Greeting villagers as he passed, Wynn kept his eyes ever on Svetlana, making her heart pound with each step bringing him closer. He leaned over and kissed her generously on the lips, drawing a series of whistles from the nearby tables. The people had grown accustomed to the unusual acts of their duke and duchess, from public affection—which Svetlana tried and failed to chide Wynn from—and surgical duties, to eating among the commoners with their Russian friend almost as frequently as they dined in their castle.
“Had to do a resection of the pericardium due to end-diastolic pressure in the left ventricle. It’s a new technique coming out of Frankfurt for heart failures. Mmm, what’s this?” He grabbed a dumpling from Svetlana’s plate and popped it in his mouth. The more surgeries, the more improved his appetite. “Fish? Tastes perfect.”
“That is because you are
Ignoring him, Wynn grabbed another dumpling. “Where’s Stasia? I wanted to show her the new gurney we got in the operating theater.”
Svetlana swatted at his greasy fingers with her napkin. “Firstly, our daughter is three months old. She has not a clue of what a gurney or an operating theater is. Secondly, the last time you took her into that room, a removed organ was still on the table.”
“It was a ruptured appendix. The patient no longer required it.”
“Be that as it may, Stasia is much too young to stare at human organs, required or not.”
“It’s never too early to start her medical knowledge. Speaking of which, I ordered a new set of medical journals on the latest in surgical techniques—”
“They printed your article!”
“Not yet, but in one of the issues they mentioned improvements for strengthening weakened bones and misshapen muscles. A common epidemic among our soldiers, but it might also be useful to Alec MacGregor. You remember him and his wife, Lord and Lady Strathem? They hosted that charity gala for the continued care of convalescent homes.”
“I saw mostly her. Lord Strathem, I believe, prefers his wife to shine while he keeps quietly to the back. A charming woman, but she laughs too much.” She turned to Leonid. “American.”
Leonid nodded in complete understanding.
“An American who married the surliest Scotsman in the country,” Wynn said. “That should count in her favor.”
“It does.”
“You Russians and your need for the dismal.”
After several more tasting rounds, Svetlana and Wynn bid Leonid good evening and walked back to the hospital. Wynn signed off his shift notes to Gerard who had come to work alongside his friend. He was proving himself most formidable with a scalpel, though with a caution that tempered Wynn’s zeal.
Wynn shoved his arms into his jacket and plopped his hat on his head. “Should be a light load tomorrow. I’d like to examine a heart from a shell-shocked victim recently deceased. I have a theory about corollaries between inordinate amounts of stress and thrombosis.”
Having not a clue what that meant, Svetlana slipped on her netted gloves. “As long as it does not interfere with talking to the estate agent. Mackie has an idea of turning the eastern plots of land into more viable revenue streams. And you wanted to do a walkabout to the tenants before planting begins.”
“Which I have scheduled for tomorrow afternoon.” Pausing next to the front door, Wynn pulled out a handkerchief and swiped it across the brass plaque that read:
This hospital is dedicated to the memory of Lt. John Harkin.
Let all who pass through these doors enter in the name of good and healing.
The burden of Harkin’s death had scarred Wynn with unflagging pain as he blamed himself for not seeing the shell fragment that had grown infected after Harkin was deemed on the mend from his surgery. Every day he attempted to bury his guilt within these sterile walls, each life saved a recompense stacked against the judgment in which he held himself. Harkin was an innocent struck down by the lingering evil of war, but Wynn had done his best to see that the man had not died in vain. His memory would live on for as long as this hospital stood.
Twilight’s purples had deepened to indigo with a night sky of spangled stars like dozens of diamonds broken from a necklace as their auto carried them home. The air tingled with the fresh waters of the nearby Cairnmuir River and the musky heather blooms as the welcome sight of Thornhill loomed in the distance. Svetlana snuggled contentedly at Wynn’s side, his arm about her shoulder.
“My third favorite sight in all the world.” Wynn’s low voice hummed against her ear, making her drowsy. Or tempted to kiss him.