Page 30 of Jaxon (Gentlemen of War #4)

Amelia

Halfway between the river and the house, protected by a small cluster of trees, Jack’s friend, Claude, was bent over his brother, Henri, who lay completely still on the ground. Blood gushed from a wound on the side of his head where only a handkerchief was being used to stop the bleeding.

“What happened?” Jack hollered as he let go of my hand and knelt beside them while drops of rain fell steadily upon us. “Was he shot?” he asked in French.

Though I was thoroughly immersed with Jack in the stable, I was certain we would have heard a gunshot… wouldn’t we?

I stood so statue-like a few steps away from the men, trying to follow their foreign tongue, but Claude spoke so quickly I could hardly keep pace. He ripped his coat off, bundled it up, and pressed the fabric against the injury, succeeding in being more effective than the small swathe of fabric used in the immediacy of the moment.

“What happened?” Jack repeated with an elevated urgency. The younger brother, Henri, didn’t respond to the shouts or even open his eyes. Was he dead? My heart sank at such a thought. Though I did not know the man well, I knew Jack cared for him.

“Claude, slow down and tell me what happened,” Jack insisted. It seemed I was not the only one that could not comprehend his blur of words.

“I know nothing, I found him this way,” Claude now barked with clarity. “Henri stepped outside to smoke his pipe. I heard some yelling and, by the time I arrived, Henri was on the ground bleeding. No one else was around.”

My legs trembled beneath my skirt. He was attacked? By whom? I could not help but look around, feeling vulnerable out here in the open. Had the threat that Jack feared in London followed him here? My pulse raced as Zachary, Mr. Gentry, and Jesse came running out of the house, likely alerted from the volume in which the Frenchman spoke. Anna, Daisy, and Mrs. Gentry followed closely behind. Confusion flitted across the women’s faces, but while the men strode over toward us, the women remained close to the door.

“What the devil?” Zachary inquired as he scrutinized the scene.

At that precise moment, two gunshots in rapid succession echoed through the woods. I shook at the sound as Jack threw himself guardedly in front of me. Daisy and Anna screamed, crouching down to the ground, clinging to each other. “Stay behind me, Amelia,” Jack warned as he turned to face my frozen form, his cheeks drained of color.

What in the world was happening?

“Where’s O’Keefe?” Jack shouted as the men spread out, trying to discern where in the woods the sounds originated from. Only Jack remained with me and Claude never left his brother.

Diggs called out, “I don’t know.”

“Find him and get your guns,” Jack ordered, then with a softened touch he wrapped one arm around my waist, tugging me closer and whispered in my ear, “Go inside, please. Stay away from the windows and doors.” He sighed. “I trust that you can calm the others?”

I nodded as my gaze cut toward the door where Anna and Daisy huddled, tears streaming down their faces. “What is going on, Jack?” My voice cracked. He reached for my hand, caressing it sweetly, but did not answer me.

Ushering us inside the house, Jack let go of me and retrieved a gun from the rack on the wall. Zachary, Diggs, and Mr. Gentry mirrored his actions. Speaking heatedly in his friend’s direction, Jack’s words crackled through me, setting every nerve ablaze. “I will not allow these men to best us. I am done hiding away.”

I guided the women to the sofa, my heart hammering in my chest. Jack shot me a fleeting glance before charging back outside. I felt as though my heart physically ripped from my chest and bolted after him. Taking several steps forward, I was drawn to the front window, despite Jack’s warning. Mrs. Gentry gestured for me to join the girls, but my eyes locked on the escalating commotion unfolding outside. O’Keefe burst into view, sprinting toward Lord Zachary and Jack as they strode back toward Claude and the motionless wounded Henri sprawled on the ground. O’Keefe pointed back from whence he came and hollered something but I could not hear what he said.

I pressed my hand against the glass pane and only now noticed how much it trembled.

The distressing conversation seemed to stem from the news O’Keefe had brought them.

“Miss Amelia,” Mrs. Gentry appeared at my side and wrapped a towel around my shoulders. In the upheaval, I had not realized how drenched I was. “Come, please help me with the others. They are frightened. I will get tea.”

I perched on the sofa restlessly with one hand draped around Anna and the other around Daisy, pulling them close as they quivered into my shoulders. Yet, a restlessness gnawed at me—I yearned to assist in a different way. I had no experience fighting in the manner the men did, but I had certainly read enough on the subject with my immersive obsession with Waterloo. Perhaps if they taught me how to reload a musket, or stand watch from the window? I knew it was a ridiculous notion, but I struggled to remain still.

Within seconds, the front door slammed open, much like it did the night that Diggs appeared with Mr. Duncan over his shoulder. Only this time, Claude carried his brother as Jack led the way inside and up the stairs. It appeared as though Henri had still not awakened.

I stood quickly. “Anna, Daisy please stay together.” Calling for Jack’s attention as he reached the top of the stairs, I said, “I will alert Mrs. Gentry and retrieve fresh linens.”

He only seemed to have a moment to nod his agreement before he assisted Claude and Henri into the bedchamber. Rushing into the kitchen, I found Mrs. Gentry arranging cups on a tea tray as if we were about to sit down for an afternoon social hour. I know many English men and women found comfort in the warm drink, but right now we needed to attend to a very injured man.

