She stared at him, horrified. “Papa.” Smack. “To the devil with your cannon. Finn could die.”

He blinked at her, stunned. Susanna was stunned, too. God help her, she’d cursed at her own father and smacked him in the face. It was awful. And satisfying.

“I’m sorry, Papa. But you earned that.” She took advantage of his shock to press her hand to his throat and feel for his pulse. For a few horrific seconds, she couldn’t find any heartbeat at all. But at last, her fingers located the elusive rhythm.

The beat was fast, but steady. Healthy and strong.

Tears of relief pressed to her eyes. Her father might be a selfish old man, enslaved to his ambition. Perhaps he’d never loved her the way a motherless, awkward girl yearned to be loved. But he had given her life. Not once, but twice. And he had given her this home she adored so much. He was her father, and she loved him. She didn’t want to lose him today.

She flagged down a passing stable hand. “Take my father in to the housekeeper. Tell her Miss Finch says Sir Lewis must take to his bed and rest. No arguments.”

With that settled, she turned back to the carriage house, where the men were hitching horses to the cart. The beasts stamped and whinnied, made nervous by the explosions and scent of blood.

The groom offered a hand, helping her into the cart to sit at Finn’s knee. Her skirts crushed beneath her as she settled into the straw. Corporal Thorne and Aaron Dawes were already present, crouching on either side of Finn to keep him immobile. Thorne kept his hands clamped tight about the boy’s calf, just above the tourniquet, adding the force of his grip to staunch the flow of blood.

“Go on ahead,” Bram ordered the driver. He and his cousin prepared to mount their horses. “We’ll catch you on the road.”

The cart lurched into motion, turning off Summerfield property and trundling down the dirt lane. They’d nearly covered the distance to the smithy by the time Susanna realized she wasn’t the only woman in the cart.

Diana Highwood was there, holding Finn’s head in her lap and wiping his brow with a lacy white handkerchief. “There, there,” she murmured. “You’re doing so well. The ride’s almost over.”

As they pulled into the smithy’s small yard, Aaron Dawes vaulted from the cart and rushed ahead to throw open the doors. Bram slid from his horse and hurried to lift Finn in his arms and carry him inside. Thorne and Payne flanked him, to assist.

As Susanna alighted from the cart, she winced, feeling a sharp pain where she’d fallen. She paused for a moment, pressing a hand to her bruised side, until the pain subsided. Then she moved to follow the men inside the smithy.

Miss Highwood did the same.

Susanna caught the fair-haired beauty’s arm. “Miss Highwood . . . Diana. This will be an unpleasant scene. I don’t think you should be here.” Susanna wasn’t at all sure how she would make it through, herself. This went well beyond her usual realm of poultices and salves.

“I want to help,” the young woman said, with clear-eyed resolve. “You all helped me, during my time of distress. You, Lord Rycliff, Mr. Dawes. Rufus and Finn, as well. I want to repay the kindness. I haven’t the men’s strength, or your knowledge, Miss Finch. But I’m not a swooning sort of girl, and I’ll do anything I can.”

Susanna regarded the young woman with admiration. Apparently, the delicate Miss Highwood was made of stronger stuff than everyone else had imagined . . . Susanna included.

Good for her.

“You’ll be certain to step out, if it becomes too much?”

Diana nodded. “And I have my tincture, of course.”

Susanna gave her arm a grateful squeeze before releasing it. “Then let’s go in together.”

Aaron Dawes hurried ahead of them all, clearing the tools from a long, wooden table and moving it to the center of the space. “Set him down here, my lord.”

Bram hesitated for a moment, as if reluctant to let Finn go. But then he silently moved forward and lowered the moaning boy to the smooth, sanded surface. Thorne still held his viselike grip on Finn’s wounded leg.

“Easy, Finn,” Bram murmured. “We’re going to take care of you.” He turned to Dawes. “Laudanum?”

“I sent Rufus—”

“I’m here.” Rufus dashed into the room, holding up a brown glass bottle. “Took it from All Things.”

“I’ll fetch a spoon or a cup,” Miss Highwood offered.

“Save it for afterward,” Dawes said. “He’s already unconscious, and we can’t wait for it to take effect.” The smith poked gingerly at what had recently been a recognizable foot. “There’s no saving it. I’ll start readying the tools.”

Susanna was saddened, but unsurprised. Even if the bone weren’t splintered, the wound was an unholy mess—studded with bits of metal, boot leather, and other debris. It would prove impossible to clean thoroughly. If the blood loss didn’t take Finn’s life, infection would.

“What can I do?” Lord Payne asked. He stood at the edge of the room, his face ashen and drawn. “Dawes, give me something to do.”

“Get the fire going. It’s growing dark.” The smith jerked his head toward the forge. “And there’s a lamp in my cottage, across the way.”

“I’ll get the lamp,” Diana said.

“Everyone, halt!” Bram shouted. He loomed over Finn, his face hard and commanding. “No one is touching this boy’s foot, do you hear me? I’m going for a surgeon.”

Susanna winced. She ought to have known how Bram would receive this, after he’d so nearly lost his own leg. But that was a different sort of wound, incurred under much different circumstances.

