This Side of Heaven (14 page)

“We
are
being careful,” Robert snarled, shooting her an unfriendly look. His hostility put her firmly in her place. Caroline was reminded that Matt was their brother, while she was no blood kin at all, but little more than a stranger who’d been taken in on sufferance. They expected her to have scant feeling for Matt’s pain, and indeed she wondered at herself that her empathy for his suffering was so strong. But at the moment she had no time to dwell on the ramifications
of that. She was needed, and she would do what must be done.

As they carefully lowered him onto the mattress, she dipped a strip of linen into the bowl of steaming water that she had set beside the medicines on the bedside table.

“What are you about?” Daniel asked, frowning warily as Caroline wrung out the cloth and turned to Matt. He was bare to the waist, his face, neck, shoulders, and chest streaked with blood. The waist-to-kneeband slit in his breeches revealed a narrow portion of muscle-ridged abdomen and hairy, strong-looking thigh before the rest of the right leg was obscured by the bindings of the splint. Besides what was left of his breeches, he still wore his left stocking and shoe. The latter, caked with earth, had already smeared mud liberally over the lower section of the sheet.

“Now what do you imagine I’m about? I would wipe away the blood so that we may determine the true extent of the injuries.”

Without waiting for a response, she ran the cloth over Matt’s sweat-beaded forehead, then brought it down over his temples and cheeks, gently cleaning away the gore. Some of the scratches were fairly deep, others were not; she hoped he would not bear further facial scars from them. The one he had already, though not disfiguring, was enough of an insult to a face that, without it, would have been flawless in its handsomeness.

When she eased the cloth along his scarred cheek, Matt turned his head to escape her ministrations. Persistent, she continued her efforts. He mumbled something,
and to her surprise his hand shot up to close around her wrist. Despite his injury, there was still considerable strength in the long fingers. Caroline found herself quite unable to tug free; not wanting to hurt him more, she held still. ’Twas the first time that he had held her against her will, and she waited to see if repulsion would surface at so direct a reminder. Funnily enough, it did not. Because he was injured and helpless, or because he was Matt? But she had no time at the moment to speculate.

“Who …?” he muttered, his eyes opening to seek the owner of the wrist he had captured. Caroline guessed that in his half-aware state, its feminine softness mystified him, and the expression on his face as his gaze met hers seemed to bear that out. For a moment longer he seemed not to recognize her; his eyes narrowed, and the hand holding hers tensed. Then his grip relaxed.

“Caroline,” he said, and as he identified her his lids fluttered closed again. His hand dropped back to rest at his side.

“If you hurt him …” Robert’s voice was suddenly fierce. In the act of wringing the cloth out for the third time over the now-bloodied water in the bowl, Caroline glanced at him in surprise.

“Why on earth would I hurt him? And how, pray, could I do so?” She was nettled by his continued enmity. Daniel, too, now watched her every move as if he suspected her of wishing to slip a knife between Matt’s ribs. Really, what was wrong with the pair of them? They must be addled when it came to women,
and so she meant to tell them when the moment was more propitious!

“Of course she won’t hurt him,” Daniel said, his expression easing as her words reached him. The look he sent Robert contained a message she couldn’t decipher. “Don’t be an ass, Rob.”

Their behavior was mystifying, but Caroline had not the leisure to ponder it. Turning her attention to Matt again, she very gently wiped the blood from his chest. There were no gaping wounds there, she was happy to see, but the scratches were numerous and bloody. The worst of them were on his right side, where the skin covering the lower section of his ribs was already beginning to turn black and blue; fearful of causing him unnecessary pain, Caroline left that area alone. A deep scratch below his right nipple caught her attention. It was bleeding profusely. The hair covering his chest brushed her knuckles as she worked to staunch the flow. With vague surprise she registered just how fine and silky that hair felt. Not at all coarse, as she had imagined it would be.

“Where is that fool Williams?” Daniel spoke through his teeth, startling her. As she glanced at him she saw that his hands were clenched around the spool footboard. While Daniel stood tensely watching her, Robert paced.

The question was not meant to be answered, and it was not. Caroline continued to sponge the blood and sweat gently from Matt’s body. He stirred and muttered under her ministrations but did not rouse.

