Rendezvous With Yesterday (The Gifted Ones #2)(54)

“I can do this,” Beth whispered to herself.

“Aye, my lady,” Adam said with confidence. “You can.”

Time blurred as she painstakingly stitched Winston’s thigh, then moved on to the next wound.

Clean. Apply honey. Stitch. Then move on to the next.

Clean. Apply honey. Then stitch.

Once the more serious injuries were taken care of, she treated the rest of his abrasions the same way without sewing them.

She applied antibiotic ointment to every minor cut and scrape, rapidly depleting her small supply. She would’ve applied it to the harsher wounds, too, but the ointment’s directions advised against applying it to open wounds.

Bandages followed. The larger wounds she bound with clean cloth torn into fairly neat strips. The smaller wounds she covered with either butterfly closures or adhesive bandages.



The odd tubes of ointment, plastic containers, and adhesive strips all sparked curiosity in her audience. Thankfully, the men were either too smart or too courteous to interrupt her work.

Adam’s quiet, protective presence was no doubt responsible for that. Though she supposed concern for their friends could’ve kept them silent as well.

When at last she and Mary had done all they could, Beth stepped back.

Miles had not roused once. Considering all of the crud she had dug out of Winston’s mangled flesh, she feared infection and fever were unavoidable and thought she should try to get some ibuprofen into the other man as well. Antibiotics would have been far better. Unfortunately, Fosterly lacked both a qualified physician and a twenty-four-hour pharmacy.

Beth used a mortar and pestle Maude produced to crush two caplets into a powder. After mixing it with water, she raised Miles’s head a bit and dribbled several bitter drops between his lips.

No response.

Mary reached down and massaged his throat until—miracle of miracles—he swallowed.

Beth smiled. “It worked. Do it again.”

Together they coaxed him into swallowing it all.

Stepping back, Beth stared down at the two fallen men.

“Now what, my lady?” Marcus voiced the question that hovered on the tips of all tongues.

She sighed. “Now, we wait.”

Wait for fevers to rise? Wait for them to slip into comas? Wait for death to claim them?

No, she tried to deny. Wait for them to heal. To recover.

Was that really likely though? Beth wasn’t a doctor. She wasn’t a nurse. She didn’t know how injuries this severe should be treated. Everything she had done had been wrought by instinct and desperation. What if she had done something wrong?

Idiot!



She had marched forward and barked orders as if she had actually known what the hell she was doing. What if she had skipped some crucial step? What if she had given them too much ibuprofen? Or not enough? Or maybe she shouldn’t have given them any at all. What if the honey she had used contaminated the wounds instead of speeding their healing?

These men’s lives were in her hands. Why hadn’t she waited for the damned midwife? Or waited for Robert to return. Hadn’t he mentioned something about knowing healing herbs?

What if these men died?

Beth would never know if it was because of something she had done wrong or something she was supposed to have done, but hadn’t or if they had simply lost too much blood.

“My lady?”

She met Mary’s anxious gaze. “Aye?”

“May I sit with Winston now?”

“Of course, Mary. Thank you for helping me. You did very well.”

The woman nodded and bobbed a curtsy.

“Adam?” Beth said.

“Aye, my lady.”



“You might want to clear the hall. Either that or stay and watch over Miles and Winston. All these men have been very nice.” She motioned to her substantial masculine audience. “But I have a feeling they’ll start picking at the Band-Aids and butterfly closures as soon as I turn my back.”

And they would. All were fascinated by the bright white strips that held some of the cuts on their friends’ faces closed and by the flesh-colored strips that covered the others. Clearly they wanted to test them and find out what kept them from falling off.

Adam must have known he would have a battle on his hands, for he instantly and none-too-gently began to herd the men out of the hall.

Beth gathered together what was left of her first aid supplies and carried them to her chamber. The contents of her backpack were strewn across the bed. It wouldn’t do to have one of the servants see any of it. Even Marcus shouldn’t have seen it, but she couldn’t do anything about that. So she stuffed everything except the soap back into her pack and hid it in one of the two trunks the room boasted.

Restless, she paced to the window and looked out over the bailey. Or tried to. The glass wasn’t crystal clear here, but thick and warped. She could see enough, though, to know the sun would set soon. Bright oranges and pinks painted the clouds rolling in from the north.

Beth hadn’t realized how long it had taken her to patch up the injured men. Had Mary not assisted her, she would have been working on them long into the night.

If they hadn’t died first.

Her stomach performed a queasy somersault. Her insides began to tremble, as did her hands now that she wasn’t using them.

There had been so much blood.