Nobody came for care that day. Nor the next. The heavy rains had driven everyone to stay indoors.
I was locked away with nothing but my desperation to find some clue about Finn and my dark desire to make some progress in my vengeance upon the Morets. Every person I’d questioned so far had skillfully avoided giving me any information about the Morets. I was closer than ever to the Morets, how could I be so far from the answers I sought?
Early the following morning, hours before the sun was due to rise, I was awoken by shouting.
I leapt from my bed and scrambled to light a candle. Fear rose in my throat, constricting my ability to breath. The fact that I was alone and quite removed from the populace of Cleric’s Cove—and any sort of help—became glaringly apparent. If I was in danger, there was nothing I could do.
I scrambled for my blade and hurriedly secured it around my thigh under my nightgown. I pulled my shawl around me and listened at the door. I tried to control the sound of my breathing, so my ears could better pick up the sounds from outside.
“Damn it,” a man’s voice yelled.
A groan filled the air followed by mumbled words of several men.
“Deirdre, open the door,” a voice yelled. I didn’t recognize it.
The heavy stomping of boots thundered on the front porch.
I rushed to open the door, turning the handle just as it was flung aside, and a large man pushed past me. His face was tanned and leathered, and he cast me an irritated look. Leaving a path of muddy footprints, he walked into the kitchen.
The sounds of moaning and men bickering drew my attention back to the porch. Three men carried another. The groans of the man being carried grew. His shadowed form writhed as he bounced in the air, suspended in the hands of his comrades.
I scooted to the side of the room, against the wall, as they clattered onto the porch and through the door. They deposited the man firmly onto my bed.
I heard the door close and turned to see Jack Moret standing beside me.
“No coffee?” The first man, grizzled in appearance, dripping and standing in my kitchen, looked expectantly at me.
By the curl and color of his dark, but graying hair, the thick brows and fierce look, I knew this was Jack’s brother. Claude Moret had just walked into my house—his house actually— in the middle of the night. And carrying a bloody man. Somehow, I assumed this wasn’t an uncommon turn of events in their sphere.
I was unsure whether to tend to the man who was clutching his belly and bleeding on my bed or brew Claude Moret coffee.
“Hey,” Mr. Moret snapped his fingers in my direction. “Coffee.”
And thus, the decision was made for me.
As I walked through the narrow doorway into the kitchen, I was forced to turn and nearly press myself into the door jamb to get past him.
He made no effort to step aside to make room for me.
I filled the kettle and put it on to boil.
“Mo, get out there and drag in the boats,” Claude gruffed. “Make sure they’re hidden.”
I tried to not whirl around. With all the men wearing hats, plus the writhing and bloody man, I hadn’t noticed that Mo was among them. Also, I knew it would do no good to give any sort of reaction to Mo with Jack Moret standing in the next room.
With the water heating, I turned my attention to the man lying in—and bleeding all over—my bed. His eyes were wide and desperate. Tears accumulated on his lower lashes, though it was evident he was trying to not shed them. He was doing his best to maintain the demeanor of a man who, although in pain, was stoic and worthy of Claude Moret’s trust.
“Lemme have a look.” I met his eyes, trying to portray calm and understanding.
His hands clutched firmly just above his umbilicus.
I laid my hands on his hips, applying a gentle pressure. “What’s yer name?”
He didn’t answer. He rolled his gaze from me and moaned again before his eyes focused on Claude standing across the room. The vision of Claude Moret seemed to infuse him with stoicism again. “Joseph,” he said.
“Joseph, I need to have a look.” I pulled again at his hands, and he finally relented, letting me pull them aside.
I lifted the hem of his shirt. Dark burgundy blood oozed from a puncture. The wound was jagged, I imagined the blade that created it hadn’t been terribly sharp and had torn its way into his flesh, rather than causing a clean slice.
“Okay, Joseph. I’m gonna need to feel around a bit. It might cause ye some discomfort.”
His gaze fell on his boss again, but he nodded in agreement and winced in preparation of the pain to come.
I palpated his abdomen and around the wound. Joseph tensed his abdominal muscles against the pressure of my hands but didn’t pull away. As I pressed around the immediate area of the wound, I made note of the quality and consistency of the fluid that seeped from the opening while also visualizing the tissue inside the wound. The fluid was thick and red. The metallic aroma of blood wafted about me as I assessed him. The absence of obvious gastrointestinal fluid was encouraging. I was hopeful that only his skin and muscles had been punctured. Any gastrointestinal injury was far more serious than I could care for, and I was certain that there was no way poor Joseph would ever be taken to a hospital. I would be the only medical attention he’d receive.
