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.
She had never seen so much blood. Not even the day she had been shot.
Crossing to the basin of water on the table near the hearth, she grabbed the soap and began to viciously scour her hands.
She could still feel it. The blood. Could still see it, trapped beneath her fingernails. She scrubbed and rinsed and scrubbed and rinsed while the fear she had held at bay clawed at her in an attempt to gain purchase.
Her breath hitched. Tears blurred her vision. Furiously dashing them away, she grabbed the soft cloth some diligent servant had provided and dried her hands. No dirt. No specks or streaks of crimson. Just freckled pink skin rubbed raw by her efforts.
This was the second time in two weeks that her hands had grown slick with warm blood. She doubted any soap on the planet would make them feel clean again.
Clenching them into fists, she closed her eyes.
“Robert.” His name emerged a ragged whisper.
Where was he? Would he return in even worse condition than the two men below? Would she have to toil over his mangled body, too?
She couldn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t do that to her. She couldn’t lose him, too. She had lost Josh. And her father. And her mother. She’d lost everyone really. And not just to death. Everyone she knew and loved was beyond reach of this foreign time and place. If she lost Robert, too…
A sob caught in her throat.
He had been so good to her, giving and giving, asking nothing in return. Nothing except the truth of who she was. And she had withheld that from him.
She had been afraid to tell him where she came from. Or rather when. Afraid and ashamed. Because, while she should have been wholly mourning Josh, a part of her was falling for the handsome, unbelievably thoughtful man who let her seek solace in his arms each night and offered her comfort without making any demands regarding the desire she roused in him.
Who else would do that?
Spinning around, Beth left the room.
Chapter Ten