Page 86 of A Scot in the Storm
Janet, who’d learned healing from her ma and grandmother, ignored both of them as she shoved Rory’s coat halfway off his shoulders with ruthless efficiency.
Abigail’s face went pale. “Oh,” she breathed. “You dislocated it.”
“Aye,” Janet replied. “That’s about the size of it.”
Rory looked toward Abigail. “Dinna look so alarmed. Merely my pride bruised, but the shoulder hurts like hell.”
Ewan leaned against the table watching with the calm interest of a man safely uninvolved in the coming pain.
“Want whisky first?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Janet answered simultaneously with Rory and glared at he and Ewan both.
“You’ll get whisky after I put the damned thing back where God intended it to be.”
Abigail sat very still, hands clasped tightly around her untouched tea.
Rory was abruptly aware of her watching him as Janet rolled up her sleeves.
“Bite this.”
She shoved a folded strip of cloth toward Rory.
He eyed it with deep suspicion. “I’ll no’ scream.”
“Then ye can impress us all afterward.”
Ewan moved obligingly behind the chair.
“What are you doing?” Rory asked darkly.
“Preventing ye from punching Janet in the face.”
“A thoughtful precaution,” Abigail murmured faintly.
Rory shot her a look. To his astonishment, the corner of her mouth twitched.
Traitor.
Janet braced one hand against his shoulder blade.
“All right. On three.”
Rory narrowed his eyes. “You always lie about the counting.”
“Aye.”
She rotated it up and hard before he could brace. Pain exploded white-hot through his shoulder and for one brutal second Rory thought he might actually black out.
The joint slammed back into place with a sickening crack, the sound echoing through the kitchen.
Abigail flinched outright.
Rory’s gripped the arm of the chair hard enough his knuckles whitened beneath the skin, but he didn’t cry out.