Mo entered the cabin while I was tending to Joseph. From my peripheral vision I saw that he went into the kitchen and finished the coffee. He presented his father with a steaming mug.
“Get me a towel from the kitchen,” I ordered one of the men who leaned against the wall, watching me work. He returned quickly, and I pressed the towel into Joseph’s belly and guided his hands to hold it in place. I stood and faced Jack.
“I’ll need to clean the wound and bind it. I can make an ointment that’ll hopefully prevent infection from setting in. But he won’t be able to be up and about for several weeks.”
Jack nodded.
“He’ll stay here then.” Claude stepped in front of Jack. He was not only commanding my attention but making it evident that it was he who I was to address. Claude Moret was in charge.
My stomach roiled in loathing for this man.
“I only have the one bed,” I explained. Certainly, Joseph had his own home to go to.
“And it’ll be just fine for him.” Claude turned and went into the kitchen. I heard the strike of a match and smelled the bittersweet scent of cigar smoke. A chair scraped across the wood floor and then Claude beckoned his men. “Mo! Jack! Get in here.”
They both hustled into the kitchen without pause and sat at the table with Claude.
“I’ll be right back,” I whispered to Joseph. “I have to get some supplies.”
I kept my head down as I stepped into the kitchen, so it would be apparent that my intention wasn’t to eavesdrop.
“Excuse me. I need to gather a few items.”
From the shelves I pulled down a few rags for cleaning, a bowl for water and small jar of moonshine. It would hurt like hell when I rinse the wound with it, but I couldn’t imagine anything with a higher content of alcohol. It was the only thing in my supplies that would provide a decent cleaning of Joseph’s wound. I also pulled down the charcoal, yarrow and cayenne that I’d ground into a poultice just the other day. With my entire stock of bandages added to the pile I carried my supplies into the front room.
“Get me another cup, boy,” Claude commanded—passing his cup to Mo— as I walked from the kitchen.
Mo quickly rose and filled his father’s cup.
They didn’t resume talking amongst themselves until I left the room.
Joseph tried to remain stoic as I cleaned his wound. Although he didn’t cry out, he writhed in silent agony when I rinsed the wound with the liquor.
One of the men standing against the wall began to waver and sway. His color had gone quite pallid, and his eyes became fixed to the floor.
“Perhaps ye should help yer friend into the chair,” I told the other man who had found an unflinching fascination in my wound care.
“Oh. Yeah.” He smacked his mate on the arm and nudged him toward the chair.
“Thanks,” the man said and collapsed into the chair. He shook his head as if shaking off a trance and took a deep breath.
I laughed in my head. A scruffy hooligan, a ruffian as we called them in Ireland, nearly laid out by the sight of blood. Not so tough after all, are ye?
Once Joseph’s wound was cleaned and wrapped, I administered several solid gulps of the illegal liquor to him. “I’m afraid it’s all I’ve got to offer ye.”
He was asleep in minutes. The shock of the initial injury compiled with the travel to my cabin and the arduous process of assessing, cleaning and binding his wound had left him exhausted.
The man in the chair had resumed a more natural color as well. He leaned back in the chair, eyes closed and mouth slightly agape. His breathing was deep and loud.
The other man had lowered himself to the floor, arms resting on his knees, head against the wall as he too slept.
Murmurs continued from the kitchen as the yellow glow of sunshine cast through the windows, and the sky outside brightened.
I cleared my throat before stepping into the kitchen.
Three identical pairs of eyes looked at me expectantly. “I think he’ll be alright. It seems that only the muscle was cut, though I can’t be completely certain. I have plenty of remedies on hand. I’ve used the last of me bandages. I’ll need more if I’m to keep tending to him.”
On impulse I decided to push my luck. “I could use another jar of whiskey as well. And some proper rubbing alcohol.”
Both Jack and Mo cast a surprised look to Claude. Moonshine was liquid gold in this area, and the Morets were gold miners.
Claude held my gaze.
I stood firm, but not defiant. I wanted him to know this was a nonnegotiable need. If Joseph was valuable to the Moret gang, and I assumed he was or they wouldn’t have brought him to me, then they’d do what was necessary to ensure he could return to them.
Claude nodded. “Take care of it,” he said to Mo.
