“Will Wolfram hurt him?” Grace asked shakily when Filey’s groans had faded to a distant echo. Talking tested her split lip. Her jaw throbbed where Filey had punched her.
“Not unless I tell him to,” Matthew said grimly. He flung away the log with a disgusted gesture and tore off his coat to wrap it around her. She appreciated the warmth. She was deathly cold.
She grabbed Matthew’s arm, using her other hand to preserve what modesty she could. Silly, she knew, when he’d seen every inch of her, kissed every inch of her. But after Filey’s depredations, she craved the frail armor of clothing as much for her soul as for her body.
“Christ, Grace. Look at you.” His expression was savage as he studied her injured face. He wrenched a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at her oozing lip. “I should have killed the
bastard when I had the chance.”
She winced and spoke through chattering teeth. “Thank God you arrived. I thought he was going to…He was going to…”
Her voice faltered into silence. Ugly gulping sobs tore at her throat.
“Shh, it’s all right.” Very carefully, his arms encircled her, surrounding her with heat and his familiar scent.
Eventually, she raised tear-drenched eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Let’s get you back to the cottage.” With the easy strength that always surprised her in such a lean man, he swung her into his arms.
“I can walk.” She wasn’t sure that was true.
“I’ll carry you.”
She didn’t have it in her to argue, so she rested her pounding head on his shoulder. “You make me feel safe.”
“I shouldn’t,” he said flatly, striding along the path.
“You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”
“I blame my uncle.” Then he added a bleak rider, “And yes, I blame myself.”
His arms tensed and she flinched. Every inch of her hurt worse as danger receded and her body reacted to the beating. She tightened her hold around his neck. The brush of silky dark hair against her fingers was strangely comforting.
“I thought you were with your roses.”
“I missed you,” he said softly.
“If you hadn’t come…” she said brokenly, hugging him closer.
“I did.”
“Yes.”
He was her rock. He was her surety. He was her beloved.
All they had in this terrible wilderness was each other. God help them.
Chapter 19
Matthew eased Grace onto the sofa. She stiffened when he put her down, even though he was careful not to jar or jolt her. Her battered face already started to swell and discolor.
Jesus, he should have killed Filey. Now he must await another opportunity.
That opportunity would come soon enough.
First, he must ensure Grace’s security. Until then, he could do nothing to pursue long-overdue justice.
“I’ll get something to make you feel better,” he said when she seemed reluctant to release him. She wasn’t a clingy woman but this afternoon’s ordeal had tested her limits.