A Night to Surrender (Spindle Cove #1)(104)

“You say you suffered some injury to your ribs, miss?”

She nodded. “Last night.”

“But at the time, the pain wasn’t this severe.”

She shook her head.

“What’s wrong with her?” Bram asked.

“Well, if you want my guess . . .”

“No, I don’t want your guess,” Bram said angrily. “I want the damned answer.”

Mr. Daniels was unruffled by this outburst, which gave Susanna some reassurance. He and Bram truly must be close friends.

“I am certain,” said Daniels patiently, “she has broken some ribs. But broken ribs alone should not cause this sort of difficulty and pain. Not suddenly, after so many hours. But if she’s been going about physical activity since the initial wound, the broken bones may have caused her some bleeding, inside. Over the hours, the blood has been gathering inside her chest with no outlet. Now it’s pressing on her lungs and making it difficult for her to breathe. It’s called a hemo—”

“—thorax,” Susanna finished. Hemothorax. Yes, she thought grimly. She’d read about that. It made perfect sense.

“Ah,” said the doctor, in a tone of surprise. “So the patient is both lovely and clever.”

“She’s also mine,” Bram growled. “Don’t get any ideas. She’s mine.”

Susanna squeezed his hand. That sort of talk was so medieval and possessive. And she loved him for it.

“Yes, well.” Daniels cleared his throat and reached for his satchel. “The good news is, this is all too common on the battlefield.”

“How on earth is that good news?” Bram asked.

“Let me rephrase. The good news is, I’ve seen this many times, and there’s a simple cure. It’s a newer, controversial treatment. But I’ve used it in the field, with great success. All we need to do is drain the blood from her chest, and the condition will resolve.”

“No.” Wild with fear, she struggled to make the words. “Bram, no. Don’t . . . don’t let him bleed me.”

“You can’t bleed her,” he said. “She had too much of that in her youth, and it nearly did her in.” He turned her wrist scars-up for the surgeon’s view.

“So I see.”

And then Mr. Daniels did the truly astonishing. Something none of those doctors or surgeons in her youth had ever done. He crouched at her shoulder, where she could look him in the eye. And then he talked to her, not about her. As if she had a brain of her own, and full control over her own body.

“Miss Finch, if I can say it without risking a thumping from Bramwell here, you strike me as a very intelligent woman. I hope you will understand and believe me then, when I tell you this is no quack bloodletting. The pressure in your chest is unlikely to resolve on its own. If we do nothing, there is a good chance you’ll die. Of course, there’s always the risk of infection with such a procedure. But you’re young and strong. I like your chances against a fever better than I like your chances against this.” He thumped lightly on her distended chest, and it sounded strangely dull. “I won’t do anything without your agreement, however.”

Susanna regarded him with keen appraisal. He was young, it seemed. Scarcely older than she. His hair was unruly, but his eyes were calm and intelligent. Still, on this short acquaintance, she didn’t know that she could bring herself to trust any man who carried one of those horrific black satchels.

But there was someone else. Someone she could always trust to protect her.

She looked to Bram. “Do you . . . trust him . . . with my life?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then . . .” She pressed his hand and sucked another painful breath through a rapidly narrowing straw. “I trust you. Love you.” She needed to say that, once more.

Relief washed over his face. “Do it,” Bram told his friend.

She could bear this. So long as it was her choice, and Bram was beside her . . . she could bear anything.

Or so she thought, until she glimpsed the silver gleam of a blade, pressed against her pale skin. The sight made her recoil in horror. Her whole body flinched.

Daniels lifted the scalpel. “Where is that blacksmith? We may have to restrain her.”

No. Please God, no. All the nightmarish memories came rushing back. The footmen, pinning her to the bed. The sharp fire of the lancet against her wrist.

“No,” Bram said firmly. “No restraints. No one touches her but me.” He turned her head to face him. “Don’t look at what he’s doing. Only look at me.”

She obeyed, skimming her gaze over the handsome features of his face and letting herself sink into those familiar jade-green eyes.

He interlaced his fingers with hers. With the other hand, he stroked her hair. So tenderly.

“Now listen to me, Susanna. Do you remember that first night we met in the cove? I can refresh your memory, if need be. You were wearing that horrid bathing costume, and I was wearing a medieval torture device.”

She smiled. Only he could make her smile at a time like this.

“That night, you suggested we make some promises to each other. Well, we’re going to make them now. I’m going to promise not to leave. And you’re going to promise not to die. All right?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out.