CONFLICTING OPINIONS
The crowd around the tent fell silent and parted when another youth held open the flap for the captain. Hannah stuck close and followed in his wake before the scowling English soldiers could keep her out. The Welshman went down on one knee and laid the boy on the pallet. For all that he was a big man, there was a gentleness about him.
When he stood, she drew off her shawl and knelt to examine the swollen ankle, acutely aware of the giant behind her. He seemed to fill the small space, though a cursory glance at the pallets shoved to one side indicated the entire gunnery crew usually slept within. She supposed Pendray had his own tent, as befitted an officer. She conjured an image of his huge frame stretched out on a pallet, hands behind his head, ankles crossed…
When the lad shrieked, she swivelled her head to his ashen face. Preoccupied with thoughts of the officer’s bare feet and legs inches from where she knelt had caused her to poke the injured foot too hard. “Can ye move yer toes?” she asked, wishing someone would open the tent flap to let in more air, though she doubted that would get rid of the smell of smoke.
The boy glanced warily at the captain, evidently seeking his approval. Relief surged when five toes moved a smidgen. She turned to tell Pendray she didn’t think the ankle was broken, but he stiffened and saluted when another officer strode into the tent. Her belly clenched. This could only be Abbott, the monster who’d failed to prevent the massacre at Dùn Dè. Behind him came a man wearing a blood-stained apron over his yellowed buffcoat. The whiff of spirits emanating from him was unmistakable.
The slight wrinkle of the captain’s nose betrayed he was aware of the reek of whiskey. The general and the surgeon eyed her as if she was a piece of rubbish someone had dropped on the groundsheet. She scrambled to stand and withdrew until her back was against the damp canvas wall. She clutched her shawl tightly, still feeling sore where the soldier had shoved her. The boy no longer needed her. The doctor would quickly verify he had suffered a bad sprain.
“Report,” Abbott snarled as the doctor leaned over the pallet.
Pendray glanced at the lad. “Smythe slipped on the rocks, sir.”
The general scowled. “Yes, yes, but did you find any trace of the jewels during your search?”
Fear and disgust made her lightheaded. Abbott didn’t care about one of his own men and would think nothing of torturing a Scottish spy who’d stolen the treasure he sought.
Pendray looked up into the peak of the tent. “No, sir. Nothing.”
No one paid attention to the squeak of relief that emerged from her throat.
“Sir, what about…” Smythe interjected weakly.
She gritted her teeth.
The captain clenched his jaw and glared at the boy who averted his gaze and closed his mouth.
Dizzy with relief, Hannah nevertheless knew in that moment Pendray had indeed found something incriminating. It could only be the rope. Why had he not denounced her?
Preoccupation with her own dilemma fled when the surgeon straightened, wiped a dirty sleeve across his mouth and announced, “Badly broken. Bring him to my tent. I’ll have to amputate.”
Her knees threatened to buckle. The drunkard had scarcely even looked at the injured limb.
Whatever Smythe had been about to say was forgotten as he wailed a denial of his fate and dissolved into wrenching sobs.
Pendray gritted his teeth and turned to look at her, as if expecting her to speak. He likely sensed the ankle wasn’t broken, but what weight would her opinion carry?
“Very well,” Abbott intoned, stroking his moustache. “Courage, brave lad,” he said, though his attention was on the tent flap when he offered the empty words of condolence.
It was too much. She clenched her fists and stepped forward. “I beg to differ,” she declared with as much conviction as she could muster. “’Tis merely a bad sprain.”
~~~
An insane urge to kiss the fear off the lass’s pale face seized Morgan. He itched to scoop her up and tell her how much he admired her bravery in stepping forward, but then he already knew she was courageous. His opinion alone wouldn’t have made any impact on Abbott, though his commander was well aware of the surgeon’s incompetence.
The general came to an abrupt halt, one eyebrow raised. “Who the devil is this woman?” he demanded.
“A camp follower,” the surgeon mumbled with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’ve seen her there.”
Morgan hesitated but then decided to lie anyway. “A local bonesetter,” he said. “Doctor Peabody is already burdened with too many injured men,” he suggested in an effort to placate the sulking surgeon who was likely anxious to get back to his bottle. “If she can heal the lad, you’ll still have a loyal soldier. I need every available man to get the cannon back to Edinburgh.”
Abbott arched both brows. “A bonesetter? Here? What’s your name, gel?”
“Hannah, me-lord,” she replied with a brief curtsey. “Hannah Kincaid.”
Morgan liked the sound of her name. She might have made it up, though it had rolled smoothly off her tongue. He’d coax her to whisper Hannah Kincaid over and over while their tongues mated…
A stern voice jolted him back to reality. “Very well,” the general hissed, fingering the end of his pompous moustache. “You’ve a sennight to get the lad fit for travel. You’ll be taking the gun to Inverness.” His gaze drifted to Morgan’s feet. “Get your boots back on sharpish. What will the men think?”
“Thank you, miss,” Smythe rasped as the two officers left the tent without offering an explanation of the surprising news about Inverness. He’d expected orders to return to Edinburgh.
“Yes, my thanks too,” Morgan echoed, hoping Smythe was too young and Hannah Kincaid too innocent to know what the inconvenient bulge at his groin signified.
He’d put his career, even his life, in jeopardy for a lass he didn’t know but who stirred emotions and feelings he hadn’t felt in a long while. His male urges had got the better of his common sense. He’d obviously been too long without a woman.
Mayhap she was a sorceress. Best he watch his step or next thing his neck would be in a noose. “What do you need?” he asked gruffly as she knelt again to tend his signal boy.
He swallowed hard when she looked up at him. Was it longing he saw in those green depths? His cock thought so.
He cursed himself for a fool when she averted her gaze and replied, “Linens for bandages. Clean water, and comfrey.”