The Bareknuckle Groom - Holly Bush Page 0,50
let out a held breath when the doctor stepped back after tying off the strips of linen holding the wooden supports together. She was suddenly exhausted.
“I’ll sit with him,” MacAvoy said.
Muireall handed him a blanket and a pillow and turned to Lucinda. “Would you like to stay here?”
She shook her head. “No. I must get home, but I can wait until Michael takes the doctor home.”
“I came in my own gig. Take the carriage home and get some sleep,” the doctor said as he pulled on his coat. “Does your father know you are here?”
She shook her head. “He does not.”
“And you would prefer I keep this between the two of us, I imagine.”
“Do as you must, Dr. Gibson. Your actions are not in my control.”
He smiled at her. “No, they are not. But I’m feeling a lapse of memory coming on. Good night all. I’ll send my bill to this address.”
Muireall led the doctor out the door, and Lucinda turned to MacAvoy. “You will watch over him?”
“I will.”
“You will get a message to me if he worsens?”
He nodded. “Yes. Now go home and get some rest.”
“Thank you for stopping that match. You saved his life, I think.”
“We’ve saved each other’s over the years. But I’m glad the fight stopped when it did.”
Chapter 12
James woke up slowly, licking his lip where the skin was split. He could feel a scab forming and tasted the foul salve that Aunt Murdoch made for his cuts. He was home, in his room; he could see through the slit available to him on his right eye. He bent his elbow, bringing his hand into view, touching his face gingerly. Swollen lips and a long row of neat stitches above his left eye.
“Awake, are you?” he heard from the side of his bed. It was Muireall’s voice.
“Thirsty.”
She leaned over him, holding up his head, which pounded like the devil, and touching his lips to a glass. He took a long, steady drink and laid his head back on the pillow.
“Do you know your name?”
“What?”
“Your name. Do you know your name and where you are?”
“Hell, Muireall,” he stuttered, slobbering down his chin. “If I’m not in my own bed on Locust Street, I’ve gone to hell, where elder sisters jab at a man when he’s down.”
He took a breath and closed his eye, as that muttering had exhausted him.
“Your name?”
“James Bryan Burns Thompson,” he whispered.
“Aunt Murdoch will be glad to hear your brains aren’t scrambled.”
He rumbled a laugh but immediately winced in pain and clutched his side. “Jesus, Mary, and all the Saints. That hurts.”
“Nothing less than you deserve,” she said and walked out of the room.
Aunt Murdoch tapped his shoulder. “Probably the only thing on you that doesn’t hurt.”
“Tell me.”
“I’ll tell you after you’ve let go of your water. Payden’s going to help you,” she said.
Payden came into view. “Aunt Murdoch told me to help you sit up, get to the edge of the bed, and take a piss. But I ain’t touching your peter.”
James eyed his brother, who was grimacing. “Just get me to the edge of the bed, boy. Far enough I don’t piss down the quilt, or Aunt Murdoch will be in here watching me.”
Payden shook his head. “A piss is a man’s private business. Can you wrap your arms around my neck?”
James did as he was told and groaned when Payden jerked him up. “Easy!”
Payden swung James’s legs over the side of the bed and tucked the blanket and sheets under the mattress. “Can you get your ass forward?”
James inched forward, feeling dizzy and nauseous. “Don’t let me fall. Don’t have my bearings.”
Payden held his shoulders while he fumbled with his drawers, eventually leaning his head against Payden’s chest.
“Your piss is bloody, and there’s three day’s worth in that pot.”
“What day is it?”
“Tuesday.”
“When did I fight Jackson?”
“Saturday.”
“Did I win?”
Payden laughed. “Not quite.”
James closed his eye and tried to remember what had happened, but all he saw were flashes. Flickers of light and color and MacAvoy’s face. He could see Jackson’s fist coming at him, feel himself block the punch or shift out of the way, and it made him a little sick suddenly remembering the connection of knuckles to chin and the snap of his neck as he withstood the blow. And there was a scent that remained in his head aside from the stink of sweat and sawdust. Roses. He’d smelled roses.
“Payden? Is he decent?”
“Aunt Murdoch is calling,” Payden said and looked down. “Are you done?”
James nodded and let Payden