzie’s head cool.”

She simply stared at the doctor. “Is that
all
? I already knew to do
that
.”

“So why are you here then?”

“Because I thought that you — a doctor — might have a better remedy.” She made no attempt to keep the exasperation from her voice.

“I am afraid that’s the best I
can
do, Miss Morgan.”

She turned away to go back to Drew’s cabin. “Very well then. Thank you.”

“He is a strong man. It will take more than that nick to fell Captain McKenzie.”

“I certainly hope so.” Her heart was heavy as she plodded back to Drew’s cabin.

She returned to his bedside, sinking back into her chair. He still tossed about. No sooner did she cover him, then the blankets tangled about his legs. She spent plenty of time tugging the covers free and smoothing them over him again.

“Oh, God.” The low moan rose from Drew, who had gone still. “Bridget…”

The blankets slipped from her fingers. Bridget?

“Why — why would you do that?” He began tossing once more. “Lies…all lies…should never have trusted — ”

She leaned a bit closer.
What
on earth was he talking about? She dipped her towel in the tepid water and pressed it to his forehead.

He caught her wrist. “Heather?”

She thought he was waking up, but his eyes never opened. He just squeezed her hand and repeated, “Heather?”

“Yes?”

“Bridget — why? God, I love that woman — so much it — I can’t get her out of my mind.” His voice grew louder as he vehemently shook his head. “I love her, but I can’t — I can’t…”

“Shh, Drew,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut as she smoothed his hair away from his forehead with her free hand. She didn’t want to hear how he still loved Bridget. What she’d heard so far sent a sharp pain shooting right through her. It hurt worse than she imagined it could, worse than any physical pain she’d ever felt.

Her throat tightened, tears pricked at her eyes, and she swallowed hard against both. Bridget must have been the
B
of the note in the book of poetry. He
did
still love her. Still, she forced herself to remain calm as she whispered, “Shh…”

He calmed down then, lying quietly, leaving her to gaze down at him with confused eyes. She wanted to shake him, to ask him to whom was he speaking? Was he telling her he loved her? Or, in his delirium, did he think
she
was Bridget?

She wanted so much to believe he was talking to her. Her heart had actually skipped a beat when he said those words. Her mouth went dry and it all made sense now.

She was falling in love with the dashing American sea captain. She shouldn’t, knew she was only setting herself up for heartbreak, but she couldn’t help it. She was falling in love with Drew McKenzie.

“Bridget — so beautiful — ” he groaned again, his voice now harsher. “But, so perfect for me. So perfect. Heather?” He paused a moment. Then his moaning grew louder, more panicked. “Heather?”

She slid her arms around his neck as carefully as she could, cradling his head against her breast. “I’m here, Drew. I’m right here.”

He calmed, settling against her. “I love you.”

She stared down at him, tears filling her eyes once more. Only this time, a smile lifted her lips. “Drew?”

He was at peace now, his head resting against her breast. “I do so love you.”

Her heartbeat quickened as she bent forward and murmured, “And I love you, my darling.”

He sighed again, mumbling thickly, “Stay with me?”

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

But he didn’t respond. He was asleep again. Still, her heart sang as she sat there, a fool’s grin pulling at her lips. She couldn’t believe what she had just heard.