Lady of Light (27 page)

“I won’t have anyone speak ill of Elizabeth.” He winced as she washed his bruised cheekbone. “For myself, they can call me what they will, but they won’t speak ill of her!”

“Have the other children been saying things about you then, too?”

“Naught that I can’t bear.”

“And does your teacher know of all this?”

Ian grimaced, but whether from the discomfort of her ministrations or in disgust at the mention of his teacher, Claire couldn’t tell.

“She thinks all the problems are of my doing. She says I have a chip on my shoulder.”

“She used a cane on Ian today,” Beth declared suddenly from the doorway, the medicine box in her hands. “That’s why his hands hurt so.”

Claire locked gazes with her brother. “Show me your hands, Ian.”

“Och, Claire, it isn’t aught to—”

“Show me your hands!”

Reluctantly, Ian lifted his hands. The palms were bright red, swollen, and the imprint of some long, slender object could be seen crisscrossing the flesh in several places. White-hot rage filled her.

“Here,”—she shoved the bowl of water toward him—“put your hands in there. It will help lessen the swelling.” Her glance moved back to Beth. “And why did this teacher of yours see fit to whip my brother? Wasn’t it enough that he got bruised and beaten fighting?”

“Miss Westerman said Ian was a troublemaker, and she was tired of it, so she aimed to teach him a lesson he wouldn’t soon forget.” The dark-haired girl’s eyes filled with tears. “He could hardly hold his horse’s reins on the way back home, it hurt him so.” She shot Ian a moisture-bright, adoring look. “He’s so brave, isn’t he, Claire?”

“Aye,” she muttered, “and foolishly impulsive and headstrong, too.” She motioned to Beth. “Bring over the medicine box, lass. I need the salve.”

Beth did as requested, and Claire soon had most of her brother’s scrapes and bruises treated. His hands, however, were a different matter. Each time she looked at them, Claire seethed with renewed anger.

She pushed back her chair and rose. Both young people looked up at her. “Keep your hands in the water,” she ordered her brother. “I’m going to the springhouse and bring back a chunk of ice to cool the water even more.”

With that, Claire headed from the kitchen. She hadn’t lied when she had told them she was going for some ice. First, though, she meant to seek out Evan and tell him what had occurred. Something had to be done about a certain Miss Westerman. Claire figured her husband was just the man for the job.

15

Tribulation worketh patience; And patience, experience; and experience, hope.

Romans 5:3–4

As Claire headed toward the barns, there was shouting. Several men ran toward the second barn farther down the hill. Apprehension filled her. Gathering her skirts, Claire hurried to join the small group forming at the building’s far end.

There on the ground lay Devlin, face contorted in pain, right leg bent and twisted behind his left one. “Bl-blast it!” he groaned. “I-I think it’s broken.”

Claire shoved her way past the ranch hands standing there staring down at him. She knelt beside Devlin. “What happened?”

“I was on the barn roof with Frank”—even as he spoke, Claire glanced up just in time to see the tall, lanky Irishman climb down the ladder propped against the barn and hurry over—“when a really strong gust of wind knocked me off balance. I-I tumbled backward and couldn’t stop myself in time. I fell on my right leg and … and I heard something snap when I hit.”

“Boss, are you all right?” Frank Murphy, black-bearded and skin a tanned leather, knelt beside Devlin and Claire. “I swear I lost ten years from my life when I saw you fall.” He pulled off his sweat-stained, brown sombrero and crushed it in his hands. “I tried to grab for you, but it was too late.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Devlin lifted his left leg and tried to pull his right leg from beneath it. Even the slightest movement of his right leg, however, elicited a grimace.

“Wait, Devlin,” Claire ordered, grasping him by the shoulder. “Let me check your leg first before you try moving it again.” When he complied, she carefully ran her hands down his leg. Just a few inches below his knee, Claire found the deformity.

“You’re right.” She glanced up and met his pain-darkened gaze. “It’s broken.”

Devlin muttered under his breath.

She looked to the Irishman. “We’ll need some rags and boards to splint the leg. And you, Henry”—Claire met the young newlywed’s gaze—“ride to town and bring the doctor.”

“Someone get Hannah,” Devlin groaned. “Just be sure to tell her I’m all right. Don’t go scaring the wits out of her.”

“Aye,” Claire agreed. She looked to another hand, Wendell Chapman. “On your way up to get Hannah, stop by the main house and take Beth with you. She can watch the children for Hannah. And have Hannah bring blankets. We can fashion a litter for Devlin with them and some poles. And we need to find Evan, too. Does anyone know where he is?”

“He’s out with H. C. and Jonah Goldman in the east pastures mending fences,” Frank volunteered, returning with a handful of rags and two narrow boards as Wendell set off toward Devlin and Hannah’s house. “I’ll ride out and fetch them. It’ll only take about twenty minutes to get there and back.”

“Well, get on with you then,” Claire said. “We’ll most likely need all your help to carry Devlin back to his house.”

“What about Ian?” the big foreman asked as he gingerly shoved to one elbow. “He’s a strong lad. He can help.”

Claire shook her head, the unpleasant reminder of why she had come outside in the first place freshly assailing her. “Nay, he can’t help. His hands are in a bad way.”

Devlin frowned. “What happened?”

“Some problems at school today,” she ground out. “But enough of him right now.” She took the rags and boards from Frank. “We need to get your leg splinted.”

