Page 16 of Hope in the Highlands (Seduced in Scotland #1)

The day had become hot and the air was heavy. A storm was moving in.

“Stalking deer,” Grace said, shivering at her own words over breakfast that morning. “I find it a ghastly thing to do. Hunting poor, defenseless animals.”

“You’ve bacon in front of you,” Faith pointed out. “You’ve no problem eating that.”

Grace glanced at her plate and made a face. She pushed it back.

“Perhaps I should stop altogether. You know, I’ve just finished reading a fascinating book by a doctor in London to talk about the benefits of a vegetarian diet.”

“A what?” Belle asked.

“It’s the idea that one should refrain from eating meat.”

“For how long?”

“Well, forever.”

“Good gads, no,” Belle said. “What’s one to do if there’s no meat? You’ll become sick, no doubt.”

“Actually, there’s an argument that it’s better for one’s digestion.”

As Grace and her aunt bickered over the benefits and disadvantages of such a diet, Hope’s mind drifted back to the tension that still lingered between her and Graham. Was he still upset with her? When would things finally get back to normal between them?

Still feeling rather glum after breakfast, Hope searched out the gardener, Mr. Fitzpatrick, to talk with him about the lavender plants. For over an hour or so, she helped dead-head certain flowers and had worked up quite a sweat as the clouds above them became darker.

A crack of thunder boomed above just as a fat raindrop landed on her wrist. Then another. And another.

“Drat,” she said, turning to Mr. Fitzpatrick. “It seems as though our lesson will be cut short.”

He nodded, and Hope started to turn to head back inside, but then another sound echoed through the air. Horse hooves. Wiping her hands on the apron tied around her waist, she came around the garden to the front of the house and saw six or so horses galloping toward her. It seemed the men were back from the hunt, but why they were coming here made no sense. And why would they be riding with such speed, such urgency?

“What in the world…”

But then she saw Graham, head slumped as if he had lost consciousness, body held in place by whoever was braced behind him.

Something was wrong.

Without another thought, she sprinted towards the steps, arriving just as the group reached the front of the house.

“What’s happened?” she asked, her voice panicked. Logan Harris jumped off his horse and came to Graham’s side.

“There was an accident,” Jared said. Graham rolled himself off the horse with a guttural sound. Hope was glad to see that he was conscious after all, but he certainly didn’t sound well. Nor did he look well, though she couldn’t tell right away exactly what was wrong.

“What accident?” she demanded as she went to Graham. Her hands went immediately to his chest, but he hissed at the contact, causing her to pull back. Peering down at her hand, she gasped when she realized it was covered in blood. Her head snapped back up. “Graham?”

“I’ve been shot,” he grumbled, his face wet with perspiration.

“Shot?”

“Fetch a doctor,” Logan was telling one of the groomsmen. “See if Dr. Hall is home. If not, get Barkley.”

“Yes sir,” a groom said, taking a horse.

“We have to get him inside,” Logan said, pulling Graham with him.

Hope had never experienced such panic before in her entire life, and it was all she could do to stay steady on her feet and follow the crush of men as they entered Lismore.

“What’s all this?” Belle asked. Jeanne, Rose, Faith and Grace came out of the drawing room. “What’s wrong?”

“Graham’s been shot!” Hope followed her husband-to-be and Logan on quivery legs. “Have cook—”

“Yes, dear, I know,” Belle said, her usually cheerful face drawn and worried. She hobbled forward appearing to struggle more than usual. “Andrews!”

As Belle barked orders, her cane caught in the lip of one of the flagstones and she let out a yelp of fear as she fell to the ground.

“Aunt Belle!” Hope shouted, dropping to the floor to help her. “Are you all right?”

“Gad, blasted floor!” she barked. “Andrews!”

Hope turned around and watched Logan help Graham up the stairs. She was desperate to follow, but Belle’s breathing was becoming labored and a strange sort of whizzing was emanating from her throat.

“Is Aunt Belle all right?” Grace asked, dropping to her knees.

“Faith, follow the men, please,” Hope said, ignoring Grace as Andrews appeared, rushing to his mistress. “I’ll be along in a moment.”

“But—”

“Please, Faith.”

