Free The Hanged Man by P. N. Elrod

laugh. “My sweet cousin there has dealt with more corpses than you’ve ever seen, and no, she isn’t a mortician.”
    Hamish shot her a look and brought out a needle and silk thread from his bag. “Just a few stitches, sir. I’ll be quick as I can.”
    â€œYou’re finished,” Lord Richard announced decisively. His blue eyes regained their icy focus for a moment. “Apply pressure until the bleeding stops.”
    â€œThat won’t do, sir. Now lie still. I can give you some laudanum or—”
    â€œMrs. Woodwake, discourage this fellow from proceeding.”
    Alex did not expect Woodwake to stand and draw a gun from her coat pocket, but that’s what happened. She had a revolver and a determined expression.
    â€œGood God,” said Hamish. “No fainting and quite mad. I like your relatives, James.”
    â€œJust one of them is a relation. I’ve no idea who the other two are. Alex does consort with some shady customers.”
    Alex was horrified. “Lord Richard, stop this! We’re trying to help you!”
    James snorted. “There’s gratitude for you. Madam, I’ll ask you to put away your pistol. I don’t want holes in Hamish. He is my guest, after all. Hamish, put away your darning needle. You’re outclassed for this bout.”
    Young Dr. Hamish was reluctant to give up, and addressed Richard in a reasonable tone. “Sir, a wounded man is like a child. You may not like the nasty medicine, but it is for your own good.”
    â€œTaught you that at Nemley?” Richard asked.
    â€œActually, my mother’s responsible—”
    Alex put her hand on Hamish’s shoulder. “Doctor, if the patient is so reluctant then let him have his way. If he should pass out, you may reassess the situation.”
    â€œYou put forth a charming argument. Very well.”
    Woodwake, at a nod from Richard, shoved her revolver into her coat pocket. Alex began breathing again.
    Dr. Hamish checked Lord Richard’s wound. “Not wise, sir. Not wise. You’re still bleeding too much.” He gathered sheeting strips and made a pad, pressing it to the damage. “You should have something for the pain.”
    Richard closed his eyes. “I’ve work to do. Miss Pendlebury, are the horses and coach in a condition to return us to our starting point?”
    â€œSir, you are in no condition to—”
    â€œYes or no?”
    She couldn’t believe his folly, but answered in the affirmative. “It is bound to be too dangerous, sir.”
    â€œI expect those who fired on us are gone by now, and my place is there sorting out the mess. We may require medical help if others were shot. Dr. Hamish, are you sober enough to come along?”
    Hamish’s face went red.
    â€œYes or no?”
    â€œWho the devil are you, sir, to ask such things?”
    James chuckled. “Hamish keeps a bull pup and bad manners brings it out. You’re both well matched. Alex didn’t introduce us, but I like you two. Refreshingly direct. Mrs. Woodwake? I’m James Fonteyn, how do you do? Welcome to my home, at least until I’m thrown out of it. When the landlord sees the parlor floor he’ll bounce me quick enough. Alex, you’ll have to do the honors for the big fellow.”
    Alex felt her face going as red as Hamish’s. Coming here no longer seemed such a good idea. Even the more stable Fonteyns—and James was in that number—were subject to raving lunacy when the mood was on them. She resorted to chill formality for her employer’s sake, well aware that it would only amuse her cousin. “Lord Richard Desmond, may I present my cousin on my mother’s side, James Fonteyn, and his friend, Dr. Hamish.”
    â€œHow do, your lordship?” James was unfazed, but then he never opened a newspaper unless it was a sporting journal.
    Hamish’s eyes went wide. He clearly recognized the name.