The Sinful Scot (Saints & Scoundrels) Page 33

  “Shut up!” Lady MacKinnon yelled while pressing the muzzle of the gun tightly against Connie’s neck.

  “No!” Connie yelled back. She looked pointedly over at Alec. “I refuse to freeze again.”

  Oh God, she was going to use one of the moves he’d taught her on the woman. Before he could tell her not to, he watched, almost as in slow motion, as Connie yanked her elbow backward, ramming it into the woman’s ribs. Then, with her other hand, Connie grabbed Lady MacKinnon’s wrist and twisted it hard, forcing the gun from the woman’s hands to clatter onto the floor.

  Lady MacKinnon roared and swung around, but Connie was quicker and tackled her to the ground. The two women began to wrestle, and Alec and Iain rushed over toward them.

  Alec grabbed Connie, while Iain began to haul Lady MacKinnon away from her. The woman was struggling fiercely, and Alec could see the intent in her eyes as she reached down and scooped up her gun from the floor.

  He began to twist Connie around behind him, but Connie also saw what Lady MacKinnon was doing and threw herself in front of Alec as the sound of the pistol firing ricocheted around them.

  Connie was thrown back against him, and the momentum propelled them both to the floor. He made sure to take the brunt of the fall, keeping his arms around her, and for a second, he lay there, winded, with Connie on him.

  From the corner of his eye, he could see his brother was wrestling with Lady MacKinnon, who was still holding the gun, but all Alec was focused on was Connie, who was lying on top of him, with her back against his chest, and she wasn’t moving.

  Carefully he twisted her to the side and rolled out from under her. She didn’t move at all. Absolute anguish ran through him.

  He couldn’t lose her. Not now.

  There was blood all over her chest, and for a minute Alec was terrified. He quickly checked her pulse and had never been more relieved to feel the rhythmic beat, even though it was weaker than it should be. She was unconscious, but not out of danger.

  His eyes scanned the wound, and it appeared as if the bullet had pierced her body just under her shoulder. He swiftly removed his cravat and balled up the material before pressing it hard against the wound.

  Two shots sounded, in quick succession, piercing in their loudness.

  Twisting around, he saw Iain topple to the floor, hitting his head with an almighty bang, with Lady MacKinnon falling on top of him. Both didn’t move an inch.

  “Damn it, Fergus, get over there and help my brother,” Alec yelled to the man, who was still cowering against the wall. Terror that his brother might be dead or seriously injured tore through him. But Alec couldn’t stop applying the pressure to Connie’s wound—she could bleed out if he did.

  Fergus rushed over and pushed Lady Mackinnon off Iain. Her body rolled to the side, her eyes staring lifelessly up at the ceiling, her chest covered in blood. “She’s dead,” Fergus yelled aloud before bending over Iain. “He’s alive! But unconscious and I think he’s been shot, as there’s blood all over him.”

  Alec felt sick to his very bones. The thought of having to choose between saving his brother or Connie was horrendous. It felt like he was being wrenched in two. As a doctor, he knew he should assess both of their injuries and determine who had the more life-threatening injury.

  But when he tried to apply that rationale, he couldn’t. He knew with certainty that he wouldn’t risk Connie’s life for anything. Not even for his brother.

  She meant everything to him, he knew that now, knew it all the way to his soul. He would give his own life for her if he could.

  “Where has he been shot?” Alec growled. “Find the wound and apply pressure, God damn it! I can’t leave Connie. I can’t risk her bleeding out. I can’t lose her.”

  Another minute and he’d be able to pull back the material and assess her wound. He was going to have to operate sooner rather than later, and his thoughts had to be focused on her, otherwise he’d be useless to everyone.

  He just prayed that perhaps God wouldn’t abandon him completely, and that Fergus would be able to help save his brother.

  “Have you found his wound?” Alec called out over his shoulder as he pulled his small surgical kit from his pocket.

  “Damn it! Get your hands off me.” Iain’s deep voice boomed in the small space. “Why the hell does my arm feel like it’s on fire?”

