Читать книгу Castle of the Wolf - Margaret Moore, Paul Hammerness - Страница 13

Chapter Five

“Stop! Let me down!” Tamsin cried, noise and confusion surrounding her as she fought to get off the swiftly moving horse, despite the fear of falling to her death.

But Rheged held her tight, and as they passed beneath the portcullis, she could understand nothing of the shouts, except for Mavis calling her name.

And then her uncle ordering his men to shoot.

Something hit her calf. Like a bee sting, only worse. Her leg was wet. With blood?

“Stop!” she gasped again, trying to be heard over the pounding of the horses’ hooves and shouts from the castle. “Please...stop....”

Regardless of her desperate cries, Rheged didn’t stop.

* * *

He wouldn’t until they were well away from Castle DeLac, when it would be safer, Rheged thought as he held on to Tamsin with all his might so she wouldn’t fall. Thank God they had some time before DeLac’s men could mount and give chase.

At least she’d stopped struggling. Because she’d fainted, apparently. No surprise, that, considering how shocked and frightened she must have been at his impulsive act. He had never been impulsive in his life. Until today. Until he’d...

The magnitude of what he’d done hit him like a rock thrown from a great height. He’d abducted a woman, a noblewoman, stolen her away from an uncle with wealth and power and influence with the king. He’d acted without thinking.

Foolishly.

Although he hated the thought of Tamsin—or any woman—married to a man like Blane, he had no right to interfere. Regardless of the consequences, he must take her back at once, he told himself as he began to turn his horse. Perhaps there would be no serious repercussions if he left her near—

Myr suddenly shied, as if there was a snake at his feet. Or he was hurt.

Rheged slipped from the saddle, his motion making Tamsin moan. She must be waking up from her swoon. Then he saw the blood dripping from her foot onto the road beneath.

God help him! She’d been struck by an arrow! He could see the shaft protruding from her cloak where it had pierced her calf. He knew from experience that such a wound must be tended to at once. They had to return to Castle DeLac immediately, even if the jostling of the ride would make her bleed more and although every sense told him it was about to rain.

He grabbed Myr’s bridle and started back just before the rain began to fall. It wasn’t droplets or a drizzle, but a downpour. They would both be soaked through unless...

The coal burner’s hut! It was little more than a ruin, but it was a shelter.

Leading his horse from the road into the wood, he hurried toward the hovel. He looped Myr’s reins around a bush and lifted Tamsin down. She groaned softly as he carried her to the hut and kicked open the ramshackle door. The hard-packed floor was bare, and a circle of stones with a few charred and half-burned sticks were all that remained of the fire he’d built before. The pile of branches he’d slept on was still there, too, and he laid her on it. He unbuckled his sword belt and set it on the ground nearby before tugging off his leather tunic. He put that down beside her, then gently shifted her onto it.

Cold air blew in through chinks in the rough walls and rain began dripping through the hole in the roof made to let the smoke from the fire escape. They needed a fire tonight, both for warmth and should he have to cauterize the wound.

Thank God he had his flint and steel. He hadn’t taken the time at Cwn Bron to remove the pouch he always wore at his waist when he traveled. He grabbed some leaves from the branches and got them alight. He used a few of the sticks to build a fire, then ran out into the rain, seeking larger pieces of wood under the trees. He could get water from the stream nearby.

Gathering up a few more sticks, he made his way through the bracken, ferns and underbrush toward the stream. This time he spotted a broken pot on the bank. Fortunately there was enough of it left to hold water, so with his free hand he filled it and then hurried back to the hut. Crouching, he fed the wood into the fire, then put the broken pot near the flames to warm the contents.

Only then did he glance at Tamsin, to discover she was watching him, her brown eyes huge in her pale face, one hand clutching the arrow in her leg.

He rose and approached her cautiously. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to tend to that,” he said, nodding at the arrow.

“I’m sorry you ever came to Castle DeLac,” she retorted, her teeth clenched. “Take me home!”

“I can’t. It’s raining and it’s going to be dark soon.”

“I don’t care if it’s pouring. Take me back!”

“As soon as the water’s heated, I’m going to have to wash your wound.”

“You’re no physician.”

“No, but I’ve dealt with such injuries before, my own and other’s. The sooner it’s tended to—”

“Take me home!” she commanded, but now there was a tremor in her voice. “You must take me back. I have to marry Blane.” She moved as if she was trying to stand, then gasped, her face growing even more pale.

“Sit,” he commanded, “or you’ll bleed more.”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t say anything, her lips a thin line of anger and pain, but at least she didn’t try to move again.

He reached for the warm water. “It’s good you’re wearing a heavy gown,” he said as he knelt down and got a good look at the spot where the arrow had pierced her garments. “I’m going to break the shaft so I can pull the fabric of your clothes away from the wound. Stay still. It won’t be easy. Fletchers use the hardest wood for strength.”

“I know that,” she snapped.

“I suspect there isn’t much you don’t know,” he replied. He held the shaft against her leg with one hand and gripped the other end of the shaft near the feathers with the other. “How many days until Christmas?”

“What?”

“How many days until Christmas. That’s got to be a busy time for you.”

“I don’t—”