NOVEMBER 1810

Aliya heard a crack.

Then another.

And before she knew it, she was on the air.

The moment was so vivid and slow that her mind managed to decipher what was happening before she landed back on the ground.

The sound that followed her landing was not like the first two because this time, it was accompanied by intense pain. The popping sound came from her left shoulder. The pain was all over.

The neighs of the distressed horse were muffled by her cry of pain as she rolled on her back in the middle of Maple Row. Her eyes squeezed tight, her teeth bare as she panted for breath. Her head rolled to the side, straining her neck. She cried some more as she tried to lift her arm and found that the motion merely caused her more pain. With her shaking right hand, she felt for her left arm and lifted it off the ground and in front of her with an anguished growl.

"My lady!" Carrie's voice shouted from across the street.

Aliya opened her eyes and blinked twice to clear her vision. Her stagecoach driver's lean structure enabled her to spring to her feet with ease and run over to Aliya and crouch over her in horror. "My lady! Are you all right? I will call for help at once!"

Aliya could only moan in response as she rolled her head skyward.

Passersby started to gather. People began to step out of their apartments. "My lady!" she heard Dorothy scream and she panicked. She turned her head and found the petite woman running toward her from the apartment.

"Go back!" she shouted at the woman who immediately skidded to a stop, eyes wide. "Go back!" she roared again, the pain was forgotten for a moment. Dorothy could not be seen with her. "Help is coming. Go back!"

Dorothy closed her mouth and nodded. Then she fled back to the apartment.

Aliya took a lungful of air and closed her eyes, shutting off the whispers around her.

"I do not know. I was looking at her because her beauty struck me and then a crack! The next moment her stagecoach was leaning to one side. Saw her thrown out of her seat! Oh, poor girl!" she heard one woman say.

"Did you see the wheel? They should have checked. Must be frail spokes!" she heard a man say with a cluck of his tongue.

"Help is coming, my lady." Carrie was back to her side. "Can you sit? Where do you hurt?"

She swallowed, wincing at the pain. "My arm," she said through gritted teeth. Carrie's eyes went to her arm and they widened with horror. "Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!"

Aliya stopped breathing. "What?"

Carrie did not reply and looked around. "Where is that hackney!" the woman cried out.

"Hackney! Step aside!" someone was shouting.

"Take her to Sinclair!" one woman said.

"Yes, Sinclair!"

"Can you move, my lady?" Carrie asked.

Aliya forced herself to sit up. "I landed on my hand. I did not hurt my back."

"Do you wish to go back to the apartment or—"

"No!" she snapped. "No. Let us go back to the villa."

"But—"

"The villa, Carrie."

Carrie sighed. "Very well."

At that moment, the hackney driver had reached Aliya's side. He took one look at her arm. "Nae, milady, ye need te go te Sinclair. Nae doctor's gonna fix this one."

Aliya finally took the courage to look down at her arm. "Carrie," she said, alarm rising to her throat. "Take me straight to Sinclair."

*****

Sinclair had three hospitals all over Sutherland. One in Coulway, Eynsworth, and Strait. Not only was it the best, but it was also the only hospital in the city of Strait that could offer the best care for Aliya's condition.

She had been given a concoction to numb the pain, but it was not enough for the mere sight of her bent left wrist stimulated Aliya's brain to feel the injury.

Carrie paced around the tiny room they were brought to, her boots clucking against the hardwood floors like a clock that reminded her of the amount of time they spent waiting.

A woman came in with a white lace mob cap and apron. "A doctor will come and see you in a moment, Lady Aliya."

"You have been here twice, madam, and have said the same thing," Carrie snapped before Aliya could open her mouth. "My mistress is in great pain!" She turned to Aliya. "We should have returned to the villa and called for a doctor."

Aliya shook her head. One of her friends had suffered an injury to the bone and she had to be brought to Sinclair, for all doctors in Sinclair did not do house visits. "Not every doctor is a bonesetter, Carrie," was all she could say. She turned to the other woman and asked, "Is there any way you can give me something more potent for the pain?"

"Of course," answered someone. This time, it was not a woman's voice.

