Read Online An Unlikely Alliance by Patricia Bray - Free Book Online
Authors: Patricia Bray
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his patient, he found her struggling to sit up. Pulling over a chair, he sat down across from her. “Now let’s see what we have here,” he said, reaching to remove her shawl.
She flinched as his hands came near her.
“Sit still or I can’t help you,” he growled.
“I don’t need your help,” she replied. She looked absurdly fierce. Her wig had fallen off during the journey, revealing her own short, dark tresses. Her eyes were huge in her thin, white face. It was clear that she was in shock.
She brushed his hands away and unknotted her trademark black shawl with hands that shook noticeably. It slipped off her shoulders, revealing the low-cut dress underneath. A thin trickle of blood ran from the cut on her neck to the shoulder of her gown.
A discreet cough heralded the return of Dugan and a footman bearing a bowl of hot water. The butler placed the supplies on the table next to Alexander’s left hand. “Would you like me to send for a surgeon?” Dugan inquired.
“No,” Alexander replied, “I can take care of this.”
“Very good, my lord.” Dugan said, then withdrew, shutting the door behind him.
Blood had soaked through the makeshift bandage, and careful as he was, the girl still winced in pain as he peeled it off.
“I’m sorry, but we’ve got to get this cleaned up,” he said. Here in the well-lit library it was apparent that her injury was not as severe as it had seemed at first. Still, it was a nasty cut, running from the right side of her neck down to her collarbone. Whoever had done this had been very good or very careless. A little more pressure and the attacker would have slit her throat, and she would have died in minutes.
His gut tightened at the thought. He told himself that this was her own fault. She had chosen to become involved in this scheme and it wasn’t his fault if her comrades had turned out to have no scruples. But for all his logic he couldn’t help wanting to find the man who had done this and give him a taste of his own medicine.
He rifled through Luke’s bag until he found what he wanted, the vial of ointment labeled Dragon’s Balm. Luke swore there was actual dragon’s blood in the ointment, along with other mysterious ingredients. Alexander had no idea of what was really in there, but he had faith in its efficacy, having had need of it himself on more than one occasion.
The Gypsy’s dark eyes watched his every movement, but she made no comment, not even when he smeared the ointment over the cut. From experience he knew it had to sting, but she made no sound. She merely stared at him with the intensity of a wild animal, and he knew that if he left her alone for a moment she would try to flee. Even if she wouldn’t get far in her present condition.
He placed a small square of cloth over the cut and then tied a linen strip around her neck to hold it in place. It looked much like a cravat, although the style was decidedly odd on someone so clearly female.
“That should do the trick,” he said, leaning back to study his handiwork.
Her right hand reached up to explore the bandage. “Thank you,” she said. Her voice was soft and he noticed again the trace of an unfamiliar accent. “But why are you being so kind?”
Alexander stood up and went over to the sideboard. Selecting two crystal glasses, he filled them with brandy. Returning to his seat, he handed her a goblet. “Drink this—it will make you feel better.”
She held the glass in both hands, but did not drink.
“Drink up,” he ordered roughly. “I’m hardly likely to poison you after I’ve gone to the trouble of patching you up.” He took a large swallow from his own glass to prove his good intentions.
She nodded and took a sip of the amber liquid, then followed it with a large gulp. The well-aged liquid slid down with a smoothness that belied its potency. In no time at all she would be telling him whatever he wanted to know.
“Now tell me what happened,” he ordered.
“It was your
She flinched as his hands came near her.
“Sit still or I can’t help you,” he growled.
“I don’t need your help,” she replied. She looked absurdly fierce. Her wig had fallen off during the journey, revealing her own short, dark tresses. Her eyes were huge in her thin, white face. It was clear that she was in shock.
She brushed his hands away and unknotted her trademark black shawl with hands that shook noticeably. It slipped off her shoulders, revealing the low-cut dress underneath. A thin trickle of blood ran from the cut on her neck to the shoulder of her gown.
A discreet cough heralded the return of Dugan and a footman bearing a bowl of hot water. The butler placed the supplies on the table next to Alexander’s left hand. “Would you like me to send for a surgeon?” Dugan inquired.
“No,” Alexander replied, “I can take care of this.”
“Very good, my lord.” Dugan said, then withdrew, shutting the door behind him.
Blood had soaked through the makeshift bandage, and careful as he was, the girl still winced in pain as he peeled it off.
“I’m sorry, but we’ve got to get this cleaned up,” he said. Here in the well-lit library it was apparent that her injury was not as severe as it had seemed at first. Still, it was a nasty cut, running from the right side of her neck down to her collarbone. Whoever had done this had been very good or very careless. A little more pressure and the attacker would have slit her throat, and she would have died in minutes.
His gut tightened at the thought. He told himself that this was her own fault. She had chosen to become involved in this scheme and it wasn’t his fault if her comrades had turned out to have no scruples. But for all his logic he couldn’t help wanting to find the man who had done this and give him a taste of his own medicine.
He rifled through Luke’s bag until he found what he wanted, the vial of ointment labeled Dragon’s Balm. Luke swore there was actual dragon’s blood in the ointment, along with other mysterious ingredients. Alexander had no idea of what was really in there, but he had faith in its efficacy, having had need of it himself on more than one occasion.
The Gypsy’s dark eyes watched his every movement, but she made no comment, not even when he smeared the ointment over the cut. From experience he knew it had to sting, but she made no sound. She merely stared at him with the intensity of a wild animal, and he knew that if he left her alone for a moment she would try to flee. Even if she wouldn’t get far in her present condition.
He placed a small square of cloth over the cut and then tied a linen strip around her neck to hold it in place. It looked much like a cravat, although the style was decidedly odd on someone so clearly female.
“That should do the trick,” he said, leaning back to study his handiwork.
Her right hand reached up to explore the bandage. “Thank you,” she said. Her voice was soft and he noticed again the trace of an unfamiliar accent. “But why are you being so kind?”
Alexander stood up and went over to the sideboard. Selecting two crystal glasses, he filled them with brandy. Returning to his seat, he handed her a goblet. “Drink this—it will make you feel better.”
She held the glass in both hands, but did not drink.
“Drink up,” he ordered roughly. “I’m hardly likely to poison you after I’ve gone to the trouble of patching you up.” He took a large swallow from his own glass to prove his good intentions.
She nodded and took a sip of the amber liquid, then followed it with a large gulp. The well-aged liquid slid down with a smoothness that belied its potency. In no time at all she would be telling him whatever he wanted to know.
“Now tell me what happened,” he ordered.
“It was your
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