Except for internal damage, the possibility of which could not be excluded, Matt’s right leg was the most
severe of his injuries. It was swollen to thrice its normal size, so that its circumference surpassed that of Caroline’s waist. Caroline winced at the hideous bruising she could already see spreading over his thigh above the top of the makeshift splint. Blood had soaked the ripped-up shirt that bound his leg to the branch and was seeping in an ever-widening stain across the bedding beneath the shattered leg. Caroline was thankful that she had thought to put padding on that side of the bed to protect the mattress. If the apothecary did not arrive soon, something would have to be done to staunch the flow of blood from that leg. But unless she had to, Caroline was loath to disturb the splint and thereby cause Matt more pain. And ’twould be near impossible to stop the blood until the bone was returned to its proper position.

“Sweet Jesus, it’s as if he
were
accursed! Do you suppose all that blather about witches they’ve been nattering about in town could be true?” Robert stopped his pacing long enough to bang his fist into the palm of his other hand.

“Hold your tongue!” Daniel growled back with real menace, and for a moment the two glared at each other. Then, with a conscious look at Caroline, Robert clamped his lips together and resumed his pacing, while Caroline scowled at the pair of them, Witches! she thought with contempt. What idiocy!

“You two arguing is not helping anything! If you wish to do something constructive, you could start by removing his shoe! It’s caked with mud!”

Despite her snappish tone, their concern for their injured brother in part made up for their overt hostility
toward her. However misogynistic the Mathieson men might be, they plainly loved one another.

At her words Robert stopped his pacing, and both he and Daniel scowled at Caroline.

“She’s right. It does no good to bleat at each other,” Daniel said after a moment and moved toward the bed. As he grasped the heel of Matt’s left shoe, Caroline picked up the bowl and headed for the door. There would be a need for more hot water when the apothecary arrived, she knew.

14

W
hen Caroline returned some few minutes later, a stained quilt was tucked beneath Matt’s armpits. His splinted leg had been left carefully uncovered, and she could see that they had removed what was left of his breeches as well as his stocking and shoe. Against the white sheet his shoulders looked dark and very wide. His hair was black as coal in contrast to the grayed paleness of his face.

As she approached the bed he began to fidget restlessly, moaning and thrashing until he had kicked quite clear of the quilt. With an opaque look at Caroline, Daniel pulled the covering back into place. Caroline kept her eyes carefully averted; Matt’s nakedness was something that she preferred not to see. Though the revulsion that most men engendered in her did not seem any longer to apply to Matt, she had no wish to hurry its return. The very thought of seeing a male organ, even under such innocent, accidental circumstances, made her shudder inwardly with dread.

Matt’s unconscious thrashing continued. Robert and Daniel ranged themselves on either side of the bed, trying their best to soothe their brother and hold him still so that he would not do himself further injury.

“If the apothecary does not come soon, I fear that we will have to do what we can without him. Though we know little more than the rudiments of doctoring.” Daniel’s eyes were anxious.

“I have some experience of it.” Caroline said it almost reluctantly. She had learned much of what she knew from her mother; Judith Wetherby had been a renowned healer, with much knowledge of herbs and potions. But all Caroline’s efforts had not helped her father as he had wasted away despite everything that she tried. It hurt now to remember. Had Matt not been so obviously in need of her help, she would have banished the recollections from her mind.

As Caroline replied to Daniel, she moved around him and placed a hand on Matt’s forehead. Gaining confidence as her secret revulsion remained at bay, she flattened her palm against the contours of his skull. The skin beneath her palm was fine-textured and damp and warm—too warm? Was he already developing a fever? Strands of silky black hair curled about her questing fingers; unthinking, Caroline smoothed them back out of her way.

Her gaze moved down over Matt’s face to his body. His eyes were closed, the white lines around his mouth pronounced. Both legs were now free of the quilt, which just barely preserved his modesty. His left leg was straight and strong-looking, covered with dark hair except in the area around his knee; the knee was hideously scarred, and Caroline was reminded forcibly of his lameness. Then the dreadful thought occurred: ’twas his good leg that was so badly broken. How would he walk, should it not heal properly? Instinctively
she knew that he would rather die than spend the rest of his life confined to a bed, or a chair.

“I will do what I can,” she said, and turned away to the medicines on the bedside table.

Matt groaned, and as she glanced at him his lids fluttered open. There was a glaze of pain in his blue eyes, and his teeth were clenched so tightly that the area around his lips was white, but there was no doubt that he was, however tenuously, aware.

