Windswept Page 18

  Clearly he thought to have her safe in his grasp before he shot Evan. She must get him off that horse! “You’ll have to dismount and help me. I can’t climb up by myself.”

  David looked at her, then at Evan. Please, God, she prayed, her fingers clammy on the chalice. Please let him be certain enough of my incompetence to believe me.

  “Oh, very well.” Keeping his eyes trained on Evan, he slid to the ground with the pistol still clutched in his hand.

  In that moment, when he was slightly off balance, she swung the chalice with all her might down on his head.

  Then everything happened at once. David growled, “What the hell?” as he turned toward her. At the same time, Evan rode up to vault from his horse onto David. The two men crashed to the ground, struggling for the pistol as she screamed and circled them, trying to find an opening to hit David again.

  Suddenly there was a thunderous noise and Evan fell back, clutching his shoulder. “Evan!” she screamed as the horses bolted.

  David rocked back on his heels to stare down at his smoking pistol, and a murderous rage consumed her. Without stopping to think, she struck David with the chalice over and over until he keeled over senseless.

  A moan to her right jerked her from her fury. She dropped the chalice and ran to where Evan sat on the ground, his hand splayed over his coat as if to halt the red stain spreading across the wool.

  “Oh Lord, Evan!” She knelt to stare at the blood seeping through his fingers. She’d failed! David had killed him!

  Then she heard him choke out a word that sounded like her name. He lifted a face wracked with pain to her.

  “Please don’t die!” She opened his coat to examine the wound. “You can’t die!”

  Evan focused his gaze on her. “I . . . I don’t think . . . it’s fatal. And that bastard Morys might hurt you if you don’t—”

  “Hush.” Pressing her fingers to his lips, she glanced over to where David lay slumped on the ground. “He can’t do anything. But we’ve got to get you help.”

  He clutched at her arm as she struggled to drag his coat off. “The . . . the pistol,” he rasped. “Must get the pistol . . . first. Before he can . . . use it on you.”

  Tears coursed down her cheeks. Thanks to her, his lifeblood was draining away, and all he could think of was protecting her. “He won’t. He doesn’t want to hurt me.”

  He winced as she tugged his coat sleeve off his right arm. “He might . . . want to . . . now that you hit him . . . over the head.”

  “I’m not worried about that.” She pulled the other sleeve off as gently as she could. “You said Llynwydd was half a mile away. Do you think you can walk that far if I support you? I’m afraid we’ve scared off the horses.”

  With a groan, he dug his fingers into her arm. “Get . . . the pistol first.”

  “A pox on that thing!” Then she heard another groan. She turned to see David lift his head.

  “The pistol!” Evan hissed, his lips drawn from the pain.

  She rushed to the pistol and snatched it up as David slumped back down with a moan.

  Hurrying back to Evan’s side, she gave it to him. He opened the chamber. “Deuce take it, he’s used . . . the one shot.”

  “Of course he’s used the one shot! It’s buried in your shoulder!”

  Evan looked up at her, then swallowed twice. “Catrin . . . you must get . . . another ball.”

  “Another ball?” she said uncomprehendingly.

  He raised the pistol an inch.

  “Oh yes, for the pistol.” She glanced over to find David stirring once more. Hurrying to his side, she turned him onto his back. Then she searched his pockets until she found a bag containing the balls and powder.

  Swiftly, she returned to hand them to Evan. Though his rigid mouth showed the pain it caused him, he reloaded the gun and gave it to her.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?” she cried as she held the hateful thing in her hands.

  “Catrin . . .” growled a voice behind her.

  She whirled to find David struggling to his feet. Her heart beat triple-time as she moved in front of Evan.

  David rubbed the back of his head. “What happened to me?” He caught sight of the chalice lying near him. As she watched helplessly, he picked it up.

  “This is it, isn’t it?” He turned it over in his hand. “It has to be. It’s exactly as you described it. You hit me with it, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve had it all this time.”

  No point in denying it. She nodded.

