Whipping out his handkerchief, he set the linen to Gordon’s wound, then pressed Gordon’s opposite hand on it. “Keep as much pressure on that as you can.” He then jumped up, grasped the boots, and, as gently as he could, slid the body onto the dirt path, his mind reverberating with a single prayer: Don’t let him die. Don’t let my greed have killed him.

The instant Colin was free of the bushes, Nathan knelt beside him. Colin looked up at him and groaned, and Nathan released the pent-up breath trapped in his lungs. His brother was alive. Now if he could only keep him that way.

“Colin, can you hear me? Where are you hit?” He pushed the words through clenched teeth, his medical training cleaving through the panic, forcing him to remain calm, to concentrate on the task at hand.

“Leg,” Colin rasped.

Nathan located the bleeding injury in Colin’s thigh, and after a brief examination, said tersely, “There’s no exit wound.” He unwound his cravat and applied pressure to stem the blood flow. “I need to remove the lead ball as quickly as possible. Then Gordon needs to be stitched up. We have to get back to the house. Do you have horses?”

“No,” said Gordon from directly behind him. “And why the hell do you think I’d allow you to stitch me up?”

Nathan glanced over his shoulder and noted Gordon standing, glaring down at him. His friend’s hand remained pressed to his upper arm, but even in the dim light, Nathan could see the blood dripping from between his fingers. Just as he could see the anger glittering in Gordon’s eyes.

“Perhaps because I’m the only doctor in your immediate vicinity and you both require immediate medical care.”

“Seems to me that you’re a bit more than a doctor this evening, Nathan.” Gordon’s gaze swiveled to Colin. “I told you something foul was afoot.” He shifted his glare back to Nathan. “Why? Damn it, why did you do it?”