As Claire began to tear the rags into long, thick strips, the Irishman strode off toward a saddled horse tethered nearby. By the time Hannah, face pale, eyes wide, ran back down with Wendell, Claire had Devlin’s leg snugly splinted and was tying off the last cloth strip at his ankle.

“Devlin,” Hannah cried, sinking to her knees beside him. “What happened?” She slid her hands beneath his head to cradle it in her lap, and brushed the hair from his eyes. “Are you all right?”

Her husband managed a wan smile. “Right enough, considering. Broke my leg, though.”

“So I see. And how many times have I warned you to stay off high places when these winds kick up?” she scolded, managing a smile though her eyes filled with tears.

“Too many to count. This time I gambled and lost.”

“Are you sure nothing else is broken or damaged?”

He shrugged. “Apart from some sore spots that I’m sure will be black-and-blue tomorrow, I’d say I got off pretty lucky.”

“And
I’d
say the Lord was looking out for you this time.”

His grin widened. “Yeah, I’d reckon so.”

Watching them, Claire knew that, as far as Hannah was concerned, the only man in her life now was her husband. Any continued feelings of love between her and Evan—if there
were
any indeed—were now strictly on Evan’s side. Somehow that realization heartened her, if only a little.

To quiet her renewed tumult of emotions, Claire turned to Wendell. “Come, while we wait for Evan and the others, let’s prepare the litter. The sooner we get Devlin up to his house and in bed, the better.”

They didn’t have long to wait once the litter was ready. Ten minutes later, Evan and the two hands rode up. A concerned look on his face, Evan dismounted and strode over. “Decided to see if you could fly today, did you?” he asked, staring down at his cousin.

“Something like that,” Devlin drawled, shooting him a wry look from the corner of his eye. “Thought the high winds might just do the trick.”

H. C. and Jonah pulled up beside Evan. He gestured toward the litter. “Is that ready?”

Claire nodded. “Aye.”

The men soon had Devlin on the litter and were headed up to his house, Hannah and Claire following. After a few anxious moments maneuvering the litter through the front door without dumping out Devlin, he was finally put to bed. The hands then left, leaving Evan and the two women behind.

His Stetson in his hands, Evan lingered at the bedside, looking uncomfortable, but as if he’d like to say something. Claire met Hannah’s gaze, who smiled and lifted a finger to her lips.

“What do you want to do about the ranch?” Evan finally asked. “I’ll take over all the physical aspects of running it, if you’d like, unless you’ve someone else in mind for the job …”

“You’ve got enough work of your own to do,” Devlin said, shifting his broken leg in an apparent attempt to position it more comfortably on the two pillows Hannah had put beneath it. “But if you think you can also take on the work I was doing, I don’t know of a better man for the job.”

After a fleeting instant of disbelief, Evan’s expression brightened. His chin lifted; his shoulders squared. “I’ll do whatever it takes. I won’t let Pa, or you, down.”

Devlin gazed up at him for a long, considering moment, then nodded. “I know you won’t, Evan.” He paused to scratch his jaw. “I can take over all the paperwork and ranch accounts you were handling. And we can meet each night after supper and plan things out for the next day.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Evan glanced at Claire then, and her heart thrilled at the look of excitement gleaming in his eyes. At last, she thought, he’d finally have a chance to prove himself to his father—and to Devlin.

A carriage pulled up outside and, from her vantage near the window, Claire could see an older man climb down and pull his black medical bag from behind the seat. “The doctor’s here,” she announced.

Hannah hurried from the room, and Evan stepped back.

“Well, best I be going and get everyone back to their chores,” he said.

“Yeah, best you do,” Devlin replied with a grin.

Evan hesitated. “I just want to thank you for the chance to do this, Devlin. And to tell you I’m much obliged for the trust you’re placing in me.”

His cousin’s smile faded, and he met Evan’s gaze eyeto-eye. “It’s time, and you and I both know it.”

“Yeah,” Evan agreed, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Still, it’s sure good to hear you say it. Too bad it took a fall off the barn for you to finally give credit where credit’s due.”

Devlin laughed as Hannah, accompanied by the doctor, entered the room. “Well, never let it be said that we MacKays aren’t a bull-headed, hard-nosed lot.”

His cousin chuckled softly. “Oh, I don’t think there’ll ever be much danger of that.” Evan then took Claire by the arm and escorted her from the room.

“The ham’s all sliced, I’ve brought a jar of pickles up from the springhouse, the vegetable soup is simmering nicely, and there’ll be the cookies for dessert.” Claire paused in her litany to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. “Och, aye, and wait until just before lunch to slice the bread loaves, so they’ll have enough time to cool and dry out a bit. I should be back by two o’clock or so. We can get started on supper then.”

Beth, sitting at the kitchen table rolling small balls of cookie dough between her hands before placing them on a cookie sheet, nodded for what Claire knew must be the umpteenth time. “I think I can manage. If I run into any problems, there’s always Hannah.”

“Aye, there’s always Hannah, but what with Devlin’s freshly broken leg, I’m sure she has her hands verra full right now. I don’t want to impose unless absolutely necessary.”

The girl gave a long-suffering sigh. “I know, Claire.”

Claire grinned. “I’m sorry if I’m blathering on. I suppose I feel rather guilty for keeping you out of school today.”

“Well,
I’m
not feeling guilty at all.” Beth gave an injured sniff. “After how Miss Westerman treated Ian yesterday, I don’t care if I ever set foot in her classroom again! I’m just glad you didn’t make Ian go back either, until you have a talk with that woman.”