  Relief unlike any Alec had known flooded through him. His brother was sounding his usual ornery self, which could only be a good thing.

  “Ah, I see the wound now,” Fergus cried. “He’s been shot in the upper arm.”

  Alec sent up a prayer of thanks. “Put pressure against it!”

  “Don’t you touch me!” Iain roared to Fergus.

  “Damn it, Iain, let him help you!” Alec yelled back. “I have my hands full here with Connie; I can’t be worrying about you, too.”

  “I’m fine.” Iain stood, somewhat wobbly, but came to his feet and ripped off his own cravat before pressing it against his upper left arm. “I think it’s just a flesh wound, but God almighty my head is sore.”

  “You hit the deck with it,” Alec replied. He slowly peeled back the fabric from Connie’s shoulder and was glad that the blood seepage had slowed down.

  “What do you need?” Iain asked, coming to crouch next to him.

  “Some sheets and whiskey.”

  Iain nodded over to Fergus. “You heard him, so hurry up.”

  Fergus flashed him a rather dark look before hurrying from the cottage.

  “What can I do?” Iain asked, glancing down at Connie in concern.

  “You’re not going to pass out on me again, are you?” Alec asked, pressing the material back down on the wound for a moment more.

  It was Iain’s turn to glare darkly at Alec. “I’m fine.”

  “Very well,” Alec agreed, as he would need all the help he could get. “Sit next to her and press this down as hard as you can on her wound, using your uninjured arm.” Alec grabbed his brother’s hand and placed it over the cravat he’d been pressing against Connie’s shoulder.

  Iain nodded and did as he was told, while Alec unrolled his small medical kit and got out his supplies. He desperately wished he had his proper medical bag with him. How was he meant to get the bullet from her shoulder with only a scalpel and some small instruments? But he had to do something. The nearest clinic or hospital was hours away. He quickly set to work pulling out what he needed.

  He had to focus on what he had to do, instead of the fear he felt threatening to consume him. He had to save Connie, but he wouldn’t be able to help her if he let his emotions take hold.

  Breathing deeply, he pushed all his feelings aside and went to that analytical place in his mind, the one he always went to before operating on anyone.

  It was a darn sight harder to get there, though, knowing it was Connie he would be operating on.

  Fergus returned with a bottle of whiskey. “I found some whiskey but no sheets.” He handed the bottle to Alec.

  “Aye,” Alec replied, taking the whiskey from him. He splashed some of the liquid from the silver flask over his scalpel and tweezers before lifting Iain’s hand and removing the material from the bullet hole in Connie’s shoulder.

  The wound wasn’t as bad as he’d first thought, and the blood was now only oozing, instead of flowing freely, which was a great relief. It had missed the artery, and though he’d have to flesh out the bullet, she should recover, as long as infection didn’t set in.

  Which was a big if, considering he was going to have to use less than hygienic equipment to dig the bullet from her and then stitch up the wound.

  He held the scalpel above her shoulder, but he froze. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t cut into her flesh. He couldn’t… What if he couldn’t save her?

  “I can’t do this…” he whispered.

  Iain reached over w
ith his good arm and gripped Alec’s shoulder with his fingers. “You have to, brother. You’re the only one who can.”

  Oh God. Iain was right. He had to. He had to save the woman he loved.

  Pushing aside every other thought, and all the fears he held of performing surgery on her using such rudimentary and unsterilized equipment, Alec focused on the task at hand. Saving Connie.

  If he didn’t get the bullet out and her skin stitched up, she would bleed out. That was a fact. So, without any sort of facilities to even boil water to sterilize his equipment, the whiskey would have to do. Then he would need to be vigilant in monitoring the wound for any signs of infection, which would be the true threat to her recovery.

  “Fergus.” He glanced up at the man, who appeared worried. “I need you to get on your horse and fetch a carriage from wherever you can, immediately. We’re going to need to get her back to Castle McGuiness as soon as I’m finished here.”

  “I shall,” Fergus replied before looking helplessly down at Connie. “I feel this is all my fault.”

