Prescription-One Bride

CHAPTER ONE

TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT.

The sign was huge. It almost covered the farm gate and, not surprisingly, it made Jessica pause.

She didn’t pause for long.

Dr Jessie Harvey stared down at the pathetic drag marks leading to the gap beside the gate. Harry must have dragged himself through-and there were traces of blood on the path.

Sign or no sign, there was no choice. Jess had to look.

Niall Mountmarche might have half the island scared silly with his stupid signs but if Harry was suffering somewhere on the other side of the fence…

Sod Niall Mountmarche’s sign!

Jessica Harvey, Barega Island’s only veterinary surgeon, pushed stray wisps of soft brown curls from her angry eyes and pushed open the gate.

She’d been here before and she hadn’t been shot.

Louis Mountmarche, wine-maker extraordinaire, had been the island children’s ogre for years. Rumour said that he’d shot a child in the dim, distant past and his reputation was fearsome.

By the time Jess had arrived to work on the island the old man was hardly ever seen by the locals.

Four months ago the local police had asked Jess to investigate reports of animal cruelty. Neighbours had complained that the old man’s dog had been howling for days.

She’d found the dog.

The neighbours had been right. The animal had been neglected but it hadn’t been the old man’s fault. When Jessie and the police had finally found him, Louis Mountmarche had been dead for weeks-with his dog guarding his body.

Although the fate of the old man and his dog had shocked the locals, the islanders hadn’t blamed themselves. The old man had abused everyone-and now it seemed that his nephew was of the same mould.

Niall Mountmarche, nephew of Louis, had arrived on the island three months ago by private boat and his contact with the locals since then had been restricted to necessary business. The threatening signs had been renewed.

It seemed that there was a family trait of isolation and aggression.

The ogre reputation was building again among the local children and the unknown Niall Mountmarche did nothing to refute it.

So…

So Jessie shouldn’t be here, crawling on all fours between the grapevines trying desperately to follow the broken trail of drag marks and blood.

The ground had been recently furrowed. It was early spring on the island and the vines were just budding. Someone had been here recently, ploughing weeds into the ground and, by the smell of the rich loam, applying fertilizer.

‘Harry,’ Jessie called softly.

Drat the Mountmarches. They had her spooked. She took a deep breath and rose to her feet. The trail ended here but where the vines were still bare she’d surely see an injured dog if it was in the open.

Jessie raised her voice. ‘Harry!’

There was no response.

Or was there? Had she heard something?

Jessie’s face turned in the morning sun toward a bank of trees further down the slope. In the trees there was cover-and an injured dog would head for cover if it possibly could. The sound-if she hadn’t imagined it-had come from there.

She was too close to the Mountmarche house for comfort. For a moment Jessie considered approaching the house to ask permission to search-but only for a moment. The Mountmarche reputation suggested that she’d be marched off the property at the point of a gun-and where would that leave Harry?

‘Harry?’ Jess called again, lowering her voice and heading down the slopes into the cover of the trees. She cast a nervous glance at the house and her voice dropped even further. ‘Harry!’

A pathetic whimper cut across the silence, so low that she would have missed it if her ears hadn’t been straining to hear.

He was here. Somewhere.

Here, where the ground was rough and overgrown and the banks of a creek fell away from the fertile soil, there were hundreds of places that a wounded dog could crawl to die.

She could hear him clearly now. His whimpers increased as she called him.

The branches were thick over her head, barring her path. Swearing softly to herself, Jessie slung her bag over her shoulder and dropped to the ground again.

She’d have to crawl.

Her knees were bare and the twigs and branches littering the ground dug into them-but if she stood up she wouldn’t be able to see. She’d have no hope of finding him.

‘Harry,’ she called again. ‘Harry…’

Jessie pushed her nose through a thicket of undergrowth and stopped dead.

A pair of black boots blocked her path.

And a gun.

Jessie practically yelped in fright. She jumped about a foot and when she finally came down to earth her heart was thumping like a battering ram.

The island children had done their job well. The Ogre of Barega had been built up to such a fearsome figure that it was all Jessie could do not to scramble to her feet and run.