  Anger suffused his face. “You deceitful bitch. You lied to me! You hit me!” He stepped forward. “I’ll make you regret that. You and Newcome both.”

  Her hands shook as she raised the gun. “Stay back, David!”

  A taunting smile crossed his face. “It’s already been fired.”

  “Evan reloaded it.” Keeping the pistol trained on him, she picked up the bag she’d taken from his coat. “See? And I will shoot you if you come any nearer.”

  His handsome features hardened into a nasty mask. “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “I won’t let you hurt either of us. I’ll shoot if I must!”

  With a snarled oath he took a step forward, but she cocked the gun as she’d seen him do earlier. Pray heaven that the dusk concealed how her hands shook.

  He halted to scowl at her, then at Evan. “Come, now, you can’t think I’d hurt you. As for Newcome, how can you defend the man who’d see you hang?”

  “How can I let him die by the side of the road?”

  David sneered. “He’d let you die.”

  “Perhaps, but it doesn’t matter. I can’t do it.”

  David stared at her, face sullen. “I tell you what. Come with me and we’ll send someone back to help him.”

  “You should . . . do as he says,” Evan choked out behind her.

  “Don’t be a fool. I’m not leaving you.” Her arms began to ache from having to hold the pistol so steadily on David. Evan was losing blood. She must get David away from here, but how? What would Grandmother have done?

  Whatever it took. “Listen, David.” She forced herself to sound calm. “I don’t know why you want me to come with you, when I don’t care for you, but—”

  “It’s only your infatuation with this bastard that keeps you from seeing we’re meant for each other,” David put in.

  “No! And it’s pointless for you to try persuading me to go with you. I’m not leaving Evan. So hunt up your horse and return to Llanddeusant, before I tire of holding this pistol and shoot you in the leg.” She lowered it until she was aiming at his crotch. “Or somewhere more important. After what you just did, I’ll have no compunction about leaving you here to die.”

  Paling, he glanced from her to Evan, then down at the chalice in his hand. “Very well, then, I’ll go. But you’ll regret sending me away when he dies of his wounds and they blame you for his murder. What will you do then? You’ll need me to tell them the truth. So I’m not going far, I promise. I’ll be close by, waiting for when you come crawling to me.”

  He held up the chalice. “Besides, I have this. You’ll come to me, if only to get it back.” Then he turned and walked off.

  “No!” she cried. “You drop that chalice, David! Drop it now!”

  But he kept walking. A pox on him! He knew that while she might shoot him to protect Evan, she’d never shoot him over the chalice. And she dared not leave Evan to go after him.

  She watched despairingly as David headed off after the horses. The minute he disappeared over a hill, she uncocked the pistol and went to Evan’s side. “We must get you away in case he returns.”

  Unbuttoning his waistcoat, she peeled it back to examine the wound. The light was almost gone and she could see little to nothing, but she could feel the blood against her fingers. Ignoring the fear gripping her, she moved her fingers over his shoulder until she found the place where the ball had gone in.

  It seemed high enough to ha
ve missed his heart and lungs, but she couldn’t be sure. A person could only learn so much from talking to apothecaries and surgeons. She couldn’t get the ball out in the darkness, but perhaps she could stop the bleeding.

  Trying not to move him unnecessarily, she unknotted his cravat and folded it into a pad, then held it against his shoulder to stanch the blood. She glanced around for something to keep it in place and put pressure on the wound.

  Her scarf! She drew it off and threaded it under his arms and around his shoulder, tying it tightly.

  “Catrin.” He covered her hand with his. “The walk to Llynwydd . . . is too long. I won’t make it . . . even with your help.” He sucked in several deep breaths. “You . . . must go . . . and fetch someone.”

  “I can’t leave you here unprotected!”

  “Give me . . . the pistol . . . and help me move . . . off the road.” He glanced up at the sky. “It’s getting dark. No one will find me.”

  She wanted to argue, but he was right. He had no chance if she didn’t move swiftly, and she couldn’t do that with him so badly wounded.