“Mrs. Gentry, Claude just brought Henri inside, he has a severe head wound.” I turned to Cook. “Will you please prepare some broth for when he wakes?” Looking back at Mrs. Gentry, I asked, “Where would I find fresh linens?”

“Come with me.” She waved me into the hide room where a closet shelf revealed stacks of clean linens all folded in nice and neat rows. She placed a pile in my arms. “Do you think the wound needs sutures?”

“Yes.” I recalled what I had seen from the amount of blood.

She gathered up her small box of medical supplies and we rushed up the stairs to join the men. Henri lay on one of the two beds in the brother’s bedchamber while Claude continued to press his coat against his brother’s head. Jack turned to our arrival.

“Has he awakened?” Mrs. Gentry asked.

“No.” Jack frowned.

I stepped over to the pitcher and poured water inside the basin. Immersing one of the linens in the water, I squeezed the excess liquid out and handed it to Jack.

He swapped the coat for the linen as I dunked another one, the first quickly staining red with blood. This time, as I passed it to Jack, our fingers grazed and I locked eyes with him. “What else can I do to help?”

Before he could respond, Mrs. Gentry urged him out of the way, lifting the linen and inspecting the wound. Muttering under her breath, she bustled past me and laid her case down on the desk. “You can help me stitch the wound, Miss Amelia,” she declared, snatching her needle and thread. I recalled the sting of my own minor injury being sewn shut. In a way, it was a relief Henri lay unconscious—I hardly had the strength to pin him down if he awoke with a start.

“Remove the cloth, please,” Mrs. Gentry admonished. I repeated her intentions in French for Claude as she pressed on the cut. The gash extended the length of her finger.

What had caused this?

“Amelia, pinch the skin closed as best you can. The sutures should stop the bleeding.”

“Jesse?” Jack stepped out into the corridor calling for his servant. The man appeared almost immediately.

“Yes, Mr. Jack?”

“Please go outside and trade places with Zachary, I need to speak with him straightaway.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Jesse, keep alert, watch for any movement in the woods.”

“I will.”

Jesse disappeared just as Mrs. Gentry sank her needle into Henri’s tight flesh. I winced and looked away.

“Let me do this, Amelia,” Jack whispered as he came to my side.

“No, I am fine. You take care of what you need to,” I said and did precisely what Mrs. Gentry asked of me, despite the queasiness I felt in the lower part of my stomach. My fingers were drenched in Henri’s blood. Since the carriage accident and my own injuries, the sight of blood had not been as horrifying as anticipated, though it was certainly not pleasant either.

After a dozen or so tight loops, Mrs. Gentry finished her stitching and tied off her thread. In the corner, Claude and Jack conversed quietly while I stepped over to the basin, dipped my hands, and in some measure removed the stains. “Claude?” Then in French, I asked, “Can you fetch your brother a clean shirt?” Henri’s shirt was splattered with a mixture of water, blood, and dirt. He nodded and the two men peeled the soiled garment off Henri’s torso. I then dipped an additional linen and began to clean Henri’s skin. My cheeks warmed at the sight of a shirtless man. While not precisely the man I wished to see in such a manner, this was likely to be the contents of another letter for Elizabeth and another reason for my stepmother to be perturbed regardless of the care I provided. Shoving these thoughts aside, I focused on the task at hand.

Once I had cleaned him up, Mrs. Gentry covered the wound with a salve that smelled pungent, like vinegar, then bandaged his head. “He cannot be alone,” Mrs. Gentry declared. “Someone will need to be with him at all times.”

“Yes,” Jack said, “We will see to it.”

Once more at the basin, I attempted to get the rest of the blood off my hands by submerging them inside the water, but it only seemed to get worse since the water was already stained crimson. My stomach rolled and I prayed I would not retch here in front of the others… in front of Jack.

Jack opened a window and reached for the basin, tossing the contents outside. Consumed in my thoughts, I had not even heard him approach. When he returned, he refilled it with fresh water from the pitcher and took my hands, one at a time, gently scrubbing them clean. It was the tenderest of motions.

“Thank you for helping Henri,” Jack said, his voice a soothing balm to the unease.

“Mrs. Gentry did all the work,” I countered.

“No, she could not have done so completely without you, and I truly appreciate it.”

When I circled around, Mrs. Gentry had already packed up her medical box and departed, and Claude perched on the bed beside his brother, gripping his hands together as if pleading in prayer. Jack was right when he told me the French suffered like us. They, too, mourned their wounded and their fallen, and guilt gnawed at me for harboring such hatred.

Pain spared no one.

Jack leaned close, grazing his lips across my cheek, and whispered in my ear. “Go join the others, and please…” He eased back enough to meet my eyes. “Trust that I will protect you.” With the intensity of his look, I could do nothing but believe him. Though I wished to ask what he needed to shield me from, I only managed to squeeze his hand in response then stepped around him and rested my fingers lightly on Claude’s shoulder.

“Je suis désolé,” I said before departing, telling him how sorry I was. He only nodded.

As I descended the stairs, I did so with a heavy heart, passing Lord Zachary in the process. Though no words were exchanged, his gaze revealed a great deal. The men were as troubled as we were.

But what must we fear?