Free Realm 04 - A Touch of Grace by Regina Jeffers

Lord,” she warned as she leaned across him. With a fortifying inhalation, she cut into his flesh once more. Grace feared she might cut a vein, but she possessed no other choice. They were too far from the village for a surgeon. “There is another piece of the bullet,” she told him. Every muscle in his body had hardened, and Grace could imagine the pain he resolutely endured, as if she could hear the perspiration forming on his upper lips. “I have the opening,” she whispered hoarsely as she reached for the tweezers. Biting her bottom lip, Grace pressed the instrument’s point into the fresh cut. “Hold steady, my Lord,” Grace ordered.
    Eyes straining, Grace touched the tip of the instrument to the metal shard. She squeezed the prongs together to secure her catch and then slowly withdrew the piece. “A bit further,” she encouraged. “I have it,” she gasped.
    Lord Godown expelled a ragged breath, and Grace rushed to repack the wound with clean cloth. “I am appalled, my Lord,” she said with a rush. “That I missed this piece last evening.”
    “Enough, Grace,” he groaned.
    “But, Your Lordship,” she said with tears forming in her eyes’ corners.
    He turned his head toward her. “No buts. Your best…is enough.” Exhausted, he lay heavy on the pillow. His weight flattening the thin mattress.
    Grace removed the cloth from his head and freshened it. Gently, she stroked his face and his shoulders. “What if my best…” she asked through a stifled sob.
    “A chance,” he murmured through dry lip. “With you.”
    Grace wished he were asking for an opportunity to know her better. “I shall tend you, my Lord,” she declared. “Rest.” She washed his face and shoulders again. “I swear on everything that is holy. I shall not leave you.”
    His gaze met hers, but he said nothing. Just the barest pressure of his hand on hers. His eyes closed slowly as Grace used the cloth to cool his skin.
    For the next several hours, Grace remained hunched over his prostrate form. Lord Godown mumbled phrases she was certain to which she should not be privy. He spoke of his friends, of a man named Shaheed Mir. He taunted an opponent over a missing emerald. Spoke French so fluently Grace could not translate. And coaxed a woman called Ashmita to trust him. Unconsciously, Grace prayed the one called Ashmita did not rule the marquis’s heart.
    “You remain,” he said as his eyes fluttered open and closed.
    “I promised I would,” Grace said as she squeezed the cool water from the cloth to place it on his forehead. “Permit me to assist you with a bit of water.” Instead of holding a glass to his lips, she spooned the liquid into his mouth. He managed four spoonfuls before shaking away her offer of a fifth. “Can you bear my changing the bedding?” she asked as she busied herself with righting his linens.
    “Later,” he murmured as his eyes drifted closed. “Cold,” he groaned. “Very cold.” He snuggled lower in the bed.
    Grace rushed to the freestanding wardrobe to search for additional blankets. “Of course,” she said as she brought a wool coverlet to the bed. “This shall keep you warmer.”
    His teeth chattered as he visibly shuddered. “Thank…thank you.”
    Grace touched his forehead with the back of her hand. His fever still raged. “Rest, my Lord.” She brushed the hair from his face. “You may depend on me.”
    And so was her life. For some fifty hours, she tended Lord Godown’s wound and his fever. She arranged the room’s furniture so no one could have a clear view of the bed. When the maid and Mr. Bradshaw brought the tub and hot water, Grace released the drapery of the four-poster and pretended her “husband” was seeing to his horse’s care. After bathing, she used the water to first wash her hair and then to launder the bandages. Once the inn’s staff had removed the tub, she hung the cloth strips close to the fire to dry.
    To distract herself from Lord Godown’s dire