Mo nodded. “I’ll get it to ya today.”
“Go now,” Claude ordered. “There ain’t nothin’ here that needs yer attention.”
Mo’s face fell. His shoulders slumped. He stood slowly, but obediently. “Yes, sir.”
Without another look about, Mo was through the door and gone. Seeing the look of dejection on his face saddened me.
Claude didn’t seem to notice that he’d crushed his son. He grumbled at me next. “Anythin’ else?”
I was stunned to be right at the focus of his attentions.
“Er, no—” I stammered and backed from the kitchen. With no place to sit myself I grabbed my shawl and stepped onto the front porch. The morning was warming and the air grew heavy. The rain of the past few days added to the humidity that hung in the air. The day would be hot and miserable. The misery not only from the weather, but also from the fact that I’d have no bed to sleep in and no privacy. It seemed Joseph was to be my ward for the next few weeks, or until he was mended enough to be of use to Claude Moret again. I consoled myself with the knowledge that, so long as a valued member of the Moret gang was under my care, I’d be able to parlay that into medical supplies. And, as long as Joseph was under my roof, I might be able to glean some information about Finn from him.
Heavy boots fell as Claude and Jack Moret left the kitchen and walked through the front room. I stood and went to the door.
“Wake up!” Claude growled as he kicked at the other two men.
They both startled awake and jumped to their feet.
“Get the boats,” Claude ordered.
The two brushed past me. Jack eyed me as I stood in the doorway, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
I realized I was still in my nightgown, and with the sun behind me, there was no telling what he could see. I pulled the shawl around my torso, trying to preserve some modesty. I quickly remembered my role with Jack, and I allowed a manufactured blush to warm my cheeks as I looked to the floor in a shamed manner.
Claude stomped in front of me and stopped. He stood tall, towering above me. I chanced a glance up at him. For all the hours he’d been in my house, I’d hardly gotten a good look at him. It felt dangerous to lay eyes upon the legend that was Claude Moret. It felt almost as if I was looking the devil himself directly in the eye.
Claude’s skin was tanned and leathered. The furrowed lines of age and trouble wrinkled his brows and nearly engulfed his eyes. His light brown hair was dusted with grey as was the stubbly growth on his face. Despite his aged appearance, Claude’s eyes were sharp. It was obvious that he was acutely aware of everything in front of him, and I imagined, of everything that brewed just below the surface.
Claude’s frame was large and his chest obviously muscled. He was thicker than Mo, but he hadn’t sacrificed his other physical attributes to age. It was easy to imagine Mo would look like this in thirty years. Only without the hard edge of danger.
“You’ll get your supplies,” he said. “But, he’d better not die.”
I gulped. Suddenly I was uncertain of my assessment of Joseph’s condition. What if a branch of the mesenteric arteries or the colon had been nicked? Joseph would certainly die a slow and painful death.
Claude didn’t wait for a response. He stepped past me, moving from the porch toward the dock.
My eyes remained glued to him as he crossed the dock and stepped into the boat.
“Don’t be scared, chér.” Jack’s breath was hot on my ear and drifted across my neck and shoulder. He leaned against me slightly, as he whispered in my ear. “I won’t let him hurt you. You jus’ be a good girl and do what needs done.”
I fought off the repulsion that threatened to engulf my body.
Jack’s lips lingering at the top of my ear, brushing ever so slightly. “I’ve missed you.”
The shudder that rushed the length of my spine was difficult to control. I turned to face him, a flirty smile on my lips. “I’m sure you’ve got important business to occupy yourself with, Jack. Don’t you tease me with yer flattery.”
He drifted closer, and each time he leaned into me, I feared this would be the time I’d be unable to distract him. Unable to turn him away. The time would soon come that I’d be unable to put him off and he’d try to kiss me. “You’d better get along. I’m sure yer brother won’t wait patiently for long.”
A low growl emitted from Jack’s throat. “I swear yer teasin’ me. You know you drivin’ me crazy, right?”
“I’m sure ye don’t think I’d tease a man.” I batted my eyes and jerked my jaw in the direction of the dock. “He’s lookin’ for ye.”
Claude wasn’t, but Jack was a good soldier and turned right away, trotting after his brother.
Tension poured from my body as they all pushed away from the docks. The two boats bobbed along on the waves until they disappeared around the bend. I watched until they were gone even though I was certain neither of them would look back toward me. And they didn’t.