Aliya's eyes snapped to the doorway to find a giant man striding toward them. He was not a heavyset man—he was just... large. And one look at him made Aliya doubt if they were indeed in Sinclair. The smell of brandy reached her nostrils, reminding her of a cheap tavern with this man coming closer toward her as its faithful patron. His long hair was too unkempt that the strands were sticking together. Aliya could only imagine the number of washes it would take to wash off the grease that accumulated there. His face was nowhere in sight because most of it was covered with an unbelievable mess of beard. If anything was fascinating on this man, it was his hazel eyes.

Nothing else.

"And who are you?" Aliya asked.

"You wanted something more potent," he said, standing before her. And before Aliya could move away at the smell of him, he slammed a bottle of brandy on the table. White teeth peeked through his beard. "The most potent of all. Can numb any pain."

Aliya heard Carrie scoff in disbelief behind the man. The woman with the mob cap had retreated out of the room. "Are you the doctor?" Aliya asked.

He blinked. "Yes. And I see you have a broken bone."

She took another lungful of air, stole the brandy a look, and rolled her eyes upward to glare at the giant before her. "Are you the only doctor?"

"No, of course not."

"Is there anyone else who can correct my injury?"

"Yes, of course."

"And who is that doctor?"

"St. Vincent, who else?" he asked, voice filled with certainty.

"Then I demand for this Dr. St. Vincent."

He rolled his hazel eyes and sighed. "Very well, one moment," he said. He turned on his heels and wobbled to and out of the door which he firmly closed behind him.

Carrie and Aliya shared an incredulous just as the door swung open again with a clash and they both jumped with a yelp.

Aliya scowled as the same man strode inside in an unstable gait toward them.

He bowed to his hips before her and said, "Oliver St. Vincent at your service, my lady."

Aliya's mouth fell open. "You cannot be utterly serious."

St. Vincent raised his head from and grinned at her. "I am certified to do many things, correcting bones is one of them."

"Do you expect me to allow a foxed man to fix my bones?"

"We should go home, my lady," Carrie said.

"Of course, you can go home," St. Vincent said, straightening to full height. "And call for a barber." When Aliya merely frowned, he added, "They fix these things, you see." He pointed at her bent wrist.

He stepped back. "But do be sure you get the best one. You may have pinched arteries by the look of the coloring of your skin," he said, circling his finger over her wrist. "And your upper arm has been dislodged from its socket. Do be sure to tell the barber that as well. Now, go on, you do not have much time," he said, walking away again.

Aliya stiffened. "Not much time?"

He stopped and faced her. "Pinched arteries will render your hand or arm dead. If you make haste and find a barber who is not foxed, he can relieve that and prevent amputation."

Carrie gasped. Aliya's golden-brown eyes widened. "Amputation?"

"They will chop your limb off," he innocently replied, slicing the air with his hand.

"I know what that means. But why would they find the need to amputate?"

"Well, of course. Anything dead ought to be discarded." He moved closer, and without consent touched her hand lightly. "Does it feel numb?"

Aliya gritted her teeth. "Yes."

He nodded. "It feels cold to the touch." Straightening his back, he started to move away again.

"What does that mean?" she demanded.

With an impatient sigh, he stopped. "It means it has to be corrected immediately," he said with a hiccup. "By someone not foxed, of course."

Aliya watched St. Vincent walk away and she knew he was deliberately taking his time to the door. Closing her eyes, she growled, "Wait."

He whirled around and walked toward her. "It is nice to know that you are not dumb after all, my lady," he said, taking her hand in his.

"Wait, what—" Aliya started, but her breath was immediately snatched out of her as his right hand closed over her wrist and the other pulled at her hand without warning.

Carrie had jumped to her feet to storm toward St. Vincent, but the man moved and bumped against her, sending her a few paces back. "Your mistress will be alright, woman," he said to Carrie over his shoulder as he transferred his large hands to Aliya's upper arm and shoulder blades. "Know that I can send you through that door with one movement of my hip," he warned when Carrie attempted to step forward. At Aliya, he bent down and asked, "Too painful?"

Aliya glared at him, but she could already feel the difference. The feeling of pressure around her wrist was relieved.

"Do you need a brandy?" he asked. When she did not answer, he added, "The next one will be very painful."

Her golden-brown eyes locked with his. While hers was filled with animosity, his was glimmering with mirth. Without a word, she uncapped the brandy with one hand and drank straight from the bottle.

"Good girl," St. Vincent said, eliciting a scowl from Aliya as she swallowed. The warm spread of the brandy in her chest was a miracle, but the loud pop and pain that followed was hell.

