Page 7 of To Dare the Devil

“What the devil are you doing? You was supposed to be entertaining the girl, not subjecting her to this poor devil’s misery,” Burt raged, giving Pike a swift clip round the ear.

“For the love of God, Kathy!” Hart said, striding over to grasp her arm, moving her away from the bed as Burt hurried over to cover the man up.

Kathy spoke before she could think better of it. “Wait!”

Her cheeks turned crimson as Burt hesitated with the sheet in his hand and everyone stared at her.

“H-His dressing,” she stammered, putting her chin up to mask her embarrassment at being found staring at a naked man and then objecting to him being covered. But the dressing was dark with blood and looked none too clean. “It needs changing.”

Burt’s expression darkened. “Might be a blessing not to do it. He’ll die of fever soon enough. May as well make it swift.”

“Oh! Oh, no!” Kathy exclaimed, her heart aching at the idea this beautiful young man might die here, with none of his family any the wiser. “But if you keep the wound clean….”

She regarded the grubby-looking cloths wrapped around his ribs. They might have been white once, she thought uncertainly, but they were far from pristine now, blood notwithstanding.

“I done what I could,” the old man said regretfully. “Wish I could do more, but—”

“Honey!” Kathy said desperately, turning to him. “I read that clean linen and honey can heal a wound.”

“Honey?” the old man said, wrinkling his nose.

Hart stepped closer and nodded. He’d looked thunderous ever since he’d stepped into the room and found her there, with a dying man, but he would not let the fellow die if they could save him. “She’s a prodigious reader, and I believe she’s right. The Egyptians and the Greeks both used honey for healing.”

“Do you have any?” Kathy asked him, her heart twisting at another low moan of pain from the beautiful man on the bed.

“Oh, aye. I keep it with the butter and cream,” Burt said wryly, though his tone was not cruel at least, which was somehow worse. Kathy blanched as she realised how thoughtless she’d been.

“Hart!” she said, pleading in her voice. “We must help him.”

Her brother sighed, recognising a battle he couldn’t win. “Fine. I’ll fetch honey and clean linen, but you’re coming with me.”

Kathy folded her arms and shook her head. “No. I want to see it’s properly done.”

“Kathy,” Hart said, a warning note to his voice most people would have balked at.

“No.” Kathy planted her feet. “I’m not going anywhere, and if you try to force me, I’ll tell Mama all about this little trip to the Dials.”

Hart’s expression darkened. “Why, you little devil! You don’t seriously believe she’ll blame me? That she’ll believe I brought you here?”

“Of course not,” Kathy said impatiently. “But she’ll lose sleep fretting about all the terrible things that might have happened if you’d not seen me, or if I’d got lost following you, or kidnapped, or—”

“Argh! Fine,” he snapped, dark eyes glinting with fury. “Machiavelli had nothing on you, you little viper.”

“Thank you, Hart,” Kathy said sweetly, and watched him stalk away.

She turned back to the bed, where the man twitched fretfully, murmuring incoherent words, and settled in to wait for her brother’s return.

Kathy reached out and smoothed back the once golden hair. It was dark with sweat and the young man fretted and muttered as the fever wore him down. He was burning up, blazing away what remained of his life in one last burst of heat. She doubted he could survive it, but she prayed anyway, blinking away tears. In the past hours, she had grown sick of the sound of her own voice as she talked to him, telling him stories, telling him secrets about herself, anything to keep him with her, tied to this life. She felt as if she were weaving threads about him, binding him to her, but they were too fragile to keep him here, no matter how hard she tried.

“Stay with me,” she pleaded, certain he could hear her. “Stay with me and I’ll be here for you. You’re not alone. I am waiting for you.”

It was foolish, she knew it. She did not know him, not really, but her heart refused to accept that. Her heart had taken one look at the beautiful young man, dying too young, and had bled as though she were wounded too. Kathy wanted to make him better, to fix him and make him whole again. She could not abide to see anyone in distress, to watch suffering and do nothing. It was beyond her to endure it, so she had nagged and nagged Hart until he had grudgingly brought her back to watch over her golden boy.

He groaned, writhing on the thin pallet in misery.

“I’m here,” she soothed him, unable to fight the tears that streamed down her cheeks, as she wiped his face with a cool cloth. “Hold on now. You must hold on, and then you’ll see. I won’t leave you.”

His eyes flicked open then, too bright, febrile and full of terror. A firm hand gripped her wrist, and she gasped.