  “Just go and get a carriage, man,” Iain all but hollered.

  Fergus nodded and quickly rushed from the room.

  “Is it bad?” Iain asked, crouching next to Alec and peering at Connie’s wound.

  “Thankfully not as bad as I first thought,” Alec replied. “Though the sooner I remove the bullet, the less chance there’ll be of infection setting in, which is going to be the true issue at the end of the day.”

  “Alec?” Connie’s voice was a weak whisper as her eyes slowly fluttered open.

  Alec had never heard anything as sweet, even if having her awake complicated what he was about to do. “I’m here, my darling.”

  “Are you hurt?” she asked while trying to lift her head before wincing in pain. “Goodness, it feels like my shoulder is on fire.”

  “I’m fine. You were the foolish one who jumped in front of me and got shot for your efforts.”

  She smiled briefly up at him. “Oh, I’m glad it was me and not you. I couldn’t have stood it if you’d been hurt.”

  He shook his head and smoothed back some of her hair. “I’m going to have to get the bullet out of you, though. Do you understand what that means?”

  She licked her dry lips. “That it’s going to hurt?”

  “Aye, like the very devil.” He smoothed back more of her hair and tried to smile, though he imagined it looked more of a grimace. The idea of her hurting was gut-wrenching. “Are you ready?”

  She nodded her head a fraction. “I am.”

  “Good girl. Now I’m going to get Iain to hold down your other shoulder.” He nodded across to Iain, who gently placed his hand on her forearm. “This is going to sting.” And before she could react, Alec poured some of the whiskey over her wound, bracing himself for the pain she was sure to experience.

  Connie screamed for a second before fainting.

  A small mercy that. Quickly, he got to work, carefully and methodically opening the wound with a precise incision before gently picking out the pieces of bullet that had lodged in her flesh. He had to actively pretend it wasn’t Connie he was working on, because each time he did, a wave of nausea rocked his stomach, and he had to pause in his task.

  Taking in another deep breath, Alec was glad to see that the bullet was mostly in one piece, except for a few fragments. Very good news.

  After he was certain he’d gotten all the metal out, he pulled the needle and thread from his small bag and began to stitch up the wound. She briefly woke again, before the feeling of the needle stabbing into the raw flesh around the wound must have become too agonizing to bear, and she fainted again.

  He’d never, not once in his entire career, felt queasy or uncomfortable in performing his job, but as he threaded the needle through Connie’s delicate skin, he literally felt sick each and every time the instrument jabbed in and out of her. He was glad she’d fainted, as he didn’t think he’d be able to keep going if he could tell she was in pain.

  The thought of her hurting, made him feel physically ill himself.

  But he did what he needed to do, and he was soon finished. Thankfully she hadn’t lost too much blood, though he’d need to get some fluid into her as soon as she woke and could stomach a few mouthfuls.

  Glancing up, he saw Iain was looking at Connie with concern. “She’s stronger than she looks,” he tried to reassure him, though he suspected Iain wasn’t the one he was trying to convince.

  “I’m sure she is,” Iain replied. “You care for her, don’t you?”

  Alec gently took one of her hands in his and squeezed it before clearing his throat. “I do.” But that’s all he could manage, unwilling to let the torrent of emotions loose right there. He still had to get Connie back safe and sound, and when she was out of the woods, then he could think about exactly what was going on with his feelings. “Come on, it’s your turn.”

  Now it was Iain’s turn to look ill. But he nodded and bared his arm. Alec cut away his jacket and shirt and was relieved that it was just a flesh wound. He grabbed the whiskey and splashed a healthy dash over the wound.

  “Damn it!” Iain hissed. “That bloody well hurt!”

  “That should help, at least until we get back to the estate and I can clean it properly for you.”

  The clattering of horse hooves and carriage wheels outside were extremely welcome sounds. Alec gently lifted Connie into his arms and followed Iain out of the cottage before gently settling her inside the main compartment. Though she hadn’t awoken fully, she still whimpered in pain, and he felt each and every wince like a dagger to his gut.