Instead, she forced herself to squat back on her heels and look up.

It was hardly a position of dignity. To be caught crawling on all fours on someone else’s land was scarcely a desirable fate at the best of times-but to be caught by a Mountmarche…

Niall Mountmarche…

Ogre of Barega…

Jessie’s first impression was of size-and of darkness. The man wore black knee-length boots over dark riding jodhpurs, and a black short-sleeved shirt open almost to the waist. The wind-tossed hair around the man’s lean, harsh face was jet black as well and his angry eyes were as dark as night.

The Ogre was in his mid-thirties, Jessie guessed.

The Mountmarche she’d seen-old Louis-had been short and stout but Jess saw no similarity between Louis and his nephew. This man was over six feet tall and hadn’t an ounce of spare flesh on his strongly built body.

Or compassion, Jessie guessed, as she slowly rose to a standing position. Niall Mountmarche’s face was flint hard, repellent with anger.

Even as she found her feet and stood before him, he still made her feel tiny.

And scared stiff.

The man’s hands were gripping his gun as though he’d love to use it. He wasn’t pointing the thing at her-but it didn’t make it one whit less threatening.

‘G-good morning,’ she stammered.

The Ogre of Barega was looking at the girl before him as though she was a repugnant form of insect life. Jessie flushed in mortification. His look was nothing short of contemptuous.

Well, Niall Mountmarche wasn’t to know that Jessie was the island’s vet. She hardly looked professional, she thought grimly. The young vet was wearing shorts and sneakers; her knees were dust-caked from crawling along the furrowed ground and her face was probably the same. Her shoulder-length curls had caught on briars and were tangled and wild.

Niall Mountmarche didn’t know why Jess was on his land. Maybe he was right to look like this-when she was so clearly trespassing.

Jess pushed her tangled curls back with a defiant flourish-and felt more dirt streak down her cheek as Niall Mountmarche finally spoke.

‘What the hell are you doing on my land?’ The man’s voice was deep and resonant with a trace of an accent she couldn’t quite place-and more than a trace of anger.

It was hardly a promising start.

Jessie bit her lip and forced herself to hold out her hand in an attempt at greeting.

‘Hi,’ she said unsteadily. ‘I’m…I’m Jessica Harvey…’

‘I’m not the least bit interested in who you are,’ the man snapped. His dark eyes flashed his displeasure. ‘The sign on my gate is there for a purpose-and it means what it says. This is no place for teenagers to play stupid games-so I suggest you get yourself off my land now.’

Teenagers…

Jessie’s flush faded. Teenagers…How old did he take her for, for heaven’s sake? She drew herself up to her full five feet five inches and her brown eyes glared.

‘I’m twenty-seven,’ she snapped.

He shrugged. ‘Fascinating, I’m sure.’ The man’s cold gaze raked Jessie’s slim form, from her filthy sneakers to her dust-caked face. His disdain only seemed to increase. ‘If you’re speaking the truth-’ his tone suggested such a thing was as plausible as the moon being made of cheese ‘-then I suggest you’re too old to be crawling round my property on what, I must assume, to be some sort of infantile game. Now collect this Harry-or whoever it is you’re calling-and get the hell out of here. Now!’

Harry…

‘Harry’s a dog,’ Jessie managed.

‘You brought dogs onto my property?’ The man looked as if he was preparing to explode in fury. His fingers whitened on the gun and Jessie blenched. What on earth had she got herself into?

‘I didn’t bring him…He’s not my dog and I can’t find him,’ she stammered, striving desperately for calm.

The man visibly fought for self-control. His leather-booted foot stirred the ground, like a bull before a charge, and his face was cold as ice.

‘So you didn’t bring him? He’s not your dog but you’re looking for him,’ he said coldly. ‘I see.’ He raised his gun slightly. ‘Then I suggest you leave my land now-and let me do the looking.’

The gun’s slight movement was so suggestive that Jessie blenched. He wouldn’t shoot Harry…

‘No!’

Instinctively Jessie’s hand reached out to the gun and held on hard. She pulled it towards herself, swinging the point away from her body.