She must have heard the desperation in Hope’s voice, because Faith nodded quickly and turned on her heel, rushing up the stairway as Andrews lifted Belle with apparent ease. Grace followed Belle to her room while Hope began ordering the servants about. She needed hot, clean water brought up to Graham where she suspected Dr. Hall would perform some sort of extraction of the bullet, if he could. Belle would need a bath as well as a poultice made for the bruises she undoubtedly gained during her fall.

It was so unlike her to fall, but Hope suspected the commotion that morning had been enough to distract her from her footing. When the servants were all hard at work on their tasks, Hope went to Belle’s room to check on her. She found Andrews and Grace had taken things into hand.

Grateful, Hope left and followed the sounds of commotion up to the room where they had taken Graham. She focused on the great wooden bed where several men had helped Graham to, along with Faith, who was standing back, her face scrunched her what looked like disbelief.

“Faith?” Hope said, coming up to her and reaching out to touch her elbow. Faith flinched and turned, apparently having just realized Hope was there. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course,” she said unconvincingly.

Hope frowned, but was distracted by a guttural noise coming from Graham.

“Thank you for keeping an eye on things for me,” Hope said as she moved towards the bed, but Faith’s hand wrapped around her wrist. Hope turned back, her frown deepening. “What’s wrong?”

Faith’s mouth opened, but no words came out. She appeared torn, and a moment later, she dropped Hope’s wrist and shook her head.

“Nothing.”

Hope gave her a quick nod, assuming that she had simply been worried about the sight of blood.

A sweat had broken out over Graham’s brow, and his breathing was strained. Logan loosened his collar. His hair stuck to his forehead and his eyes were closed tightly as he winced at the slightest movement.

The storm clouds in the sky made the room appear darker than usual. It was also noisy and crowded, buzzing with maids and footmen delivering swathes of towels, boiling water, sheets, and extra pillows. Logan was helping Graham remove his coat and vest, though he ordered one of the maids to cut the shirt.

At first, it looked like he might be shot in the chest, and Hope unwillingly let out a small gasp of fear.

“Oh God,” she whispered into her fingers covering her mouth with her hand.

“It only nicked me,” Graham said, his gaze flickering to her.

“It did a bit more than that.” Logan pressed a fresh towel to the wound, causing Graham to gasp. Logan nodded towards Hope. “Hold this here.”

She nodded, replacing his hand as Logan set out to mix something that the maids had brought up.

“How did it happen?” Hope asked as he leaned back into the stack of pillows behind him.

“It was an accident. Michael wasn’t paying attention where he was bloody shooting,” Graham grumbled.

“He’s lucky he didn’t kill you,” Logan said, mixing his concoction. “Damn fool’s aim is miserable.”

“I don’t know about that,” Graham said. “A few more inches that way and he would have got me right in the heart. Augh!”

Hope hadn’t meant to lean into his wound, but the thought of Graham being shot in the heart had made her woozy.

“Sorry,” she said, glancing at Logan, who was mixing a bowl of brownish liquid. “What’s that?”

“Soap, salt, and scotch.” He gently brushed her hand from Graham’s chest and poured the mixture onto the wound.

“AGH! DAMN IT!”

She pressed her chin to her shoulder, attempting to keep herself from getting even more lightheaded. Taking a bracing breath through her nostrils, she felt a wave of nausea slam into her as the scent of blood overpowered her.

“Hope? I need more of the mixture,” Logan said.

Fighting to breathe through her mouth, she turned back and handed it to him. As he dipped the soapy alcoholic mixture into Graham’s injury, another frightful grunt came from the bed. Hope hand instinctively went to Logan’s forearm as she tried to push his hand away.

“Maybe you shouldn’t do that.”

Logan gave her a quizzical stare.

“It hurts, but we must clean the wound out,” he said slowly. “I promise you; he would be in far worse pain if we let it become infected.”

Hope nodded and removed her hand from Logan’s arm as he continued to clean the bullet hole. He proceeded to pour the rest on, which caused Graham to curse again.

“Easy,” Hope said, her palm coming to his forehead. She pushed back the hair that stuck to his skin. Beads of sweat rolled down his temple. “Be easy.”

