The Merchant and the Rogue by Sarah M. Eden
Brogan dropped to his knees. “Vera.” She was facedown, blood soaking the back of her dress. “Vera.”
Hollis hunched beside him. “What can I do?”
“I have to get her to Doc.” He looked up at Hollis. “Fetch Captain Shaw—the London Fire Engine Establishment agreed to protect this neighborhood.”
Hollis nodded and took off at a run.
Brogan caught sight of Peter. “The neighbors’ fire plan—put it in motion.”
Vera moaned as Brogan turned her over. The sound worried and relieved him all at the same time. Careful but quick, he slipped his arms beneath her and picked her up. The moisture against his arms sent a shiver through him. She was losing a lot of blood.
What if Doc couldn’t save her? What if Doc’s personal frustration with Brogan meant he wouldn’t help?
He had to at least try.
He carried her as far as Greek Street. The explosion had ended the street brawl, but the fire had heightened the utter chaos. He was far enough away to have some hope of hailing a hackney. The fates were smiling; he spotted one almost immediately.
Vera didn’t talk as they rushed toward Finsbury. Brogan kept up a one-sided conversation, pleading with her to stay awake, to stay with him, promising all would be well but not knowing if it was true.
The moment the hackney stopped at Doc’s door, Brogan climbed out with Vera clasped in his soaked arms. He kicked at the door, praying the doctor was home.
Mrs. Simms, a nurse who worked for Doc, answered.
“She’s dying.” Brogan’s words rushed out.
“Doc’s in the sitting room.” Mrs. Simms motioned him in.
He carried Vera directly there, having been to Doc’s home often enough to not need instructions. Doc was already on his feet and standing by the examination table in the corner of the room.
He was never shaken, Doc. Never upended no matter what was brought to him. “Lay her down and tell me what happened.”
Brogan carefully set Vera on the table.
“You’re covered in blood,” Doc said.
“It’s hers. From her back.”
Doc helped him roll her onto her stomach so he could see her wounds.
“’Twas an explosion in a building she was standing near. Knocked her off her feet. Glass and splintered wood flew everywhere.”
“Then we’re likely looking at burns and puncture wounds.” Doc pulled a pair of scissors from a drawer just as Mrs. Simms stepped inside the room. “We’ll have to cut off her clothes. I suspect the injuries are extensive.”
Mrs. Simms took action on the instant, snatching up a pair of scissors for herself. She spoke to Brogan without looking away from her work cutting through the outer layer of Vera’s dress. “Best wait elsewhere. Doc’s library’s available.”
He’d no desire to leave Vera. But he couldn’t invade her privacy without her permission, and she wasn’t in any state to give it. And he wouldn’t stand in the way of Doc’s efforts.
“We’re wasting time, Brogan,” Doc said impatiently.
Brogan bent down enough to whisper in Vera’s ear. “Stay with me, love.”
A half hour passed. Nothing.
An hour. Nothing, still.
Brogan was ready to jump out of his skin. He was no surgeon, but he felt certain Doc and Mrs. Simms would’ve completed their ministrations if Vera’s state weren’t critical.
His pacing brought him to the library door just as Móirín and Hollis stepped inside.
“How’d you get in the house?” Brogan asked. “Is Doc done—?”
“Hollis picked the lock,” Móirín said. “An odd talent for a well-born gentleman, I must say.”
“Well-born gentlemen get bored,” Hollis said with a shrug. “How is Vera?” he asked Brogan.
“Hanged if I know. Doc tossed me out so he and Mrs. Simms could . . . sew her up and treat her burns and I don’t know what else.” He rubbed at his weary face.
Hollis clapped his hand to Brogan’s shoulder. “I’ll look in and return with a report.”
“Thank you.” He dropped onto a threadbare wingback chair.
Móirín sat in the spindle-back chair nearby. “In twenty years, Brogan, you’ve not once abandoned me in a battle. You’ve never once left me to fend for myself. Until tonight.”
Saints, he had abandoned her. “I . . . forgot you were there. I don’t know what— Vera was in danger. She was bleeding. I didn’t—”
Móirín set her hand on his where it rested on the chair arm. “’Twasn’t a complaint.”
“Then what was it?”
She smiled. “I’ve been waiting a long time for you to be ready to build your own life. To reclaim your dreams without thinking yourself selfish for doing so. I’m seeing that in you lately. I see it more and more when you’re with her.”
He let out a breath. “I’m afraid for her, Móirín. She was too weak and wounded for even a single word all the way here.”
“I’ve come to know her a little these past weeks,” Móirín said. “She’s a fighter. Probably one of the reasons you’ve fallen for her, seeing as you’re a fighter as well.”
“A family trait.” He could smile, however briefly. “How far did the fire spread?”
“The print shop and the rooms above were destroyed. Some damage was done to the buildings on either side, but the neighbors saved the street.”
A spot of good luck there. “Vera will be pleased to know her fire plan worked.”
“And she’ll be pleased to know your arrangements with Captain Shaw played a part as well.”
“His men came through?”
She nodded. “And he was there, personally.”
“Any sign of Vera’s da?”
“No.”
He slumped in the chair, the weight of the day growing nearly unbearable. “I hope he’s keeping the children safe.”
“I’ve every confidence he is.”
