She halted and leaned close. "We need to tie Bad Pony, or he'll simply run off," she whispered, a little afraid of upsetting the pony's newfound good nature.

Mr. Worthington took a look back at the pony. "No. He won't."

Gemma glanced uncertainly at Bad Pony, but then she cast Mr. Worthington an admittedly awed glance and accepted him at his word.

THE FARMHOUSE WAS LITTLE more than stone hut with three rooms. While the tearfully grateful farm wife bustled about getting the "Missus" some tea over Gemma's protestations, the man climbed a stair that was little more than a ladder up into the cottage loft. In a moment he reappeared and carefully descended the ladder with a bundled up child in his arms.

"Yes, thank you Shepherd Orren," Gemma said crisply. "I'll take a look at him here by the fire where it's warm."

With only one chair to offer Gemma, the man simply sat upon the floor with his child in his arms while Gemma unwrapped the blanket to reveal the boy's bare and spindly legs.

One was normal and healthy, if thin. The other was quite definitely injured, purple with bruising. Lysander felt a sickening chill swirl in his gut at the sight of the broken shinbone pressing up against the boy's skin from within.

"Oh well, that's nothing at all!" Gemma's voice was cheerful and assured. "We'll have to do a bit of this and that, and you will need a sturdy crutch that I'm sure your papa can make for you. Of course, you'll be bored silly with all the sitting about, but you'll be better soon, you'll see."

Lysander had four brothers. Between the five of them they'd broken more than a few bones in childhood. None had been as severe as this damaged child. The boy's injury looked more like something he had seen on the battlefield, where men's bones were crushed by bouncing cannonballs and dying horses.

The icy chill began to spread outward from his belly and climbed his spine. His mouth went dry and his hands began to turn numb. Not now.

Then Gemma turned her head and caught his gaze, pinning him in place with her clever gray eyes. "Mr. Worthington, if you would be so kind?"

MR. WORTHINGTON FOLLOWED HER orders with only the barest hesitation. While Shepherd Orren held his son tightly on his lap, Mr. Worthington wrapped two large hands around the boy's skinny ankle.

"Don't jerk your hold," Gemma warned them both. "Slow and steady but once we begin, we cannot ease up. I've given him enough laudanum to relax his muscles, but I fear I cannot give him more. He is too small." She placed her hands on the boy's damaged shin, carefully wrapping her fingers around the healthy bone on either side of the fracture.