The man didn’t release it. He stood like stone, immovable.

‘Are you playing games with me?’ the man said slowly. The foot had stopped its movement. He stood rigidly, his hand locked on the gun and his cold eyes staring down at her. Jessie had never felt such anger-such a blaze of hostility…

Or had she…?

Once…

A wave of such dreadful remembrance hit her that Jessie stepped back in horror. Her hands dropped from the gun as if burned.

Jessie’s face drained of what little colour she had left and instinctively her hands came up before her face-to ward off a blow…

It was a futile gesture. This man hadn’t threatened her with a gun-or with a raised hand for that matter-but the fury was there…

And suddenly it wasn’t.

The man’s face changed. The aggression died as he stared down at her and his hand came out as if to touch…

Jess stepped back in panic. ‘N-no…’

‘I won’t hurt you,’ he said harshly.

There was a long silence. The morning sun glimmered through the canopy of leaves above them. Their eyes stayed locked, the man’s harsh stare changing to a look of confusion-as if, suddenly, his aggression was weakening.

Jessie’s fear remained.

How could it not?

The man swore suddenly. He took another step towards her and Jessie flinched again.

He stopped.

And swore again.

And, then, in a gesture of impatience the man broke the barrel of his gun. The cartridge fell out onto his palm and he let it fall further onto the ground. Then he let the gun fall, too.

‘I won’t hurt you,’ he said again and this time he spoke as though he meant it. The blazing anger was gone.

Jessie took a deep breath. The memory receded-a little. This man wasn’t John Talbot. He had no cause to hurt her.

‘I…I guess…’ she said, but she couldn’t make her voice steady.

‘Are you running from someone?’ Niall Mountmarche’s dark brow was creased in sudden concern. Clearly her reaction had him puzzled. He looked around as if expecting to see others. ‘Are you hiding? Who’s Harry?’

‘I told you-Harry’s a dog.’ It was all Jessie could do to get her voice above a whisper.

‘But not your dog?’

‘No.’

‘But you’re scared stiff?’

Jessie took a deep breath. ‘No. Not…not any more.’

‘Because I put the gun down.’

‘That might have something to do with it,’ Jessie stammered, her equilibrium returning by degrees. The man still unsettled her badly-but at least the ogre image was fading. For the moment…

‘Well, would you care to tell me?’

‘Yes.’ Jessie closed her eyes, still fighting for calm. When she opened them she had herself almost under control.

‘Harry is your neighbour’s dog,’ she said at last. ‘Frank Reid owns land on your north boundary. I guess you don’t know him-as you keep to yourself so much-but Frank is elderly and diabetic. He’s ill at the moment and has been in hospital for over a week.’

‘So?’ This was of supreme disinterest, Niall Mountmarche’s face told her.

‘The girl who’s been looking after his farm told Frank today that Harry’s been missing for almost a week,’ Jess stammered. ‘Frank asked me to look…’

‘A week…’

‘She didn’t want to worry him.’ Jessie’s voice trailed away. The girl’s actions were almost inexcusable, she thought, remembering the elderly farmer’s distress when she’d seen him that morning.

‘So he asked you to look because you’re a friend?’ Niall Mountmarche was watching her as if she was a specimen he just couldn’t make out.

‘Because I’m the island vet,’ Jessie said bluntly and watched his reaction.

It was all she could have hoped for.

The man’s eyes widened in incredulity-and then disbelief.

‘I don’t believe it,’ he said flatly.

‘That’s fine.’ Jessie bit her lip and shrugged. ‘Just let me get on with finding the dog and there’s no need for you to believe anything.’

‘How long have you been qualified?’

‘Look!’ Jessie’s voice exploded into anger. ‘How long I’ve been qualified has nothing to do with anything. The only thing that matters at the moment is that there’s an injured dog on your property and I need to find him. Fast!’

Niall Mountmarche was still watching her-assessing her. With his eyes still on her, he stooped to pick up his gun and snap it together. As Jessie’s face changed again he flicked the cartridge with his booted toe so that it lay almost at her feet.

