The Bargain by Mary J. Putney

the instruments myself.”
    â€œAre you sure, lass? It might be better to have someone not related to the patient. It wouldn’t do if you faint or have the vapors.”
    Her chin came up. “I do not have vapors. Don’t worry, I shall manage.”
    He smiled a little. “Very well.” Swiftly he named the instruments and the order they would be used in. The scalpels, probes, and more mysterious tools glittered with cleanliness, and razor-sharp edges.
    The two servants who were assisting moved into position, Hugh Morgan at the head of the bed, and the wiry, taciturn coachman at the foot. Queasy but determined, they took hold of David, and the operation began.
    Sally was amazed at how swiftly Kinlock worked, deftly cutting and blotting blood. Feeling a little faint, she concentrated on the instruments he asked for, not looking at the surgery again until her head steadied.
    After a hideously long interval of meticulous probing of the open wound, he made a small sound of satisfaction. With a delicacy that seemed incongruous for such large, powerful hands, he extracted a small fragment of metal. After dropping it in the basin Sally held out, he muttered, “Now we look around a bit more, just in case.”
    When he was satisfied, he closed the incision. The servants’ assistance was barely needed, for David had hardly moved during the operation, except for a gasp and a convulsive shudder at the initial cut.
    With the wound closed, Kinlock said. “Give me that jar, lass.”
    Sally obeyed, opening the jar for his use. The contents were a disgusting gray-green mass that smelled wretched. To her horror, he smeared some of the oozing material over the wound. How could a man devoted to cleanliness use such nasty-looking stuff? She clamped her jaw shut on her protest. It was too late not to trust him now.
    With the operation over, the release of tension was so great that Sally was barely aware of Kinlock putting on a dressing and giving low-voiced instructions to Morgan, who would stay with David. Feeling faint again now that her part was played, Sally went outside and slumped bonelessly onto a sofa set against the gallery wall. Kinlock had been right to warn her that surgery was upsetting. Yet it had been fascinating, too.
    When the Scot finally emerged from the sickroom, she glanced up fearfully. “Do . . . do you think that went well?”
    He dropped onto the opposite end of the sofa, as weary as the first time she had seen him. She was frightened when he buried his head in his hands, until he looked up with a reassuring smile. “Aye, it went very well. The fragment came out cleanly, and from the tests I just performed, he has normal sensation in his legs. There is still a chance of infection, but God willing, I think he will survive, and probably be as good as new.”
    Sally hadn’t cried when they had told her that David would die, but after hearing that he would live, she dissolved into racking sobs that seemed like they would never end. “Thank God,” she said brokenly. “Thank God .”
    Kinlock put an arm around her shoulders as she continued to weep. “There, there, now. You’re a braw lassie, and your brother is lucky to have you.”
    She turned into him, burying her face against his chest. He felt so strong, so solid. A faint scent of fragrant pipe tobacco clung to the wool of his coat, taking her back twenty years to when her father had held her close, safe from the problems of an eight-year-old’s world.
    The thought made her cry even harder. She had lost her father, then her mother, and almost David, too. But now, by the grace of God and this warmhearted curmudgeon of a Scot, she would not be alone.
    Running out of tears, she finally pulled away from Kinlock and fished a handkerchief from her pocket. “I’m sorry to be such a watering pot. It’s just that what you did seems so much like a miracle. I . . . I can’t quite