  She buttoned his waistcoat over the wadded-up cravat and her scarf, hoping that would provide added pressure to slow the bleeding. Next, she donned his coat so she wouldn’t have to carry it and stuffed the pistol in the pocket, along with the bag containing the ball and powder.

  She moved behind him to clasp him under the arms. Oh Lord, she would never be able to lift him. Fortunately, he had enough strength left that between her frantic tugging and his halting attempts to rise, she could maneuver him to a stand.

  Looping his arm over her shoulder, she supported him with her body as she clasped him around the waist. Then they began the long, tortured walk that took them off the road and into a wide field.

  “Find a tree to . . . prop me against,” he groaned.

  She spotted one about a hundred paces away. Praying he could make it that far, she crept doggedly forward, though he shuddered with pain at every step.

  Her right arm and shoulder ached from the effort of supporting him. She could feel him growing weaker, for he leaned more heavily on her. Only sheer force of will drove her to the tree. Though it required a few more torturous steps, she half-dragged, half-carried him around to the side away from the road.

  Then she lowered him to the ground as gently as she could manage. He slipped through her grasp and fell the last few inches, landing on the ground with a grunt of pain.

  “I’m so sorry, Evan.” She knelt beside him. “Are you all right?”

  “I’ll . . . survive,” he said. “Give me . . . the pistol.”

  She pressed it into his hand. Then she put his coat around his shoulders and tried to make him comfortable.

  Loath to leave him, she slid her hand inside his waistcoat, checking to be sure the wadded cravat was still in place. “I’m so sorry about this, Evan. If not for me, you’d never have been shot.”

  He covered her hand. “If . . . not for you . . . I’d be dead.”

  Tears stung her eyes. He could still die, out here alone in the night. “It’s such a mess. But I swear I’ll do my best to get you out of this alive.”

  She started to rise, but he gripped her hand. “Tell me something . . . before you go. Why didn’t you . . . leave with him when . . . you had the chance?”

  “I couldn’t let you die—”

  “Why . . . not?” He drew in a ragged breath. “I was taking you . . . to London against your will . . .” Guilt tinged his words. “I was risking . . . your life. You had the right . . . to risk mine.”

  That he really believed she would have left him to die tore at her. “What you and I did together last night . . .” She swallowed. “It may have meant nothing to you, but it meant something to me.”

  He clutched at her hand. “Ah, Catrin . . . I wish last night had . . . meant nothing. Then I wouldn’t have been . . . in hell ever since it . . . happened.”

  He angled his head up to hers, and though she couldn’t see his features, she could feel his difficult breathing on her cheek. Had he been in hell today? She wouldn’t have guessed. But she’d certainly been in hell, and there promised to be no salvation in sight until she saw him safe.

  Afraid she’d betray how much she cared, she turned away. “I-I have to go now, before you lose any more blood.”

  But he clung to her hand a moment longer. “Thank you.” He rubbed her hand against his roughly whiskered cheek. “For looking after me.”

  The gesture was so intimate, it made her throat constrict. Why must he turn her inside out when she least expected it? “I have to go now,” she choked out and extricated her hand.

  It took every ounce of her will to leave him lying there against the tree, knowing that when she returned he might be dead.

  No! She wouldn’t let him die. She’d already watched that happen to one man she cared for. She was not going to watch it happen to another.

  She paused to memorize every facet of the landscape, praying she could find the spot again. Then she turned and rushed into the darkness.

  Juliana and Rhys Vaughan had just sat down to dinner when their youngest footman burst into the dining room. “Excuse me, sir, but there’s a madwoman out here begging to speak with you and Lady Juliana.”

  Rhys stifled a smile at James’s tendency to exaggerate. “A madwoman?”

  “She says you know her and she gives her name as Mrs. Catrin Price, but she looks a terrible sight. You want me to send her away?”

  What was Catrin Price doing here? And did this have anything to do with Evan’s visit to her?

  Rhys rose. “Don’t send her away. Of course we’ll speak to her.”

  They found Mrs. Price pacing the hall, her face distraught. As she whirled toward them, Rhys could almost understand why James had thought her a madwoman. Blood was spattered all over the poor girl’s gown. Her hair was a disordered mass, and her eyes shone with a wild light.