‘You keep the cartridge,’ he said harshly. ‘I won’t shoot your precious dog. But I want to know why you think he’s on my property.’

The air whooshed out of Jessie’s lungs in a rush. She stooped to retrieve the cartridge and shoved it deep into her pocket-before the man changed his mind.

‘There are rabbit traps set near your boundary fence,’ she told him, fingering the cartridge as security. ‘Some of the local kids must have set their traps on Frank’s land while he’s in hospital. They know he’d never let them, otherwise. The traps are set in a pattern and one trap seems to be missing-and the place where it should be is marked with blood and fur. Not brown rabbit fur. It’s the black and white fur of a collie.’

‘Collie?’

‘Harry-Frank’s dog-is a Border collie. A good one.’

He was certainly a lovely dog, Jessie knew, and if anything happened to Harry Frank Reid would break his heart.

‘You haven’t said why you believe he’s here.’ The booted toe was tapping again on the leaf-strewn ground. Patience, it seemed, was not one of Niall Mountmarche’s strong points.

‘There’s a trail of drag marks and blood leading through your fence. At a guess, the dog still has the trap on his foot. If he’s too injured to drag himself home then he won’t have gone far.’

‘If he’s been missing a week then he’ll be dead.’

‘No.’ Jessie shook her head. ‘I heard him,’ she said flatly. ‘He’s somewhere here.’

The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘Nearby?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, what are we wasting time for, Jessica Harvey?’ the man demanded harshly. ‘Let’s find him.’ ‘You mean…You mean you’ll help?’ ‘Why on earth wouldn’t I?’ Why not, indeed?

It took fifteen minutes.

At the sound of Niall’s voice Harry’s whimpers had ceased and, no matter how much Jessie called, she wasn’t able to hear the dog again. Then it was a case of physically searching inside every hollow log and under every piece of undergrowth.

In the end it wasn’t Niall who found Harry but Harry who found Niall. Niall lifted a piece of bush and Harry’s black face lunged forward in snarling menace. Teeth sank into Niall’s leather boot-and then the dog shrieked in pain as his movement made the agony from his injuries unbearable. The dog fell back, teeth still bared in a grimace of suffering.

Jessie had heard. She came flying from twenty yards away, half expecting Niall Mountmarche to kick out in fury.

The Ogre of Barega did no such thing. The man knelt, just out of range of the menacing teeth, and his voice softened.

‘Hey, old fella,’ he said gently. ‘We’ve been looking for you. There’s no need to attack. We’re here to help.’

He knew animals, then. Jessie’s fears receded further. This man knew a desperately injured dog would react by defending itself. The worse its pain became the more it would defend itself-to the point where a badly injured dog could even bite its owner.

Harry was confused and in pain and, Jessie guessed, starved almost to death. They could expect no cooperation from Harry.

Jess knelt beside Niall and looked under the bush where Harry lay. All she could see were the whites of his eyes wide with terror-and the bared teeth.

‘Any suggestions?’ Niall asked and his tone was sardonic again. It suggested that Jessie’s claim to being a vet was ridiculous.

‘I’ll dart him with a tranquilliser if I must,’ Jessie said, hauling her bag from her shoulder and flicking it open. ‘But I don’t want to. He’ll be weak enough as it is.’

‘So, what…?’

Jessie lifted her tray of syringes and dressings from the top of the bag and found what she was looking for. A leather muzzle. Normally she could manage without-if she could reach the dog from behind-but Harry was wedged firmly into his hiding place and could only be faced head-on. To put her hands into his refuge was to risk losing a finger.

‘OK.’ She looked back at the collie. The big dog hadn’t moved. The teeth were still drawn back in a grimace half of pain, half of menace.

‘No sudden movements,’ she said shortly.

Niall nodded. He didn’t move.

‘OK, Harry,’ Jess said gently, turning her full attention on the dog. ‘Let’s help you. Come on, boy. We’re here to help.’

She talked for five minutes, taking all the time in the world. The dog had hurt himself by his lunge forward and Jess was prepared to wait for the agony to settle. She needed the terror to recede from those huge, pain-filled eyes.

