Watters recalled nothing of his journey from the beach to Ness House, but he knew that Marie helped carry him from the chaise to the dining room, where the warmth of the fire relaxed him as much as the bite of raw whisky that persistent hands pressed past his lips.
"I must examine him." Marie gave firm orders. "Put him on the table."
Watters felt strong hands lift him gently onto the table. He saw strands of blonde hair wisping across Marie"s concerned eyes; he felt her capable hands on his head. "You"re covered in blood, George. I"ll have to look." There was a pause, during which he heard her voice as a low murmur. "We"ll need your shirt off."
Watters allowed Marie to manoeuvre him, and then the bite of kill-me-deadly whisky on his wounds made him gasp, but Marie"s eyes were critical a
