He gasped, his hand nearly crushing James’s, as Dr. Wilcox poured brandy liberally over the wound. His face had whitened further, his breath coming in short shallow half-sobbing bursts.
“Drink,” Dr. Wilcox said, in a tone brooking no argument, and held out a glass of the brandy. “It will help the pain.”
James took the glass, and pulled Nicholas up into his lap so that he could help him drink. “More,” he said, when Nicholas winced and pulled away after a single swallow. Nicholas was not one for much alcohol, but this was not about his preferences.
Nicholas drank, and it seemed to calm him a bit, but his gaze was fixed on Dr. Wilcox’s hands as she began stitching the long, ragged wound. By James’s guess, it was not going to be a swift operation.
“Dr. Leacock,” he prodded. “What was the n