She knew this dog. Frank Reid was a friend and Jess saw Harry often when she dropped in to Frank’s farm. She’d removed a burr from his ear last summer and he’d let her help as soon as she had his trust.

This time he was more desperately hurt. It would take time-but she could afford to take it.

‘Come on, Harry,’ she said gently. ‘We’re here to help. You can trust us.’

Inch by inch she edged forward, her eyes never leaving the dog’s for a moment. Beside her, Niall Mountmarche watched and listened-but didn’t move either. He sensed that he could destroy all her efforts with a movement. At least the man had the rudiments of common sense.

Jessie held the muzzle forward, letting the dog see it. He hadn’t seen such a thing before-so he didn’t know it wasn’t to be trusted. Jess let it lie like a handkerchief in her hand, holding it forward.

‘Hey, Harry…’

An inch more…An inch more…

The dog’s lips moved. His body shuddered and he lunged forward, desperately defending…

Right into the muzzle.

Jessie moved like lightning. She was up over the big dog, fastening the leather thong at the back of his neck and then hauling the dog from his hiding place and gathering the collie to her like a frightened child. She held him immobile and rigid against her, pulling him down to her and talking and talking as if there was absolutely no threat…

The dog could do nothing.

Normally Jess would have to fight for control of a big dog but, muzzled, Harry was helpless.

He sagged against Jess and the fight left him. The collie lay limply on her knee and the huge eyes looked up pleadingly.

I don’t know what to do, the eyes seemed to say. Help me.

‘Hey, Harry…’

The dog whimpered in pain.

There was no longer a threat from those razor-sharp teeth so Jess removed the muzzle. Now that Harry was in the open she could control him and the muzzle would only distress him more than he already was.

Jess put her hand on the big dog’s matted coat and felt the beginnings of tears prick behind her eyes as she saw the extent of his injuries.

There was little she could do here-except put the dog out of his misery.

The trap was still in place, cruelly cutting the foot between wrist and toe. The wound on the dog’s leg had turned into a festering mess. The tissue was necrotic, Jess thought grimly, her nose wrinkling at the unmistakable smell. She could see bone-the metacarpals-through the torn flesh. They must be broken.

Heaven knew how the dog had managed to get this far with the trap still cutting into him-and heaven knew how he’d survived this long with a wound like this.

‘Oh, Harry…’

She stroked the dog’s head with a hand that trembled and then took a deep breath. Emotion would help nothing. What had to be done should be done quickly.

‘Hand me my bag,’ she told Niall Mountmarche as she came to her hard decision-but the tremor in her voice was unmistakable.

‘What will you do?’ Niall Mountmarche was looking down at the dog’s leg and the expression on his face was pretty much how Jess was feeling. Sick.

‘Put him down.’

Niall’s face swung from dog to girl.

‘I thought you said the dog wasn’t yours?’ he demanded.

‘He’s not. Could I have my bag, please?’

Niall didn’t move. He looked back to the dog’s leg. ‘Doesn’t the owner have the cash or inclination to pay for your services then, Dr Harvey?’

The emphasis on the word ‘Doctor’ was almost a sneer.

Jessie flushed.

‘I can’t operate,’ she said stiffly.

‘But you said you were a vet.’

‘Yes. I’m a vet. And I need to stop Harry suffering even more. Could you pass the bag, please?’

‘But you could operate.’ Gently Niall Mountmarche moved forward and lifted the dog’s leg from where it lay across Jessie’s bare knee. The dog hardly stirred. Niall examined the leg with caution, touching the pad with infinite care.

‘There’s warmth in his pad,’ he told Jessie. ‘There’s still some circulation. I don’t think he’d even have to lose his leg. Once we get the trap off…’

‘I don’t think you understand,’ Jessie said flatly. ‘I haven’t the facilities to operate.’

‘But you are a qualified vet?’

‘Yes.’

Niall’s face stilled. ‘Then you’ll be the vet who put my uncle’s dog down. The easy way out-is that it, Dr Harvey? You didn’t wait for my permission before killing my uncle’s dog.’

