Page 22 of The Homecoming (The De Montforte Brothers #6)

Charles just shook his head and moved away, raking a hand over his hair.

His eyes were bleak. “I have judged him harshly, Nerissa. Y’know .

.. when he was up in that tree out there in the darkness, we started getting along just a little .

.. being civil to each other ... and I found myself feeling anxious for his safety.

When he came down, I planned to apologize for mistreating him so .

.. for being less than a hospitable brother .

.. for my inability to move past what brought the two of you together.

I had planned to make amends ... and never got the chance. ”

Nerissa leveled a flat stare on her brother. “Ruaidri would never have taken that ring, you know. Not in a million years. If you were going to apologize for anything, Charles, it should’ve been for thinking he did. Of accusing him of being a thief.”

Charles looked down at the floor. At the candles glowing in the darkness, their orange flames wavering in the drafts.

“I’m sorry, Nerissa.”

“No, don’t apologize to me. Apologize to him when he wakes up.”

If he wakes up.

Lucien, standing at the window and looking out into the night, had been silent. Now, he let the drape fall shut.

“Dr. Highworth is coming.”

Nerissa, her eyes burning with unshed tears, lifted Ruaidri’s hand to her cheek and pressed his knuckles against her skin, trying to stop the hot resurgence of emotion.

Dr. Highworth was here. He would save Ruaidri.

Everything was going to be all right. Everything had to be all right.

They had a son to care for and a pretty house to return to and years and years left to enjoy.

He will be all right. Please God, let him be all right.

She closed her eyes, pressed her lips to his fingertips, heard voices outside in the hall now, growing louder as they approached.

Eva and Gareth, and oh, thank God , Dr. Highworth.

A moment later, he was in the room, bowing to the duke and setting his medical case down.

“Thank you for coming,” Nerissa heard the duchess murmur.

The doctor approached the bed and Nerissa, quickly rising from her chair, stepped back so he could examine her husband.

Her family gathered around her. Lucien, strong and steady, whatever thoughts and feelings he harbored, under a tight rein as she leaned against him.

Eva, gently rubbing her back. Charles, a twig still clinging to his queue, his eyes tormented.

Andrew standing there with arms crossed, trying to convey confidence, watching the doctor closely as he peeled up Ruaidri’s eyelids, then pushed his fingers through the curling black hair to palpate all along the sides and back of his head.

He tested his limbs, looking for breaks, bent down to listen to his heart, took the wrist that Nerissa had been holding and measured his pulse.

Gareth hovering close, his breeches and boots splashed with mud.

He’d had no time to saddle his horse and must have raced headlong into Ravenscombe, bareback.

“Well?” Lucien said tightly.

“Tree-climbing should be saved for young lads, not grown men,” the doctor quipped. “You boys are too old, and I daresay, too heavy, to be engaging in such antics.”

“You know what I meant, Highworth.”

The doctor was palpating Ruaidri’s chest, pushing lightly here, there. “Got a good bruise going here, but his chest feels intact. I understand the tree limb fell across him?”

“Yes,” Charles said. “I don’t know how much of its weight he took ... I pulled it off him immediately.”

The doctor was now peering at the exposed rib, the torn skin.

He sat in the chair that Nerissa had been in, pulled it close, and leaned over his patient, calling for a candle so he could see better.

Nobody spoke as he palpated the rib, and Nerissa, feeling suddenly dizzy, looked away and leaned heavily against Lucien.

“Doesn’t appear to be broken,” he murmured.

“Going to hurt as it heals, but heal it will. Let’s get him cleaned up and sewn back together. And stay out of trees, all of you.”

Nerissa couldn’t ask the obvious. Charles did.

“Is he going to wake up?”

“I cannot answer that, Lord Charles. I can only tell you that this wound will heal. Whatever injuries he’s sustained inside, only God knows at this point.

” He called for a washbasin and hot water, then looked up at Nerissa.

