“Vera! Vera, are you okay?! Have you been hit?!”
Hit? I certainly hit the ground hard enough when he tackled me. I couldn’t understand what in the world he was shouting about. Why was he so alarmed and angry? My line of sight shifted slightly to the right. That’s when I noticed the blood stain spreading on his shoulder, through his shirt.
“Oh my God! Sebastian, you’re bleeding!” I struggled to get up.
“Don’t move! Someone’s shooting at us!” he shouted, holding me firmly to the ground.
“Shooting? Who could be shooting at us? Why would they be shooting at us?”
A strange stillness has fallen over everything, the forest and wildlife all holding a collective breath.
“I don’t know. Could be––” His face grew pale, his eyelids heavy. He was about to…he shook his head, trying to stay conscious. All emotion fled and my mind sharpened to respond in lightning quick decision making unlike anything I could accomplish under normal circumstances. I have always been at my best when a crisis arises. Some people lock up, freeze, others get overly emotional, overwhelmed with anger or fear. I turn as steady and dependable as a U.S. dollar bill.
I rolled him onto his back––he was too weak to protest––and ripped his shirt open to find the bullet wound had grazed him on the outside of his bicep. It had cut through muscle. Thankfully nowhere near any bone or important blood vessels. I tore his shirt apart and tied a punishing knot around the wound, staunching the bleeding. He grimaced as I thumped my fingers hard and fast on the top of his breastbone in an attempt to keep him awake.
“Sebastian, you’ve been shot. It’s not serious. I’ve stopped the bleeding. But I need your help to get you back to the house––unless you want me to go get help.”
“No…no. I’ll get up. Give me a hand.”
I threw my shoulder under his uninjured arm and levered him up. We had been here once before. Except he was no longer an adversary or a stranger. He was the man I…I cared for him. Of course I did, how could I not? He was so easy to care for. That thought was a lead marble rolling around in my stomach…or a bullet.
As we approached the house, I began screaming for help. People poured out of the woodwork. They ran towards us shouting instructions at each other before they lifted Sebastian’s weight off of me and pulled us apart. Unwilling to let me go, he reached out with his uninjured arm and our fingers tangled. Ben Winters grabbed my shoulders and shook me gently, making me tear my gaze away from Sebastian.
“Vera, what happened?” he asked in a steady, soothing voice.
“The falcons. We went to feed them…we were walking back. I heard a crack. Sebastian was bleeding…bullet went through clean.” I only heard bits and pieces of my own story told in a weak voice I didn’t recognize.
“You’re not going to faint, are you?”
That snapped me out of my daze. “Of course not! I’m a physician for heaven’s sake. I have to go dress the wound before they take him to the hospital.”
His eyebrows hitched up at the unexpected sound of authority in my voice. “Okay…if you can make it back to the house on your own, I need to check something out.”
“Ben, please be careful.” His eyes landed on my small hand, resting on his forearm, and the stern set of his mouth relaxed.
“This is what I’m trained in.” He squeezed my hand before removing it and, without further delay, stalked off into the woods.
* * *
“Vera! Where is she damn it!” I could hear him bellow from downstairs, his raspy voice echoing down the hall. I made my way up the marble staircase at a brisk pace. Well, at least he wasn’t fading out of consciousness again.
A group of servants hovering outside his bedroom door parted to let me enter, a question mark hanging over their heads. Charlotte, in particular, studied me closely. Caroline Pruitt stood inside his bedroom doorway. She narrowed her eyes at me when I walked past her, turned to inspect Sebastian, then me again. I avoided her watchful gaze purposely. With the way Sebastian was carrying on, you’d have to be obtuse not to notice that there was something highly irregular going on.
I found Sebastian sitting up in bed, his expression a mix of worry and frustration. Aside from the dried blood painted on his bare chest and the strip of shirt still secured around his bicep, he looked to be in good form. His body sagged into the mattress when he caught sight of me. The tension left his face by small degrees with every step I took walking around to his side of the bed. His eyes, bright from the flood of adrenaline, followed me the entire distance.