Graham's gaze locked with hers as the his wound was cleaned. Though he flinched and snarled, he did not curse. Hope fought the growing tremors in her body, struggling to remain calm. Though she watched this massive bear of a man writhe in pain before her, she wouldn’t let him notice any of the fear that was gripping her. All she could do was stare at him when a knock at the door grabbed her attention.

“Well, let’s get to it,” a man said, coming into the room.

Though Hope had never met him, she was sure this was Dr. Hall. He was taller than both Graham and Logan—which was saying something, as both men were quite tall—but he wasn’t quite as broad. His dark brown hair was clipped short in a way that was popular with most young professionals, and while his face was handsome, it was partially hidden by a close-cropped beard. His serious, hazel eyes flickered from person to person as he observed the situation.

“You cleaned it out?” he asked Logan as he came forward to assess the wound.

“Yes.”

“Good,” he said, opening his leather bag on the bed. “Stay still.” Wrapping his hand in a white cloth, he hovered over Graham’s prone form. Reaching up, he pressed into the wound.

Graham flinched and let out a slew of vicious curses that Hope had never heard before.

“Do that again,” he snarled at the doctor. “And I’ll put yer teeth out.”

“Not with your right arm, and not for some time,” Dr. Hall said, removing the soiled cloth from his hand. “It seems the bullet passed through, but it’s not a pretty wound. It’s shattered your skin being this close to the edge of your body.”

“What does that mean?” Hope asked.

“Well, I’m going to sew it up best I can, but I won’t be surprised if the edges blacken. It’ll be imperative to keep this would clean so infection doesn’t set in.” The doctor rummaged through his bag and began removing formidable silver instruments, lining them up on the bed. Hope shuddered. “The bandages must be changed once every four hours, I think.”

“Yes,” Hope said, as if she were taking orders.

“Will a maid or someone need to be informed?”

“No, I’ll do it,” she said.

The doctor paused in his movement and gave Logan a quick look. She wondered if the doctor didn’t believe she was capable of managing a wound, but if he had his doubts, he didn’t state them aloud. Still, Hope became slightly defensive. She notched her chin up when his gaze landed back on her.

“Very well,” he said. “You must pay attention once I’ve sewn him up to understand how to clean it properly. Logan, assist me.”

Logan came around a put a gentle hand on Hope’s shoulder.

“You’ll not be wanting to see this,” he said, nodding towards the door. “It won’t be pretty.”

“I’m not leaving,” Hope said.

“Madam, I must agree with Logan,” Dr. Hall said. “It’s not for the faint of heart.”

“I’m not leaving this room,” she said firmly, her eyes on Graham.

“I really must insist—”

“No.”

“Hope,” Graham said. For a tense moment, all three men looked at her. “Sit down,” he said, nodding to a chair by the fireplace.

Sitting as quickly as possible, she watched the two men work on her husband. For nearly a half hour, they operated on him. The entire time, Hope was engulfed in excruciating worry. With every grunt and every shift, she had to fight not to leap up and rush to her beloved’s side. As she watched Logan and the doctor work together, Hope realized that they barely spoke. It was almost as if Logan had firsthand knowledge of what needed to take place. Though Hope couldn’t remember anything being said about Logan being a doctor, she remembered that he had been in the war. Perhaps he had learned something about medical treatment there.

When they finally finished, they cleaned the wound once more, put a slave on it, and wrapped their patient in bandages. Graham was offered a drink, but not more than one since the doctor didn’t want him to bleed through his wraps. Apparently the doctor believed that alcohol made wounds hemorrhage.

She followed the doctor and Logan to the doorway.

“Thank you, Doctor. Mr. Harris,” she said. “I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“It was nothing,” the doctor said. “But I’m afraid I need to depart. I was supposed to be on the way to Glasgow hours ago.”

“Of course,” Hope said. “Thank you again.”

Dr. Hall nodded and turned to leave, with Grace at his heels.

“Where was he shot?” Grace asked, following the doctor down the hallway. “Was it the triceps or the latissimus dorsi?”

“The what?” Hope asked.

“It was an external wound through the latissimus—wait, who are you?” the doctor asked as he left, just as Faith, who had melted back into one of the corners of the room, stepped forward.

“Hope,” she began, her voice unusually small. “Can we talk?”