  “Thank heaven you’re home! I don’t know if you remember me, but—”

  “Of course we remember you,” Rhys said. “But what in the devil has happened?”

  “Evan has been shot. You must help him. You must send someone—”

  “Evan Newcome?” Juliana asked.

  “Yes!” Mrs. Price turned to Juliana with a pleading expression. “He said you were his friends.”

  “Where is he?” Rhys asked.

  “Up at the road, close to the entrance to your estate. I had to leave him, because he couldn’t make it this far with his wound.”

  Juliana paled. “How badly is he wounded?”

  “Very badly, I’m afraid. The ball is lodged in his shoulder and he’s lost a great deal of blood, although I think it missed his vital organs.” Mrs. Price gripped Rhys’s arm. “If you don’t hurry—”

  Rhys was already drawing on his coat and barking orders, calling for a wagon and horses and telling the footman to send to Carmarthen for a surgeon.

  Juliana drew on her coat. “I’m going with you.”

  “No, you’re not,” Rhys said. When she flashed him a mutinous glare, he added, “I don’t know who shot him or if they’re still lurking. Besides, you need to get a room ready and find someone on the estate to help patch him up. It’ll be hours before the surgeon arrives.”

  With a curt nod, Juliana hurried off to find the housekeeper.

  Rhys turned to Mrs. Price. “Let’s go.”

  They hastened down the steps to where two saddled horses already awaited, along with a wagon drawn by a cob. Once they were mounted, Rhys took off like a shot, praying that the girl was as good a horsewoman as her grandmother and could keep up with him. Because he needed her to tell him where Evan was.

  Evan was like one of his own sons. To think of him lying alone and wounded made Rhys’s gut wrench.

  Mrs. Price matched his pace and they soon left the wagon far behind. Then they reached the spot where the drive to Llynwydd met the main road. She went only a few feet farther before she halted her horse and dismount
ed, peering into the shadowy land bordering the road. “I left him propped against a tree.” A note of fear entered her voice. “We have to find him before David returns.”

  “David?” Rhys asked as he dismounted.

  “The man who shot him,” she explained. “He said he’d be back.”

  Rhys wanted to ask more, but she’d already left the road to enter a field. He made out a tree silhouetted against the night sky and rounded it in time to see her kneel on the ground. Then he spotted a large figure slumped against the trunk.

  When the wagon lumbered onto the road, he rushed back to fetch the groom driving it. It would take two men at least to get Evan into the wagon, and he was grateful the groom had brought a stable boy along.

  By the time he returned, Mrs. Price was rocking back and forth, rubbing Evan’s hand in hers as she sobbed, “Please, Evan, wake up! Please don’t die and leave me!”

  Rhys knelt beside her to grope along Evan’s neck until he found a pulse. “He’s not dead yet,” he said reassuringly. “Bring that light here!” he called out, and the groom approached with a lantern.

  When he saw Evan’s face, so bloodless in the glow of the lantern, he feared the worst. Pushing aside Evan’s coat, he caught his breath. The shirt was soaked with blood. They must get him back to Llynwydd at once.

  Rhys was relieved to hear his friend moan when he, the groom, and the stable boy lifted Evan. At least he was still enough in this world to feel pain.

  Evan was a giant of a man and they had to struggle to carry him to the wagon. Once there, Rhys helped Mrs. Price into it, then climbed up beside her while the stable boy scurried off to collect the horses. As the groom started the wagon moving toward Llynwydd, Mrs. Price pulled Evan’s head into her lap.

  Rhys watched with interest as she stroked the hair from his face, whispering that he must not leave her yet, that he could not die, that they would have him fixed up fine if he could just hold on.

  “Tell me, how did he come to be shot?” Rhys asked.

  She looked up, her face blank, as if she hadn’t even realized he was there. “It’s all my fault!”

  “I doubt that,” he said soothingly. “You mentioned that a man named David shot Evan. Who is he?”