  “It’s all right, my love,” he whispered to her as he settled in next to her while the carriage began its journey back to the estate, with Iain riding his stallion alongside and Alec’s horse beside him.

  The entire journey back, Alec prayed desperately that she would be all right, because though the immediate danger was over, the long vigil had only just begun, with the next forty-eight hours being crucial to see if she developed a fever or not. Because contrary to what most thought, the more common cause of death after being shot was not the bullet wound itself, but the infection that developed after.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Slowly, Connie opened her eyes, or at least she tried to; her lids felt so thick and heavy. And goodness, her mouth was as dry as a bone. But gradually the room started to come into view, hazy at first, but then in more detail.

  A sense of nervousness ran through her when she didn’t recognize any of the furnishings. She was obviously lying in a large four-poster bed, with a thick blue canopy overhead, but she had no idea of where she was or what had happened. Too many times she’d woken after a beating from Duncan, tucked in her bed, that for a moment she feared that’s what was happening now.

  Perhaps Duncan wasn’t dead? Perhaps she’d just dreamed everything that she’d thought had happened over the last few days? Panic started to set in at the thought that what she’d shared with Alec had been a figment of her imagination.

  She started to twist around but then whimpered as a searing hot pain burned through her shoulder.

  “It’s all right, Connie,” Alec’s deep voice sounded in the space, and it soothed her as nothing else could.

  “Alec?” She turned her head to her left and saw him sitting next to the bed. Relief flooded through her. Thank goodness, it hadn’t been a dream. Though something must have happened as Alec looked terrible; his eyes were red-rimmed, and the beginnings of a very scruffy beard covered the lower half of his face. “What happened to you?” she asked, her voice a scratchy whisper, her throat feeling drier than she could remember it ever being. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

  His face split into a grin and he laughed. “I haven’t, actually.” He leaned over to the bedside table and poured a glass of water. “Here, take a sip.”

 
Carefully he helped support her neck with one of his hands while he used the other to bring the glass up to her lips. She took in a greedy sip of water, and the coolness of it washed down her throat like a soothing tonic. Water had never tasted so deliciously sweet before. She took a final sip and then pulled back. “Duncan is still dead, isn’t he? I wasn’t dreaming up all of that, was I?”

  “He’s dead, lass,” Alec replied as he gently laid her head back against the cushion and returned the glass to the table. “He can’t hurt you ever again.”

  Connie was glad of it. “I’m guessing I’m the cause of why you haven’t slept, then?”

  His grin vanished, and suddenly his eyes looked haunted. “Aye. You’ve been burning with fever for more than two days.” He gulped hard. “I thought I was going to lose you at one point… You darn near scared the devil out of me.”

  “It was that bad?”

  All he could do was nod. He reached for her hand and intertwined his fingers with hers and then squeezed very gently.

  The touch filled Connie with warmth. “Am I going to be all right?”

  “Aye, you will be. But promise me, lass, that you won’t ever scare me like that again.” He gently lifted her hand up to his chest. “My heart couldn’t take it.”

  Her own heart started to race upon hearing his words. Was he suggesting what she hoped he was?

  “And now that you’re out of danger, I think I’m going to sleep for a week or more.”

  Connie grinned at him, but then she remembered the events that had nearly killed her. “What about Mrs. Mor—Lady MacKinnon? Was she arrested?”

  Alec shook his head. “Nay. My brother got into a struggle for the gun with her, and she tried to shoot him, but the muzzle was pointing at her chest instead. She’s dead.”

  “Does Lady Lorelie know what happened?” Connie felt sorry for her. To not only find out that your mother had staged her own death, but had killed many people in the process, all for revenge, would be a difficult thing for anyone to discover.

  “Iain is going to inform the earl and Lady Lorelie when they visit here shortly, as soon as we send word you are out of the woods,” Alec replied. “Which we will do later today now that you’re awake. I thought perhaps you might want a visit with Amelie, but if you don’t feel up to it—”