Pendragon (Sherbrooke Brides 7)

en got her hand around it. It felt nice and heavy. She gripped it against herself, then managed to get back up onto her knees. She pressed against the boulder, then slowly, carefully, eased her face around to look toward the cliff path.

She didn’t see anything, didn’t hear anyone climbing down.

She didn’t hear Brutus.

She hurt, but she kept her eyes on the cliff trail. She ripped a long strip of wet material off her skirt and wrapped it as tightly as she could around her shoulder. It wasn’t a very good job since she had only one hand, but it was the best she could do.

Time passed. She blinked, cursed herself, tried to hum a song, anything to stay alert, but it was hard, her shoulder hurt so badly. She felt tears trail down her cheeks, couldn’t stop them. She tasted her tears mixed with the salt water.

More time passed.

Where was Brutus? She prayed he hadn’t been shot.

Then she heard a man’s voice yelling her name. She nearly shattered from fear until she realized it was Thomas. She tried to call back to him, but just a very thin whisper came out of her mouth. It didn’t matter. He would come to her. She smiled even as she sank down to rest her cheek against the wet sand.

She saw his shadow over her, felt his hands on her, and opened her eyes. “Is Brutus all right?”

“Oh yes, the man just knocked him in the head, but he’s all right. As for you—”

She heard him say her name, faintly, faintly, then she was gone, away from the pain, away from the fear. Everything would be all right now. Thomas was here.

Panic nearly sent Thomas over the edge. He pressed his hand against her chest, felt the smooth, slow beat of her heart. She was unconscious. He lifted his hand, covered with her blood. He gently tied the ripped material more tightly over her shoulder.

He prayed she would remain unconscious. He lifted her into his arms and began the long trek back up the narrow cliff path.

He was going to kill William.

“She’ll live, but it’s bad enough, my lord.”

Thomas couldn’t stand it. She was still unconscious, so pale she looked dead, her flesh so cold. He pulled another blanket over her. Every few moments he lightly laid his palm on her chest to feel her heart.

He stared up at Dr. Pritchart with haggard eyes. “You swear she will live?”

Dr. Pritchart rubbed his palm over his forehead. “I think so. The bullet went through her, high on her shoulder, which is a good thing, less chance of infection, which would most certainly kill her. Now, I must set in stitches, both in her shoulder and in her back.”

Meggie moaned and opened her eyes.

Thomas cursed. Meggie frowned. “What’s wrong? Oh, Blessed Hell, something hurts, Thomas, hurts really bad.”

“I know, sweetheart. Just hold on.”

“Give her some brandy, that will help. Then hold her down, my lord.”

When Dr. Pritchart had finished setting the black stitches, Thomas stared down at her white flesh, the blood and black thread all mixed together, and he couldn’t bear it.

Her eyes were closed. She’d said not a word while Dr. Pritchart was stitching her flesh together. Not made a sound, but she’d clutched his hands so tightly they hurt. He’d wished she’d pass out, but she hadn’t. She said now, “I’m going to be all right, Thomas. Stop worrying. I heard you saying over and over that you were going to kill William. Why? Did he get another girl pregnant?”

“Not that I know of. No, Meggie, he was supposed to stay with you. Since he was worried you would try to stomp him into the ground if he stayed too close, he said he would keep his distance. Didn’t you wonder?”

“Well, I saw Jem the stable boy walking just behind me, and I thought he was the one who was to make sure no one came close.”

“Yes, Jem was to stay fairly close as well. However, he got sick to his stomach and had to come back to the stable. I had also told William to stick close to you.”

“He wasn’t there?”

Thomas shook his head, brought her hand to his mouth, kissed her fingers.

“Maybe he was the one who shot me.”