Jess closed her eyes. Her hands still stroked the dog’s matted fur and she fought to keep her voice calm so as not to frighten Harry even more.

‘Your uncle’s dog was an old, old Dobermann,’ she said softly, trying not to look up at those accusing eyes. ‘He’d been trained to attack to kill anything and anybody who wasn’t his owner. He was starving and near death when we found him; he had some sort of arthritic debility in his back legs and even if I’d saved him he was too old to form a bond with a new owner.

‘Maybe…maybe if you’d been in closer contact with your uncle-if I could have found you quickly-but as it was we didn’t know Louis Mountmarche had a living relative…’

‘Are you saying it’s my fault the dog had to die?’

‘I’m saying, given that there was no owner, I had no choice,’ Jessie snapped. ‘As I have no choice now.’

‘But this dog has an owner and he’s younger.’ Niall’s attention had changed focus again-from anger back to concentration. He bent over the wounded pad and examined it with care, seemingly not repulsed by the stinking flesh. ‘How old, Dr Harvey?’

‘He’s only three,’ Jessie said sadly. She shook her head. ‘I know…Given different circumstances…’

‘What different circumstances?’

‘An assistant who can given an anaesthetic.’ Jessie sighed. ‘You’re right. Maybe-maybe if I could put him under an anaesthetic and clean up the mess then he’d have a chance. But he’s in dreadful condition. It’s going to take me ages to set the bones and clean up the mess.

‘He won’t tolerate the intravenous anaesthetic I can give myself-and there’s no way I can operate on a dog as sick as this and intubate at the same time. Intubating and operating by yourself is like drunk driving-OK if conditions are perfect and nothing goes wrong. But there are already major things going wrong here. So…I think it’s kinder to acknowledge defeat now.’

Niall Mountmarche’s dark brow snapped down. ‘Don’t you have a trained vet nurse?’

‘This is a tiny island,’ Jessie told him. ‘What I really need is another vet-but, no, I don’t even have a trained nurse.’

‘But…’ Niall’s fingers had moved to fondle the dog’s soft ears. The big collie seemed almost unconscious. He’d gone past fear. He lay, passive and trusting, and Jessie’s heart went out to the magnificent animal. ‘What about the island human medical services? Surely there’s a doctor and nurses on the island who could help out?’

‘There are.’ Jessie’s face set. ‘But the nurses haven’t the training to give anaesthetic. And the doctor won’t.’

‘“Won’t”?’

Niall echoed the word blankly and it hung between them in the soft morning sunshine. A question…

‘“Won’t”,’ Jessie repeated. She held out her hand in silent demand. ‘Please…Could you pass me my bag?’

Niall Mountmarche ignored her. ‘What do you mean, “won’t”?’

Jess sighed. ‘The island’s two trained doctors-a husband-and-wife team-are away for twelve months doing further training on the mainland. The locum replacing them had to leave because of family problems and the present locum-well, Lionel Hurd won’t touch animals. He says it’s not in his contract and he’s right.’ She sighed again. ‘I can’t force him.’

‘So Harry dies.’

‘So Harry dies,’ Jess said sadly. She looked up at Niall then and met those dark, angry, eyes full-on. ‘Unless you have any other suggestions, Mr Mountmarche?’

There was a long, long silence.

‘Hand me my bag,’ Jess said finally again into the stillness-but Niall Mountmarche shook his head.

He touched the injured dog’s leg once more and gentle fingers carefully probed the rotten flesh. His touch was so gentle that the dog didn’t so much as flinch.

Finally Niall nodded, as if coming to a hard decision.

‘I do have an alternative suggestion,’ he told Jess, his voice firming as he spoke.

‘Which is?’ Jessie sounded sceptical, she knew. Her voice was flat and hopeless-but she loved this dog.

‘I’ll give the anaesthetic.’

‘You!’

He shrugged. ‘I can do it.’

‘But how…?’ Jess looked down at those long, sensitive fingers, skilfully and gently examining the wound. ‘You’re not…’

‘A vet? No.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m not. So you’re going to have to talk me through it, Dr Harvey. But I do have medical skills. I’m a doctor.’