“My lady? Perhaps you and the duchess would prefer to wait downstairs? This is really not a sight for gentle eyes.”

“He is my husband. I will stay.”

The doctor looked at Lucien and raised a brow.

“She’s a de Montforte,” he said. “She’ll stay.”

“No...” Ruaidri’s eyes slowly opened and drifted shut once more. “She’s an O’Devir, now.”

“Oh, thank God, you’re awake !” Nerissa cried on a little sob, and rushed to her husband.

She leaned down and over him and cradling his head between her palms, put her cheek to his.

“Oh, thank you, Lord Jesus. Thank you...” Tears of relief spilled from her eyes, rolled down her cheek, and soaked his skin.

“You scared us, Ruaidri ... we thought you were going to die.”

His eyes opened again, and this time he managed a weak smile.

“I’m an Irishman ... when it’s me time to die, it won’t be in an English castle.

” He tried to sit up, but Lucien was there, his hand firmly on his shoulder and preventing it.

Only then did Ruaidri note the number of people in the room, including the very same doctor he’d brought back for Amy when the child had come. “What the divil’s going on here?”

“That tree limb you were on ... it broke,” Charles said tightly. “The whole thing fell, and you with it.”

“Did it now...” He looked up at the doctor, who was motioning for a table on which to put the washbasin as it was brought near. “What’s broken?”

“Nothing that I can see, but you have a significant laceration on your side. Lucky you didn’t break a rib and pierce the lung. I’ll clean it, sew you back together, and bind you up. It’ll hurt for a while, but you’ll heal.”

“Always do.”

A footman arrived with hot water in a pitcher. He poured it into the washbasin, and the doctor dipped a cloth into it. He wrung it out and then began cleaning the torn skin.

“Got some good Irish whiskey?” Ruaidri asked, gazing up at the canopy above.

“I’ll save any libations until after I’m finished here.”

“Pour it on the wound. ’Twill kill anythin’ that got in there. Keep it from going bad.”

“You are the patient, and I am the doctor. Whiskey is best consumed via the mouth, not wasted on lacerations and—”

“Just do it,” Lucien said impatiently.

The doctor sighed and nodded. “Yes, your Grace.”

“Gareth, go find some.”

“I’ll go,” Charles put in. He had been paralyzed with fear and grief as he’d stood listening to his sister’s broken sobs, the tears tracking down her face as she’d cried over her unmoving husband.

Now, she was leaning down to hug him, and Charles saw him hook an arm around her neck to draw her close.

He whispered something into her ear that turned her tears into sudden laughter, and he realized with a sudden, overwhelming rush of feeling, what he’d been unwilling to acknowledge all along.

They are meant to be together.

And everyone had seen it but him.

Together. She loves him in a way she never loved Perry, loves him the way we all do our wives, and she loves him with her entire heart and soul.

He is her very life. Her soulmate. And he loves her too.

Obviously, he does. Why else did he restrain himself in the face of my unfair, unkind treatment of him?

He took a deep breath and strode to the door.

Indeed, he has been a better husband to her than I’ve been a brother.

Oh, how terrible I have been to him. To her.

To them both. I have caused enough trouble, enough heartache, and it has cost them dearly.

And he went up into that tree without telling anyone.

Did it for not only the kitten, but our little girl.

My little girl. I feel positively sick. Ashamed.

I can’t stay here and face anyone. Yes, it’s best that I just quietly leave.

Let them have their visit, as they deserve, in peace.

Overcome with guilt and sorrow, he slipped from the room and out into the hall. There, he found all of the wives hovering anxiously around. Even Amy, who had recovered some of her color, was there. As one, they converged on him, the puppy pawing at Celsie’s knees until she picked him up.

“How is he?”

“Is he awake?”

“Is anything broken?”

“Will he be all right?”

Charles just left them and their questions to Gareth, who had emerged behind him. He had whiskey to find.