Chapter Thirty-Three

Morvoren

Morvoren closed the door behind Kit's cousin Fitzwilliam and the redcoat soldiers just as Kit slid from his seat at the table into a crumpled heap on the floor.

"Put the bar across," Jago growled at her, and she didn't dare argue. With fumbling fingers, she lifted the heavy wooden bar and slid it into place. Only then could she run to where Jago and Jenifry were kneeling beside Kit on the flagstones. His right hand was wet with blood and his face had gone a dreadful shade of grey.

"Is he dead?" was all Morvoren could think of to say, her voice high with panic. Please let him not be dead. Please. She'd never been one for church going, but right now, she offered up a silent prayer.

Jago's fingers slid under Kit's stock to search for a pulse. Without looking back, he grunted, "No, he's not dead, you foolish girl. But he's bleedin' bad. We need to get him upstairs and into his bed." He looked up at Sam, the only one left standing, his face near as pale as Kit's. "C'n you take his legs if'n I takes his head end?"

Swallowing down what looked like nausea, Sam jumped into action. In a moment, he and Jago were struggling up the twisting staircase to the upper floor of the farmhouse with their precious load. Morvoren followed behind, fighting to overcome the panic surging through her. It was an arm wound, the bullet had gone right through, it didn't seem to have chipped the bone, he was young, he wasn't going to die. But the thought of what had been written in that museum exhibition wouldn't leave her. Had she averted the massacre and the hangings but not Kit's death?

Sam and Jago pulled Kit's coat off and laid him on his bed. Blood had soaked through the bandages and his sleeve was sodden to the wrist. She had to pull herself together. She was fine in operations on dogs and cats or farm animals. She could detach herself as they were nothing to do with her. But this was a person, a person she cared for. A person she loved.

"Let me see." She pushed them aside. "I'm a nurse. I know what I'm doing."

Something about her tone of voice must have told them she meant business, because they moved out of the way and let her bend over Kit where he lay, white-faced and unmoving, on the bed. She could do this.

"Scissors, some of that brandy you're so proud of, strong cotton and sharp needles." She looked up at Jenifry as the one able to source all this. "Clean cloths to make a pad, clean bandages, and honey. Hot water in a bowl. And light. Lots of light so I can see what I'm doing. Now."

Jenifry ran to do her bidding.

"I'll help you carry it all," Sam said and hurried after her, his face nearly as grey as Kit's. It looked like blood might be his phobia, not spiders.

When the scissors came, and with Sam standing well back by the door, his hand to his mouth, Morvoren carefully snipped the old dressing off Kit's wound. She'd slapped it on with haste to disguise his state, and it hadn't done its job. A jagged tear in his arm indicated where the bullet had ripped into his flesh from front to back. Blood still pumped sluggishly from it. Morvoren pulled the top sheet from the bed and applied pressure. That was what was needed. She had to stop the bleeding or he'd go into shock, and that could be fatal.

"Will he be all right?" Jago's voice came out so querulously Morvoren had to turn her head to look at him. His rugged face had lost its outdoor color and his eyes held a mix of fear and worry. Of course. Kit had jokingly called Jago his favorite uncle, and although the older man had tossed the praise away by saying he was his only uncle, there'd been real pride in his eyes back then. It hadn't occurred to Morvoren till now that Jago might love his nephew like a son.

If only she could say an unequivocal yes, but she couldn't. That museum exhibition wouldn't leave her mind. But she tried a nod. "I hope so."

Taking a deep breath, she relaxed the pressure on the wound and took a peek to see if the bleeding had stopped. It had. Thank goodness it wasn't arterial. He'd never have made it up from the beach if it had been.

Using some of the clean cloths Jenifry brought, Morvoren carefully cleaned the wound with the warm water and then doused it with the brandy as the next best thing to disinfectant. But what to do about the gaping wound? She'd have to stitch it carefully but leave somewhere for any infection to get out. And all she had for an antibiotic substitute was honey.

She peeked at Kit's unconscious face. How pale he was, his lashes dark on his cheek and beads of sweat on his brow. This was a time when you could die from the slightest wound or illness… or infection. Please don't let that happen to Kit.

She soaked the thread and needle in the brandy then, with careful hands, began to stitch the wound together, piecing the broken flesh in the hopes it wouldn't leave him with too terrible a scar. This took some time.

Over by the door, Sam, his hand over his mouth, finally succumbed to nausea and beat a hasty retreat down the stairs, but Jenifry and Jago maintained a threatening presence as they loomed over her every move.

At last, she was done, and ready to plaster honey onto what had been a gaping hole in Kit's arm but now looked like a particularly bad jigsaw of bloody flesh. She'd seen wounds like this before on horses, caused by barbed wire and fence posts, or the kick of another horse. But when she'd helped the vet treat them, they'd had modern medicines to fight infection. She applied a clean pad, wrapped his arm in bandages from shoulder to elbow and stepped back from the bloodied bed.

