A Season for Love by Cynthia Breeding

firmly. “Edward can tend to him until the physician comes.”
    “That will take at least an hour.” Elizabeth slipped her arm under Darian’s shoulders and tugged at the shirt. “By that time, infection can have set in. His wounds need to be cleansed now.”
    “You have some knowledge of attending the wounded?” Edward asked as he cut through the other legging.
    “My mother volunteered at a hospital,” Elizabeth said. “As soon as I was old enough to help, I did. I have watched the surgeons tend knife wounds from street fights often enough.”
    “Here is the whiskey,” Julianna said as she started into the room. Lady Newberry quickly turned and pushed her back, but not before her eyes grew round at the sight of a nearly naked man lying on the bed.
    “That will do,” her mother said. “Go join your sister wherever she is.”
    “She is lying down.” Julianna backed out of the room. “She has been quite overcome with the sight of blood.”
    Edward took the bottle and handed it to Elizabeth. “I will hold him, while you pour.”
    She held the bottle to Darian’s mouth first. “Drink a little,” she said. “It will help take away the sting.”
    His laid his hand over her fingers and his eyes, dilated black from pain, looked into hers. Slowly, he nodded and then took three hefty gulps. He let his head fall back. “Do it,” he said .
    The shoulder wound wasn’t bad, more of a deep scratch that crept across the  sculpted bicep of his arm and partway across the hardness of his chest. Elizabeth soaked a cloth in steaming water and gently pressed it to him, allowing the steam to do the initial cleansing. She dabbed carefully and then dribbled the whiskey over it. Darian’s jaw set, but he remained still.
    Elizabeth moved alongside the bed to his leg. She willed herself to stay focused on the wound in Darian’s heavily-muscled thigh and not let her attention stray to another area where, thankfully, Edward had left a scrap of the breeches intact. Elizabeth forced herself to concentrate on the wound. It was much deeper and would require stitching. She eased the tourniquet slightly and a small amount of blood began to flow.
    “Should you not leave that on?” Edward moved toward her on the other side of the bed.
    “Yes, but I have heard the surgeons say it must be eased for circulation else amputation might result.” Elizabeth wiped the blood gently from around the wound. “And to have it bleed fresh while I pour the whiskey on it will cleanse it.” She looked at Darian. “Would you like some more to drink?”
    He shook his head. “Do what needs to be done.”
    Elizabeth glanced at Edward. “Put your weight over him and hold his leg as still as you can.”
    She waited for Edward to get in position with a good grip on Darian’s leg. She held the bottle over him. Then, taking a deep breath and biting her own lip, she poured. Darian’s hands clenched into fists gripping the sheet and a moan escaped him, but he didn’t thrash about. Relieved, Elizabeth tightened the tourniquet again.
    “Now we wait for the doctor.” She dipped another cloth into the kettle and began to wipe the sweat from Darian’s brow.
    Not long after, the physician arrived, along with the duke and duchess and Elizabeth’s uncle. His mother approached and took his hand, while the men stood quietly by. “Are you all right?” she asked and at his nod, she looked at the doctor. “He will be all right?”
    “Should be.” The physician took a needle and stitching thread from his bag. “This tourniquet probably saved him from bleeding to death.” He looked up at Edward. “Good work.”
    “I did not do it,” Edward replied. “Miss Townsend did.”
    The doctor looked surprised. “How did a lady learn to do something like that?”
    “My mother and I volunteered at a hospital in London,” Elizabeth replied. “There were wounds aplenty that needed tending.”
    “Umph.” The doctor bent to inspect the leg. “Did you wash the