Aliya screamed and kicked St. Vincent's leg. He merely laughed and saved the bottle from her hand. Aliya's arm dangled to her side and the pain was slowly subsiding.

"You will need a sling and a bandage around your wrist," St. Vincent said, stepping back from her as she attempted to kick him again. "I am the only person authorized to cause you pain, my lady. No need to harass your doctor."

She glowered at him. "You are... you are... you are despicable. You could have given me a warning!"

"That is why I am the best," he droned, walking to a line of drawers against one wall.

He was not a quiet man, Aliya noted as he opened and closed drawers with a bang while in search of something.

"Ah, bloody laundrymen," he said, pulling a long cloth from the end drawer. He returned to her side and murmured, "Take another swig."

Aliya reached for the bottle and swallowed. His eyes met hers as he wrapped the long linen over her good shoulder and pulled it toward him. His gaze never left hers as his hands worked, bending her elbow and secured it in position with the sling.

She wondered what he looked like without the beard, but then she mentally shook her head.

Aliya blinked and looked away, but she could still feel his gaze on her.

She was used to men staring at her, but this one was looking at her as if he were seeing something and it was uncomfortable.

He left her side and returned with a set of bandages. He ordered Carrie to drag the nearest chair which her driver dutifully did. He was sitting too close. Or perhaps not. It was just his size.

For a moment, Aliya forgot the strong smell of him as his hands took hers. She winced at the minimal pain. "Too painful?" he asked, voice surprisingly gentle.

She blinked. "No."

It must be a mistake to look at him again because she found herself once more trapped in his gaze. Aliya could feel his gentle hands work with the bandage.

He must have done this too often because he did not have to look.

She cleared her throat. "I suggest you keep your eyes on your work, Doctor."

St. Vincent grinned and looked down.

*****

Oliver could only laugh at her outrage when he told her the price for his services.

"That is double the amount I was told earlier!"

"Of course, it is," he replied, enjoying the layers of fury on her beautiful face. She must have been in such pain that she has not noticed her auburn hair was completely in disarray. "You have to pay double."

"Why?"

Oliver shrugged. "You are a Belle."

He saw her stiffen. "You know me?"

"You are a famous Belle, Lady Aliya. Of course, I am familiar with you." He grinned and then added, "Now, pay."

"You must be insane!"

"You pay double because I did two major operations. And my brandy is not for free."

"What two major operations? All you did was pull!"

"Like copulation, it was a very delicate act that needed much expertise to give you relief," he corrected, and she gasped, scandalized by his analogy. "If you wish me to explain the things involved in that pulling, it will take me a week." When she merely looked at him in disbelief, he rolled his eyes. "It is too complicated to explain."

Her face tightened and she heard her growl in frustration. She turned to her carriage driver who immediately handed her purse.

He watched her face as she rummaged for coins and he laughed when she slammed the exact amount he asked for on the table.

She turned to face him, her chin sticking out in a haughty mien. Her lashes lowered as she gazed down her nose. "Good day, Doctor."

Oliver bowed. "Good day, Lady Aliya."

Her eyes locked with his for a few more seconds before she blinked and sharply turned away.

"Call for me if you feel any pain or notice discoloration! I will bring my saw!" He chuckled when he heard her gasp and her companion threw him a look of contempt over her shoulder.

Both women quickened their steps, murmuring under their breath as they walked away.

When they were gone, his smile died.

He snatched the bottle of brandy from the table and collected the coins.

Soon, he was back in his office.

The man inside stood to his feet and gratefully gathered the money Oliver placed on the table. "Not a good job, young lad, but you did well," Oliver said. "How many spokes did it take?"

The hackney driver grinned, showing crooked teeth. "Five, Sir. Had te wait fer the driver to enter the apartment. Should've done more spokes, but they returned outside fast. Saw the whole thin' wobble miself. The wheel gave in almost immediately. Told ye it would work. She ain't dead, eh?"

"I told you I only needed a few scratches, not broken bones."

"Aye, but I didn't realize she'd land on 'er hand, sir."

Oliver just sighed and turned to look out the window. He watched as Aliya struggled to climb into one of the hired hackneys parked outside.

"You may leave," he told the man.

He turned away from the window and grabbed his brandy and took a swig.

Swallowing, he felt the warmth of the liquor spread across his chest and down to his fingertips.

Aliya Guideville.

He finally got closer.

Now, what to do with her?