“Miss Faith,” Logan said loudly, coming around Hope. “A word, if I may?”

“Perhaps in a bit, Faith,” Hope said, peering over her shoulder. “I wish to stay with Graham for a little while.”

Faith bit her lip as her hands came together. It seemed she wished to say more, but when Logan came towards her, something surprising flashed across Faith’s face—a look of pure loathing. With a jerky nod to Hope, she turned quickly and disappeared through the door, followed by an impatient-looking Logan.

Shutting out the madness of the world behind, Hope leaned her back against the door and observed Graham from a distance. Though the darkness of the room caused dozens of shadows to stretch out across the bed, especially with the storm raging outside, a small, orange glow of light coming from a series of oil lamps that had been lit for Dr. Hall cast Graham in an almost unnatural aura. She could see that he was staring at her through a thin veil of pain, alcohol, and worry, and it hurt her heart to think of him in any sort of discomfort. Still, she remained where she was, unsure if she should go to him.

He, however, was not unsure.

“Come here,” he ordered.

Hope pushed off the door and came over to the side of the bed. He seemed exhausted, and she wondered if he shouldn’t attempt to sleep rather than talk.

“How does it feel?” she asked, watching him with concern.

“Wonderful,” he said sarcastically. His good arm crossed over his chest and he reached for her hand, which she willingly gave him. “Listen, Hope, about the other day. I’m sorry—”

“Oh no, Graham, you don’t have to—”

“Aye, I do.” He tried to sit up, but he winced, which caused Hope to lean closer. “I shouldna been acting as I did after our argument. It was wrong of me.”

The slur of his speech made his accent sound thicker, his brogue broadening. Was it the wound that caused it or the alcohol she wondered.

“Graham, really, it’s fine—”

“Will you hush so I can apologize?” he said. She snapped her mouth shut and he continued. “I know the announcement in the papers wasn’t your fault and I shouldna snapped at you as I did.” Hope’s heart fluttered at his apology. He had been wrong to snap at her, but it pleased her to know that he wasn’t the sort of man that was too stubborn to ever admit to his own faults. He inhaled. “As for Penedragon—”

“Pennington.”

“Aye, him,” he said, taking a breath. He flinched slightly and, though Hope tried to comfort him, he batted her hand away. “I suppose I canne be angry about things that happened before we met.”

“No, you certainly can’t.”

Graham scowled, and it reminded Hope of the face a child would make when he was being scolded.

“But I’m not pleased about it either,” he continued. Hope gave him a strained smile. He went on. “I know it’s not good of me, but imagining you with any other man makes irrational. And I think it’s unfair of you to say I shouldne get upset—”

“Is this an apology?”

“—but know that I won’t be letting my temper get the better of me anymore. You don’t deserve it, even if Pottington deserves to have his throat ripped out for hurting you.”

He was never going to say Jacob’s name correctly. Hope’s hand crept up his neck and she brushed the stubble on his chin.

“But Pennington and I were never together. Not the way you and I…” She trailed off.

“Aye, which is almost worse. Ye and him shared something special, something more than physical, and I know it’s wrong of me, but I hate it.”

Hope leaned forward and put her hands flat against Graham’s warm cheeks.

“You, Graham MacKinnon, are the only man I have ever shared anything special with. Do you understand?” He stared at her for a long moment, seemingly hypnotized by her. He nodded slowly. “Then know there is never a need for you to be jealous. Ours will be a marriage built on trust, and you will never have any reason to doubt me. I promise.”

His gaze dropped and Hope assumed that speaking so honestly about her feelings made him uncomfortable. He coughed into his hand and she leaned back, giving him some space.

“I want you to know that I do care about you, Hope,” he said, his voice strained slightly. Probably due to his injury. “Even though I might have started this wrong, believe me about that.”

A tingling sensation swept across the back of her neck, making the tiny hairs stand on end. What was he talking about? His eyelids dipped and Hope assumed the medicine was making him drowsy and perhaps a little confused.

She leaned her body carefully over his and brough her mouth to his ear.

“I care about you too, Graham MacKinnon. More than you know.”

A satisfied smile spread across his face as she leaned back. Graham squeezed her fingers and sighed deeply as his eyes fully closed and he fell asleep.