“How—bad?” he asked groggily, the question directed at Daniel, who bent toward him.

“You’ve busted up your leg right proper,” Daniel answered. “Thomas has gone for Mr. Williams.”

“Williams is—an old woman,” Matt said, his face so pale now that Caroline feared he might faint again at any moment. “You watch out for me, Dan.”

“I will. You needn’t worry.”

The effort of talking obviously left Matt exhausted. His eyes closed just as, at long last, a sudden commotion belowstairs announced the arrival of Thomas with Mr. Williams. Daniel’s and Robert’s relief was almost palpable. As Mr. Williams, followed by Thomas, bustled importantly into the room, Caroline understood Matt’s concern. He was a short, plumpish old man, with straggly white hair to his shoulders surrounding a bald pink dome. His features were delicate in a round florid face. His clothing, of coarsely woven charcoal homespun, was none too clean. Caroline looked at his hands, and winced. Like his clothing, they would have been much improved by a good scrubbing. In healing, her mother had always told her, cleanliness was all-important.

“Knife.” That was the only word Mr. Williams spoke as, after favoring Caroline and Daniel with a condescending glance and a twitch of his lips, he moved to the bedside. Tight-lipped, Daniel passed him the knife he requested. Caroline and the rest of the brothers watched anxiously as he proceeded to cut through the bindings wrapping Matt’s injured leg.

“Nasty,” Mr. Williams observed, shaking his head as the wound was laid bare. Caroline tried to keep her eyes on Matt’s face rather than look at his gruesomely mutilated limb. His skin was putty-colored now, and rivulets of sweat ran down his temples. Even as she watched him, his eyes opened again. For a moment they met hers; shaken at the pain she saw there, she managed a small smile for him. He didn’t acknowledge the gesture by so much as the flicker of an eyelid; instead he seemed to gather all his resources. His eyes left hers, moved to Mr. Williams, who had commenced poking at the bruises over his ribcage.

But as the hand nearest her curled convulsively, grasping at the sheet, Caroline gave in to some unnamed impulse and laid her fingers over his. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at her, but his fingers closed tightly around her hand.

“The ribs are badly bruised, but they’ll heal right enough.” Matt’s face grayed as the apothecary shifted his attention, prodding the immensely swollen flesh around the protruding bone. “But the leg—now that’s a different matter. It might be best to just go ahead and take it off. If putrefaction should set in …”

“Just set it,” Matt interrupted, speaking through his teeth. His grip on Caroline’s hand was suddenly so
tight that it was all she could do not to wince. But if he even knew he was holding her hand he didn’t appear to. His attention was all for the apothecary.

“Should infection set in …”

“Just set it!”

“Very well.” Mr. Williams was clearly miffed by the curtness of the order. “But I tell you now I’ll not be held responsible for the consequences.” His eyes moved to Daniel. “If you would hold him, Mr. Mathieson, you and your brother, and your other brother were to help me pull …” His gaze touched Caroline, chilled. “ ’Twould be best if you were to leave us now, miss.” From his tone it was clear that he had heard of her, and equally clear that what he had heard was nothing to her credit.

Caroline was too concerned for Matt even to take affront. She glanced down at his scratched, gray, and sweating face, at the broad bare shoulders, at the hideously swollen and bloody leg. Her fingers tightened over the hand that was clutching hers with unconscious need. She realized that despite her hard-won wisdom, what she had determined to avoid was occurring: she was once again starting to care what happened to a person besides herself.

Over the previous decade she had lost everyone she had ever loved: her mother, father, and sister. Even the few young men she had fancied in her teens before she learned to guard her too-open heart had moved on when she made it clear that she would not consent to grace their beds without the benefit of matrimony. Though she had been as virginal as a nun, she had been forced to recognize that her mere presence in the
establishments in which her father gambled caused men to regard her as a light-skirts. The knowledge had wounded her deeply, but she had hidden the hurt behind an aloofly haughty facade. The lesson she had learned during those years had been simple: caring for someone brought pain as its inevitable corollary. Her father’s death and all that had come after it had frozen the last of her ability to feel tender emotions, she’d thought. But Matt—there was something about him that threatened to melt the ice that sheathed her heart. The notion frightened her. She would not open herself to pain again.