A Night to Surrender (Spindle Cove #1)

She flagged down a passing stable hand. “Take my father in to the housekeeper. Tell her Miss Finch says Sir Lewis must take to his bed and rest. No arguments.”


With that settled, she turned back to the carriage house, where the men were hitching horses to the cart. The beasts stamped and whinnied, made nervous by the explosions and scent of blood.

The groom offered a hand, helping her into the cart to sit at Finn’s knee. Her skirts crushed beneath her as she settled into the straw. Corporal Thorne and Aaron Dawes were already present, crouching on either side of Finn to keep him immobile. Thorne kept his hands clamped tight about the boy’s calf, just above the tourniquet, adding the force of his grip to staunch the flow of blood.

“Go on ahead,” Bram ordered the driver. He and his cousin prepared to mount their horses. “We’ll catch you on the road.”

The cart lurched into motion, turning off Summerfield property and trundling down the dirt lane. They’d nearly covered the distance to the smithy by the time Susanna realized she wasn’t the only woman in the cart.

Diana Highwood was there, holding Finn’s head in her lap and wiping his brow with a lacy white handkerchief. “There, there,” she murmured. “You’re doing so well. The ride’s almost over.”

As they pulled into the smithy’s small yard, Aaron Dawes vaulted from the cart and rushed ahead to throw open the doors. Bram slid from his horse and hurried to lift Finn in his arms and carry him inside. Thorne and Payne flanked him, to assist.

As Susanna alighted from the cart, she winced, feeling a sharp pain where she’d fallen. She paused for a moment, pressing a hand to her bruised side, until the pain subsided. Then she moved to follow the men inside the smithy.

Miss Highwood did the same.

Susanna caught the fair-haired beauty’s arm. “Miss Highwood . . . Diana. This will be an unpleasant scene. I don’t think you should be here.” Susanna wasn’t at all sure how she would make it through, herself. This went well beyond her usual realm of poultices and salves.

“I want to help,” the young woman said, with clear-eyed resolve. “You all helped me, during my time of distress. You, Lord Rycliff, Mr. Dawes. Rufus and Finn, as well. I want to repay the kindness. I haven’t the men’s strength, or your knowledge, Miss Finch. But I’m not a swooning sort of girl, and I’ll do anything I can.”

Susanna regarded the young woman with admiration. Apparently, the delicate Miss Highwood was made of stronger stuff than everyone else had imagined . . . Susanna included.

Good for her.

“You’ll be certain to step out, if it becomes too much?”

Diana nodded. “And I have my tincture, of course.”

Susanna gave her arm a grateful squeeze before releasing it. “Then let’s go in together.”

Aaron Dawes hurried ahead of them all, clearing the tools from a long, wooden table and moving it to the center of the space. “Set him down here, my lord.”

Bram hesitated for a moment, as if reluctant to let Finn go. But then he silently moved forward and lowered the moaning boy to the smooth, sanded surface. Thorne still held his viselike grip on Finn’s wounded leg.

“Easy, Finn,” Bram murmured. “We’re going to take care of you.” He turned to Dawes. “Laudanum?”

“I sent Rufus—”

“I’m here.” Rufus dashed into the room, holding up a brown glass bottle. “Took it from All Things.”

“I’ll fetch a spoon or a cup,” Miss Highwood offered.

“Save it for afterward,” Dawes said. “He’s already unconscious, and we can’t wait for it to take effect.” The smith poked gingerly at what had recently been a recognizable foot. “There’s no saving it. I’ll start readying the tools.”

Susanna was saddened, but unsurprised. Even if the bone weren’t splintered, the wound was an unholy mess—studded with bits of metal, boot leather, and other debris. It would prove impossible to clean thoroughly. If the blood loss didn’t take Finn’s life, infection would.

“What can I do?” Lord Payne asked. He stood at the edge of the room, his face ashen and drawn. “Dawes, give me something to do.”

“Get the fire going. It’s growing dark.” The smith jerked his head toward the forge. “And there’s a lamp in my cottage, across the way.”

“I’ll get the lamp,” Diana said.

“Everyone, halt!” Bram shouted. He loomed over Finn, his face hard and commanding. “No one is touching this boy’s foot, do you hear me? I’m going for a surgeon.”

Susanna winced. She ought to have known how Bram would receive this, after he’d so nearly lost his own leg. But that was a different sort of wound, incurred under much different circumstances.