Drawing up to his full height, Bram looked around the room and spoke with cool authority. “No one cuts into this boy. Not until I return. That’s an order.” He turned to his corporal. “Do you hear me, Thorne? No one touches him. You have my permission to use whatever means you must.”

He turned and strode from the forge, leaving everyone stunned, staring blankly at one another. They all knew what Bram refused to admit—that preserving Finn’s foot could mean losing his life.

“I’ll talk to him,” said Lord Payne, moving for the door.

Susanna stopped him. “Wait, my lord. Let me try.”

A look of understanding passed between them. He nodded. “Stubborn fool never listens to me. Never listens to anyone, I’d wager. But he loves you, so perhaps there’s that.”

Susanna blinked at him, startled.

“Hasn’t he said so yet?” Payne shrugged. “Cowardly bastard doesn’t deserve you. Go on, now.” He gave her a fond nudge.

Susanna rushed out of the smithy and into the yard, where Bram was readjusting his horse’s saddle, preparing to mount.

“Bram, wait,” she called, dashing to his side. “I know this is horrible for you. It’s a tragedy, truly. But we can’t wait on a surgeon’s opinion tonight. Dawes must operate quickly, if Finn’s to have any chance.”

“I won’t let you lame him. He’s fourteen years old, for Christ’s sake. Full of a young boy’s plans and dreams. Take that foot, and you take his whole future with it. The Brights aren’t a privileged family. They work for their living. What kind of life is Finn going to have, with one leg?”

“I don’t know. But at least he will have a life. If we delay, Finn will die.”

“You don’t know that, Susanna. I’ve seen a great many more wounds of this nature than you have. You may have a talent with herbs and such, but you’re no surgeon.”

“I . . .” She stepped back, feeling the sting of his rebuke. That ache in her ribs reasserted itself. “I know I’m not.”

“Do you?” His jaw clenched as he tightened the saddle girth. “You seem eager enough to pretend. You’d sentence that boy to life as an invalid, just because you’ve been hurt in the past. You’re letting your own fear of doctors put Finn at risk.”

She grabbed his arm, forcing him to face her. “It’s not my fears that are putting Finn at risk. It’s yours, don’t you see? You’re still so caught on this notion that you can’t be a whole man, can’t be worth anything unless you prove you have two strong, perfectly functioning legs to carry you into battle. You’d even drag me along to Portugal before you’d admit otherwise. But this is not about you, Bram.”

He shot her a defensive glare. “I hadn’t planned to drag you anywhere, Susanna. I’d planned to take you willingly, happily—or not at all. Are you telling me you don’t want to come?”

How could he put such choices to her, at a time like this?

“I love you. I want to be with you. But dashing off to Portugal next Tuesday, just because my father’s a selfish, unfeeling old stick? It sounds romantic, to be sure . . . but also a bit juvenile. Aren’t we both a little too old to be running away from home?”

“This may be your home, but it will never be mine.”

“You’re wrong, Bram. Home is where people need you.” She gestured at the smithy. “And right now, the people in there need you desperately. Aaron Dawes needs every strong pair of hands to help. Finn needs you to stand beside him, and help him to be brave. To show him a man can be a man, whether he has two good legs or one. And after all is said and done, I’m going to need you to hold me. Because helping with this surgery is going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

When he still didn’t cease his preparations, a knot of fear formed in her throat. “Bram,” she said, her voice breaking. “You can’t do this. Not an hour ago, you promised to never leave me.”

He ceased wrestling with the saddle and released an angry sigh. “Susanna. Not an hour ago, you claimed to trust me with your life.”

“We’re not off to a very good start then, are we?”

“I suppose we’re not.”

They stared at each other. Then he turned, placed his foot in the stirrup, and swiftly mounted his horse.

That pain in her side returned. Though logically, she knew the pain to be placed too low, she couldn’t help but suspect her heart was breaking. “I can’t believe you’re actually going.”

“I never had a thought of doing otherwise, Susanna.” The horse danced under him, sensing its rider’s impatience to be off. “The only question is whether I have a reason to return. If you let them take that boy’s foot while I’m gone . . . I’ll never be able to look at you again.”

With that, he turned his horse and left.

She stood watching him until he disappeared into the darkening night. Then she turned and walked numbly back to the forge.

When she entered alone, all present turned to her.

“Lord Rycliff has gone,” she said, although it hardly seemed to need saying. “How is Finn?”

“Weakening.” Aaron Dawes’s face was grave. “I have to do it soon.”

Everyone looked to Thorne, who’d been ordered by Bram to stop them. The grim, stalwart officer who had once kept vigil at a wounded Bram’s bedside, pistol cocked, ready to fire at the first gleam of a bone saw. Would he fight them now? Between Dawes and Payne, she supposed they had the corporal outnumbered. But even if they had a dozen men, the smart odds would still seem to favor Thorne.

“Corporal Thorne,” she said, “I know you are loyal to your lord. But angry as he is right now, if he returns to find this boy dead, he’ll be devastated. We must allow Mr. Dawes to operate.”

She hadn’t stopped loving Bram when he rode away from her. No matter what threats or ultimatums he’d given, she was looking out for Finn’s well-being and his.

“Do you understand?” she asked. “We have to save Finn’s life, or Bram will always feel responsible. We all care about him. And we don’t want him to live under that burden of guilt.”