Read Online A Bargain For A Bride: Clean mail order bride romance (Montana Passion Book 1) by Amelia Rose - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Amelia Rose
Ads: Link
brilliant! That will be a tremendous help, thank you. We’ll just have to convince him to drink it up before we go needling him.”
“I was thinking to cleanse the wound, ma’am,” the maid answered with a light laugh. Moira joined her.
“I think we’re both right! He’ll need some in the wound to clean it out and prevent infection, but I dare say the stitching will go far easier on him if he finishes the rest of it! I do like the fact that there’s so much whisky left in a bottle so old. It says he’s not a drinking man, and Lord above knows there are plenty of those to be had here on earth.”
“How will we get him to the house then?”
“Hmmm… I know. Hold this in place, I’ll return shortly.” Moira passed off the duty of holding pressure on the wound to her maid and ran to the barn, only to return with a wooden wheelbarrow that had seen better days. Between the two of them, they managed to roll Pryor into it, only to have the bleeding start fresh when he landed face down with his head pitched forward out of the small cart. Moira grabbed the cloth and held fast again while helping Gretchen shove the now heavy cart across the frozen ground and toward the cabin.
The porch steps proved to be another obstacle, but, by hoisting him between them across their shoulders, they were able to get him inside before dropping him on the bed. Moira took up a fresh strip of cloth and unworked his boots while Gretchen gathered everything they would need to staunch the bleeding.
“Are we ready, do you suppose?” Moira asked, holding the bottle of liquor in front of her like an offending draught of poison. Gretchen nodded, and Moira held the bottle to Pryor’s slack mouth, urging him to drink. What didn’t run into his mouth pooled in the rough fabric of his shirt, but at least he became conscious enough to swallow and cringe at the offending taste.
Moira pulled back the bandage and poured a small stream of the clear amber liquid into the gash on his head, closing her eyes briefly at the jagged edges of skin and what she could have sworn was bone showing clearly beneath it. She steeled herself, and bade Gretchen hold the pressure while she threaded the needle.
“Should we not give the liquor more time to work? ‘Twill hurt him much, will it not?” she asked, but Moira shook her head.
“Tis only whisky and not a magic potion, I’m afraid. It will only take the edge off the pain. Nothing short of another blow to the head would make him not feel it, and I for one am not up to bashing him in the skull! Would that I had taken to the drink; it will take strength enough to stomach piercing his skin to save him.”
“My lady, I think we’d best hurry. Look, he’s gone white as a sheet.”
Moira looked at his face and was shaken by the peacefulness in his expression, the pale look of someone who could easily slip into the grave. It strengthened her resolve for the unpleasant task of hurting him even more. She pinned his outstretched arm beneath her knee and spoke loudly in his ear.
“Pryor, do you hear me? I’m sorry, but we have to stitch. Please, I beg of you, please try to be still.” She nodded to Gretchen, who pinned his other arm before sliding her hand on top of his scalp to hold his hair back, giving Moira access to the ugly wound. Moira took a deep breath and held it, willing herself not to give way to a weak stomach at a time like this. She forced herself to look closely at the gash, lining up her stitches. She pushed the end of the needle through the first layer of skin and bade herself ignore the brief cry of pain from her poor patient.
When they’d finished tending to Pryor, Moira and Gretchen cleaned up the mess of their surgery efforts and sat together at the table in the kitchen, neither one speaking much. The reality of the situation was far too great to think about. What if they’d been unable to stop the bleeding, and found themselves stranded here, unable to even find their way back to
“I was thinking to cleanse the wound, ma’am,” the maid answered with a light laugh. Moira joined her.
“I think we’re both right! He’ll need some in the wound to clean it out and prevent infection, but I dare say the stitching will go far easier on him if he finishes the rest of it! I do like the fact that there’s so much whisky left in a bottle so old. It says he’s not a drinking man, and Lord above knows there are plenty of those to be had here on earth.”
“How will we get him to the house then?”
“Hmmm… I know. Hold this in place, I’ll return shortly.” Moira passed off the duty of holding pressure on the wound to her maid and ran to the barn, only to return with a wooden wheelbarrow that had seen better days. Between the two of them, they managed to roll Pryor into it, only to have the bleeding start fresh when he landed face down with his head pitched forward out of the small cart. Moira grabbed the cloth and held fast again while helping Gretchen shove the now heavy cart across the frozen ground and toward the cabin.
The porch steps proved to be another obstacle, but, by hoisting him between them across their shoulders, they were able to get him inside before dropping him on the bed. Moira took up a fresh strip of cloth and unworked his boots while Gretchen gathered everything they would need to staunch the bleeding.
“Are we ready, do you suppose?” Moira asked, holding the bottle of liquor in front of her like an offending draught of poison. Gretchen nodded, and Moira held the bottle to Pryor’s slack mouth, urging him to drink. What didn’t run into his mouth pooled in the rough fabric of his shirt, but at least he became conscious enough to swallow and cringe at the offending taste.
Moira pulled back the bandage and poured a small stream of the clear amber liquid into the gash on his head, closing her eyes briefly at the jagged edges of skin and what she could have sworn was bone showing clearly beneath it. She steeled herself, and bade Gretchen hold the pressure while she threaded the needle.
“Should we not give the liquor more time to work? ‘Twill hurt him much, will it not?” she asked, but Moira shook her head.
“Tis only whisky and not a magic potion, I’m afraid. It will only take the edge off the pain. Nothing short of another blow to the head would make him not feel it, and I for one am not up to bashing him in the skull! Would that I had taken to the drink; it will take strength enough to stomach piercing his skin to save him.”
“My lady, I think we’d best hurry. Look, he’s gone white as a sheet.”
Moira looked at his face and was shaken by the peacefulness in his expression, the pale look of someone who could easily slip into the grave. It strengthened her resolve for the unpleasant task of hurting him even more. She pinned his outstretched arm beneath her knee and spoke loudly in his ear.
“Pryor, do you hear me? I’m sorry, but we have to stitch. Please, I beg of you, please try to be still.” She nodded to Gretchen, who pinned his other arm before sliding her hand on top of his scalp to hold his hair back, giving Moira access to the ugly wound. Moira took a deep breath and held it, willing herself not to give way to a weak stomach at a time like this. She forced herself to look closely at the gash, lining up her stitches. She pushed the end of the needle through the first layer of skin and bade herself ignore the brief cry of pain from her poor patient.
When they’d finished tending to Pryor, Moira and Gretchen cleaned up the mess of their surgery efforts and sat together at the table in the kitchen, neither one speaking much. The reality of the situation was far too great to think about. What if they’d been unable to stop the bleeding, and found themselves stranded here, unable to even find their way back to
Similar Books