Brogan closed his eyes and just breathed. It might have been a minute; it might have been ten. His mind slowly calmed, enough, at least, for continuing the discussion.
“Was the battle still raging when you left or did the fire distract the combatants?” he asked.
“After the Mastiff slipped away, Stone stepped up onto an empty cart and called out to the crowd. Told the roughs their leader had abandoned them, left them to be burned to death in a fire he’d set. Stone suggested they either slip off and leave the fray or put themselves to a useful purpose and help put out the fire.”
Brogan shook his head in amazement. “Stone is a force. The man is one of the smartest I’ve ever known.”
“A bit terrifying too,” Móirín said with a smile in her tone.
“Only because there’s no doubting he could accomplish whatever he put his mind to, and he’s not afraid of what people think of him.” Brogan opened his eyes and looked at his sister. “I’ve heard the same said of you.”
Móirín grew subdued, more contemplative. “Do you suppose Stone’s ever killed a man?” She almost never spoke of that chapter of her life.
“I don’t rightly know,” he said. “But I’m full aware that a person can have that mark on the ledger and still be an inarguably good person.”
“’Tis sweet that you think I’m a good person.”
He sighed. “And ’tis frustrating that you don’t.”
“I hope you mean to build a life with Vera,” Móirín said. “You two love each other and work well together. The both of you are happier when you’re together. I’ve waited years to see you happy again.”
“I left Ireland willingly,” he assured her. “And I’ve not for a moment regretted that decision.”
“You’d not have met Vera if you’d not left Dublin,” she said. “That’s one argument in favor. Don’t let her slip away, Brog.”
“If Doc doesn’t let her, I won’t either.”
The heavens, apparently, didn’t mean to leave him in suspense long. Hollis returned and said, “Doc says to go talk with him.”
Brogan let out a tight breath as he stood. ’Twasn’t a very reassuring report.
“All will be well,” Móirín said. “You’ll see.”
He left the library and made his way with heavy step to the sitting room. The door was open in anticipation of him.
His eyes fell first on the examination table. Vera was lying there, on her side, her head supported by a pillow, a blanket pulled up to her shoulders.
“She ain’t dead,” Mrs. Simms said abruptly. “Set your mind at ease on that score.”
“Thank you.” Brogan stepped up beside the bed and set his hand lightly and carefully on Vera’s shoulder. He looked to Dr. Milligan, standing nearby. “What are we facing?”
“She will live; I have no doubt about that.”
Brogan closed his eyes briefly, whispering, “Thank the heavens.”
“Her burns were not so terrible as I feared they’d be, but she was riddled with glass and wood. We’ve removed every bit we could, but I suspect, based on one particularly egregious wound, that there is something imbedded very deeply in her back. There is a possibility she has sustained damage to her spine. At the very least, to the muscles and ligaments surrounding it.”
“’Tisn’t terribly encouraging,” Brogan said.
“She’ll be in significant pain, perhaps permanently,” Doc said. “How much worse it might be, I can only speculate.”
Brogan nodded, his hand still resting softly on Vera’s shoulder.
“She’ll need a great deal of support as she navigates whatever this means for her future,” Doc warned.
“As I mean for her future and mine to be intertwined, she’ll have the support she needs.”
Doc nodded. “I never for a moment imagined otherwise.”
“For a confirmed bachelor, you have a remarkably good grasp of what it means to love so entirely,” Brogan said.
Doc gave a quick, awkward nod and made quickly for the door.
“Did I embarrass him?” Brogan wondered aloud.
“There’s one thing Doc don’t allow discussion on,” Mrs. Simms said as she, too, made for the door, “and that’s the matter of his bachelorhood.”
“Is he unhappy about being unattached?” Brogan asked. “He’s always seemed to take pride in it.”
“Proud posturing covers a multitude of secrets.” On that mysterious declaration, the nurse left Brogan to watch over the woman he loved.
“Did you mean what you said?”
Hearing Vera’s voice, when he’d been absolutely certain she was sleeping, startled him enough to jump.
She laughed a little. “Didn’t think I was listening, did you?”
“You are forever surprising me, love.”
Vera slowly, and with a wince of pain, pulled an arm out from under the blanket and slipped her hand in his. Seems they weren’t entirely without sensation.
He raised her hand to his lips and tenderly kissed each finger. “You’ve worried me, Vera. ’Twas a terrifying possibility you wouldn’t wake up.”
“And now that I have?”
“I mean to stay with you as long as you’ll allow it. I mean to do all I can to show you how much I love you.”
“My father is a fugitive from the law,” she warned.
“So is my sister. So am I.”
She paused for the length of a breath. “There are many things I might not be able to do anymore.”
“I did not fall in love with you because you could walk painlessly—or walk at all—or because you could lift boxes or reach high shelves or any such thing. You are and always will be you. And I love you.”
“And I love you,” she said.
“That is very fortuitous.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Loving each other is the greatest foundation for a life together I can think of.”
“A life together?” she repeated on a whisper.
“If you’re in favor,” he said.
She closed her eyes and smiled feebly. “I am decidedly in favor.”
He kissed her, gently on account of her injuries, but with earnest and deep feeling. He’d nearly lost her. He would thank the heavens every day he had her with him.
And he would kiss her every opportunity he had.
