Free Sweet Treason (Entangled Ignite) by Gail Ranstrom Page A

returned to France after leaving Oak Hill, so he’d had the brandy in his hull all along. Saved to sell for a higher price to another customer, no doubt. And now he was bartering the brandy he’d refused her a week ago for her help now.
    “‘E ’as the fever.” Reynard continued.
    Emily sighed, knowing she was lost. The sailor’s fair hair clung to his head in damp curls, and he muttered a few words in his native language before falling silent again. She knelt and placed her hand on the man’s forehead. He was burning up. “I have little skill in these matters, Captain. You must take him to a doctor at once.”
    “ Sacre bleu! That I cannot do, Anglaise . I know not where to find the doctor, and we are far from France. I must repair the damage before I make the crossing. We limp back to the cove tonight. A day, perhaps two, I will need for the repair. But there is no village near. There will be no doctor and ’e will die. So I bring ’im to you. Voila! ”
    “I cannot take him to a doctor.” She arched a single eyebrow to indicate her displeasure with his sarcasm.
    “Do you not comprehend? A doctor will report to your authorities!” Reynard stopped his pacing and faced her with a weary sigh. “I think to myself, ‘Jacques, where will this brave one be safe? Where will the batards who are responsible for this not find ’im? ’oo will shelter this unfortunate and make ’im well?’ I answer myself, ‘Miss Anglaise ’as the tender ’eart. She will keep ’im safe.’”
    French! They were French! Her country’s declared enemies for more than a year. It was one thing to do reluctant business with them to keep body and soul together, but quite another to shelter and care for one. To have him in her home. “I am leaving for London day after tomorrow, Captain, and I cannot delay without calling attention to Oak Hill.” She looked down at the young man and, again, her conscience tweaked her. “What if this man should die? What then?”
    “If you ’ave done your best…” He shrugged, both palms upward.
    His words could as easily have been a threat as a plea. She sighed and looked into Reynard’s anxious face. “This young man should be with his family.”
    Reynard became even more agitated. He tugged at his hair and gestured wildly. “The Sea Fox will not be readied for the crossing for two days. ’ E ,” the captain pointed dramatically at the wounded man, “will not live another two days without ’elp.” He moved closer to her, his manner almost threatening. “Look at ’is wound, Anglaise .”
    Emily stooped and turned the blanket down to the young man’s waist. A thick wad of folded cotton was bound to the fleshy part of his left shoulder. Reynard leaned down and cut the ties with a razor-sharp dagger. When she lifted the wad, bile rose in her throat. She feared for a moment that she was going to faint.
    Bridey peered over Emily’s shoulder. “By the saints!”
    The flesh surrounding the wound was morbid and swollen, while the wound itself was a blackish red. The entire area was hot to the touch. Thank heavens it was not yet gangrene. She had occasionally tended injured farm animals and taken poultices and medicines to her tenants, but this was different. This was beyond her skill. She closed her eyes for a moment and let her breath out in a slow even sigh.
    Reynard was right. This man needed treatment at once. And Oak Hill was a better place for him than aboard a ship. Somewhere in her library there would be a medical book with treatments for such injuries.
    “This…this,” she gestured at the young man’s shoulder, “is grave. Critical. Do you understand?”
    “I understand you are my only ’ope.”
    Emily faced Reynard. “The wound is infected, Captain. That is very bad. We may not be able to save him. We have a few medicines and poultices at Oak Hill, but I do not know if any will help.”
    “If we do nothing, Anglaise , ’e will die. You will do your best.”
    “That may