"He can't lie in all that blood," Jenifry said.

Morvoren nodded. "We should move him as little as possible in case we start the arm bleeding again. Slide him over to the clean side of the bed. That'll do."

Taking great care not to touch his arm, Jago and a returned Sam, still green about the gills, slid Kit to the clean side of his bed and Morvoren pulled the blankets up to cover him.

"Why's he not wakin' up?" Jenifry asked.

Morvoren sucked in her lips. "Shock and loss of blood. His body's shutting down in part to cope with the shock." She hesitated. "He could still die. Shock can kill you even if your wound is going to heal."

Oh, let the museum not be right.

"Can I do anything?" Sam asked, his eyes on Kit's face. "Do you need anything else to treat him? Anything I can fetch from Carlyon Court? Should I go for a doctor?"

"Best not involve a doctor," Jago said. "Captain Carlyon'll be checkin' doctors, I'll be bound, as they'll most likely know they wounded one of us."

Morvoren shook her head. "Only time will tell. You go downstairs and get the kettle on. I think we all need a hot toddy." She gave a half-hearted grin toward Jago. "I'll stay here with Kit in case he wakes. I'll call you if he does."

Grumbling to himself, Jago led the way out of the room and Morvoren was at last left alone with Kit. She sat down on the chair by the bed, and reaching out, took his left hand in hers. The light of the one candle they'd left flickered over Kit's unconscious form. He lay so still only the shallow rise of his chest told her he lived.

She studied his hand where it lay slack in hers, the fingers cool. The hand that had hauled her from a watery grave, whose touch had sent shivers coursing through her body. The hand she'd held as he'd taught her to dance, that had slid around her waist in the dark garden at Denby and drawn her close. The hand that had gone to the nape of her neck and cradled her head as he kissed her.

She had a sudden overwhelming urge to burst into tears. This wasn't fair. She'd been somehow snatched back into the past and presented with the man of her dreams, a man she thought it her mission to save, and yet here he lay, barely breathing. She dropped her head onto her arms as the tears ran down her cheeks and cried herself to sleep as exhaustion swept over her.

She had no idea how much time had passed before something disturbed her fitful sleep and she blinked herself awake. Kit's hand had moved. It twitched in hers a second time. She jerked fully awake and lifted her head to gaze at him. His fingers curled around hers, warmer now than they had been.

Darkness surrounded her, and the candle on the bedside table, that had half burned down, threw only a pale light across the bed. Someone had draped a blanket over her shoulders as she slept, and a glass of brandy stood alongside the candle.

Kit's fingers tightened around hers, as though he needed something to hang onto. She studied his face. The pallor had lessened a little, and his eyelashes flickered on his cheeks as though his eyes were about to open. She squeezed his hand. "Kit?"

His eyes opened a crack.

"Kit, it's me. Morvoren."

His eyes opened wider, blinking as though she were something he'd never expected to see at Nanpean again. To be fair, he probably hadn't.

"Mor-voren?" The one word came out as a breathy croak.

"You think I'd let you ride into danger alone? You think I could forget you after the way you kissed me at Denby?"

His tongue darted around his dry lips. She only had the brandy, and water would have been better, but she dipped her finger in the glass anyway and ran it around his lips. They felt papery and cool. As she did so, the intimacy of the gesture overwhelmed her and hot color surged up her cheeks. Hopefully it was too dark and he too befuddled to notice.

He licked his lips again. "Morvoren." Stronger this time.

"Someone betrayed you to the revenue men and soldiers," she said. "They were waiting for you on the beach. Ysella and I persuaded Sam to bring us down to Carlyon Court to save you, but everything was against us and we were delayed and delayed time after time. It was awful. I thought we'd be too late." She finished on a gulp as she tried not to burst into tears again. Hysteria was very near the surface.

She squeezed his hand. "I thought we were going to be too late to save you because we were still on the headland when we saw you and your men were already on the beach. But Sam had pistols with him, so I told him to fire them to warn you."

His brow furrowed. "I-I heard the shots." He licked his lips again. "So, it was you and Sam. Well I never." His eyes roved past her. "Have you more of that brandy?"

She shook her head. "Not good after you've had such a nasty injury. What you need is water. I'll call Jenifry and get her to bring some up."

She went to pull away from him, but his hand tightened on hers, pulling her back. "No. Don't go. Stay."

She sat down again.

He managed a thin smile. "How—how did you know we'd been betrayed?"

Well, Sam and Ysella both knew, so she might as well tell Kit. If he decided she was nuts then those two could defend her. Bending close to him so she could keep her voice low, just in case Jenifry or Jago was outside the door listening, she told him the truth, at last.

He didn't interrupt and at one point when she faltered, thinking he'd drifted off to sleep as his eyes had closed, he squeezed her hand. "Keep going. I'm listening."

