Eliza stepped forward. “What do you need?”
“Your sewing kit.”
Eliza darted from the kitchen and returned moments later, the basket over her arm. Kitty pressed a quivering hand to her mouth. How could she do this when her fingers refused to remain still?
A warm hand covered hers, and Kitty turned to her sister. The trust in Eliza’s eyes looked akin to Father’s, granting Kitty enough strength to calm her shaking. Be with me, Lord, I pray thee.
As another, more oppressing wave of pain and weakness crashed over her, she plucked a needle from the basket and threaded the tiny tool, rehearsing in her mind the vow she must now and forever cling to, for the lives of those she loved surely depended on it. She must stay away from the man she loved. She must never again fail at her post.
Keeping him alive, keeping him safe, was all that mattered now.
Chapter Eighteen
Nathaniel yanked the wrap from his head and hurled it to the floor of his bedchamber. “I am the doctor, Thomas. I should not be abed. Not when there are patients to be seen.”
The afternoon sunlight blazed through the half-open window and the absent sounds of the road not far from his home sung of the Sabbath. If only his friend would leave, he could have his home to himself and be about his regular business. “I am not a child to be coddled.”
“Indeed.” Thomas produced a satisfied grin from where he sat beside the bed. “But ‘twas Kitty’s counsel that entreated Eliza and I to insist you remain in bed and rest through today.”
Kitty.
He fought away the thought of her.
“I appreciate everyone’s well-meant advice, but I shall be the judge of such things.” Though a heavy throbbing continued around the cut above his eyes, the pains he would have thought such an attack might produce never lingered, and he felt nearly as well as he had days before. “‘Tis clear I am well—”
“Aye, but it has not yet been twenty-four hours since your attack, and as it is the Lord’s day, you will follow orders. Tomorrow you may do as you please.”
Irritated, Nathaniel touched the wound on his head, once again marveling at the feel of the perfectly placed stitches that kept the deep wound closed. Kitty had attended his wounds for a second time, and as skillfully as any physician would have. If only he could speak to her, tell her how thankful he was for her aid and how sorry he felt for...
He ground his teeth, biting off the thoughts that refused to leave him.
“Very well,” Nathaniel conceded, forcing himself back to the moment. He sat back against the headboard, arms folded. “I shall follow orders, but please do find me a more suitable companion. I’d much rather have a fair face to look upon for the coming hours, not your unpleasant one.”
Thomas’s smile burst wide and a chuckle bobbed through the room. “And you resemble Adonis? I doubt you could find a single woman in all of Sandwich willing to sit beside you with your manner so sour and your face a pallet of blues and purples.” Humor glowed in the expression that lit his face as he exaggerated Nathaniel’s injuries.
Nay, he was not so badly bruised, though evidence of the ambush was obvious to be sure. ‘Twas the ache in his head that pained most, and what he strained to focus on, but the unspoken name haunted still.
Kitty.
Surely Kitty would come. She cared for him, though he knew she would keep a safe distance. Nathaniel forced a hard exhale through pinched lips. The effort it took to forget her alarmed him more than it ought. He inhaled deep and focused on the other obvious problems in a fresh attempt to relieve his mind of her.
He gazed out the far window, the warm air billowing the curtain. He touched his head again and spoke quiet, almost thinking more than speaking the words. “I was a fool to allow this to happen.”
“You cannot think of who might have done it?”
Nathaniel shifted his jaw and shrugged.
Thomas nodded and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Joseph fears his brother may be culpable.”
Nathaniel fought back a growl and wiped a hand down his face with a rough sigh. “Cyprian’s animosity is strong enough.” He gently leaned his head back against the bed, staring at the jug of cider on the far table, suddenly aching to relieve his thirst.
Thomas looked down at his hands. “Do you think they aim to attack again? Whether Cyprian or someone else, there was a motive in their attack.”
Nathaniel had thought the same. Their intention was not to kill or they would have done so. A warning then? But why and for what?
Thomas leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, voicing the very words that had at that moment flamed in Nathaniel’s mind. “It must be related to the powder.”
“I believe it is.”