It was a long story, not told this time in a feverish hurry, and Morvoren missed nothing out, finishing at last with how she and Sam had sent Ysella back to Carlyon Court and hurried down to Nanpean. They'd been there only in time to light the lantern when Jago had dragged a near fainting Kit in and dumped him on a chair at the table. "We need to get him drunk," was all he'd said, as he whipped Kit's clothes off to deal with his wound. "And you need to be a servant boy."

He'd tossed Morvoren a knitted hat to cover her hair. "Get that tricorn off—no one wears' em indoors for playin' cards."

"A good thing for you it was dark," Kit said, as she finished. "You make far too pretty a boy and Fitzwilliam could have recognized you."

She bridled. "Is that all you can say when I've told you I'm from two hundred years in the future?"

He sighed. "That's a lot for me to take in, even if I weren't addlepated from the brandy Jago poured down me last night, and from this arm." He smiled, a soft, gentle smile. "But I do believe you, Morvoren. I think I knew from the moment I pulled you out of the sea that you were something different." He managed a light laugh, a sound Morvoren was glad to hear. "Maybe that's why I thought at first I'd caught me a mermaid. After all, your name does mean mermaid in Cornish."

They fell silent. A companionable silence where neither of them needed to speak. Morvoren's head began to nod and she thought Kit too had fallen asleep, when he spoke again. "Does your inside knowledge give you the name of the traitor in our midst?"

She jerked awake again, pulling herself together and yawning. "No. I'm sorry. The captain of our fishing boat said the traitor was thrown off the cliffs east of Nanpean, but he didn't say his name, and I don't remember what the museum said. It must be possible to find him." She paused. "Or her—I suppose it could be a woman just as much as a man. But I think you should stop your men from throwing him off a cliff. For a start, they might be accusing the wrong person."

Kit shook his head. "No. I think I know who did it, all right. Although I can scarce believe it of him. I need to speak with him before the others get there. Ask him why he did it." He made as if to rise, but Morvoren put her hand on his bare shoulder and held him down. Easy. He was still weak from loss of blood.

"No. You lie still. There's nothing you can do about it right now. You're going to have to leave it to Jago. And Sam. Whether you like it or not." She kept her hand on him, enjoying the warmth under her touch, the feel of his skin against her fingers. "That bullet's made a nasty mess of your arm and if the stitches don't hold, it'll be worse." Best not to hold back. "If you get an infection, you might at best lose your arm, at worst, your life."

He frowned. "I can't just lie here in bed like a baby while they're out after the man who betrayed us." His voice rose. "Clemo's lying dead on the beach because of what he's done. I could've been dead as well. We all could've been. Or destined to be transported. You as well. The man who did this to us has a debt to pay."

"Not tonight though," Morvoren said, pushing him down more firmly. "Although judging by the sky outside I'd say morning's approaching fast. You need to sleep and let your body mend. You need to appreciate how lucky you've been. And know that if you get up now, your luck won't hold."

He shifted as though uncomfortable. "I'm not used to lying idle."

"It'll only get worse if you try to do anything. You have to learn to delegate. I'm sure if you think you know the traitor then Jago will already be on to whoever it is. And he's got Sam to help him. Sam won't let them throw anyone off the cliffs."

But would he be able to stop them? The thought of someone, even the man whose actions had led to Kit lying here badly wounded, being hurled onto those unforgiving rocks left Morvoren's stomach queasy. If she'd changed the outcome of the raid, then surely she could prevent a kangaroo court trying and condemning the perpetrator of the betrayal?

Under her hand, Kit relaxed, his eyes closing as he lay back on the pillows. But not for long. A deep chuckle emerged and his eyes flicked open. "I can't believe you managed to get strait-laced, upright, law-abiding Sam involved in smuggling. You must have some good powers of persuasion." His face softened, his gaze suddenly serious, and his hand sought hers. "And you must have had good reason to come rushing down here the way you did."

He had her there. She pressed her lips together and nodded. "I did."

"To save my life."

She nodded again. "I had to."

He sighed. "And why did you have to?"

The early morning twilight of the room pressed in, her breathing loud in the silence. "I think you know the reason," she said, the blood pounding in her ears.

He smiled. "But I want to hear it from your own lips."

Morvoren's heart was going to come leaping out of her mouth if she opened it again. She'd have to take the risk. "Because I love you." Her stomach had knotted itself into something even Alexander with his sword would have found difficulty dealing with.

He gazed into her eyes for a long moment. "And I love you."

Her overactive heart did a great leap of joy and the knot untwisted itself.

He tugged her hand. "Can a nurse kiss her patient or is that not allowed?"

"She can." She bent forward and their lips met, his a little dry still and tasting of brandy. They didn't kiss long and hard and passionately, as they'd done on the terrace at Denby, but it was a kiss of understanding, of coming home, of pent-up promise.