The sword wound was surprisingly small. It was obvious that he had taken only a glancing jab and not a full thrust or a slash. "He must have nicked an artery," she murmured, placing pressure on the injury.
Garrett unwound his stock and wrapped that around his thigh, above the wound. He set his teeth and pulled the stock tight. Immediately, the bleeding lessened.
"I'll have to wash this with soap," she warned. "There may be pieces of cloth in the wound. If I leave them, it will turn septic."
"Have your will with me, woman. It hurts so bad, nothing could make it worse."
Deftly, she soaped the tightly muscled area, then rinsed his skin with a corner of the towel and patted it dry. Only a little blood trickled from the inch and a half slit. "It's a wonder you were able to climb the tree," she said to cover her own nervousness.
She hadn't touched a man this intimately since Wesley had gone away and not returned. Garrett's skin was clean where he hadn't bled on it. Even his hair and his garments smelled fresh. The only odors she could detect were those of leather and pine needles. She couldn't help comparing him with her cousin. It was obvious that Garrett bathed regularly, a peculiarity she apparently shared with him.
When the wound was clean and dry, she poured wine over it. Garrett flinched but made no outcry. Then Caroline cut sections of a linen sheet to use as a bandage. "This will go better if you can help me remove your breeches," she said, hoping against hope that he wore something under them.
"That's not necessary."
"Yes, it is." She glanced up from her work. "I have been wed and widowed. I am not a maiden. If you are shy—"
"Not particularly. I was thinking of your sensibilities."
"Don't bother. The sooner we have this properly bandaged, the sooner we can think of a way to get you safely out of here." She felt her cheeks grow warm. "You do have something on . . . something under your . . ."
"No."
"Nothing."
He shrugged. "Only what God gave me."
She pursed her lips. "Then you must try and make yourself decent with this." She removed her dressing gown and draped it across his thighs, leaving herself shivering in the thin shift.
"You are too kind, mistress," he said.
She was certain she heard a thread of amusement in his voice, but she concentrated on slicing away the rest of his breeches, and binding the wound tightly. "You can loosen the stock now," she said. When he did, both of them held their breath. The bandage turned red, but didn't bleed through the linen. Then she mopped up the rest of the blood from the floor, put the towel in the basin, and pushed the evidence under her four-poster. "If I assist you, do you think you can make it to the bed?" she asked. "I can hardly leave you here on the hard floor."
"There's only one way to find out."
The dozen steps to the bed were pure hell. Garrett was of average height and slim of hip and waist, rather than stocky. Still, she remembered how strong he had been when they'd struggled. He might not be a big man, but there was no softness to him; he was all hard muscle and sinew. "Lean on me," she urged him, trying to support his weight. "Don't put any strain on your leg."
His breathing was loud in the shadowy room as she helped him sit on the edge of the bed and remove his shirt, boots, and stockings, without exposing his loins or harming his injury. Finally, with a sigh of relief, she closed her eyes, whisked away the dressing gown, and covered his naked body decently with a sheet and covers. "Drink some of this of wine," she said. "Too much would be bad for you, but a little may take the edge off the pain."
"I'd not argue with that," he said.
She poured a goblet of wine, handed it to him, and hung his greatcoat, shirt, and waistcoat over the cane-back chair. She had begun to tidy up the room when she heard loud voices and the crash of doors being thrown open. Dashing to the door, she slid the bolt. The hard tread of men's boots sounded on the staircase.
Seconds later, a fist pounded on her door. "Open up, Caroline! We're searching all the rooms," Bruce commanded.
She twisted around and glanced back at Garrett. He was checking the priming on his pistol. She put her finger to her lips and shook her head.
"Caroline!" Bruce called again. "Open up!"
She crept back across the room to the bed. "What do you want?" she asked in what she hoped was a sleepy voice. "There's no one in here."
"Open the door before we break it in!"
Garrett slipped the loaded pistol under the sheets. Caroline looked from him to the door. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
"Go away," she shouted. "You have no right to invade my bedchamber."
The heavy stock of a Brown Bess musket slammed against the door. "What do we do?" she whispered urgently. Garrett shrugged, but his gray eyes narrowed dangerously.
"No," she said. "Not that way." Without thinking, she slid into bed beside him and pulled the covers up to her waist. "Let them think what they will," she said. "I'll not let them have you."
The door shuddered under a second blow.
Garrett's gaze locked with hers and he grinned wolfishly. Before she could stop him, he reached across and seized the neck of her shift with both hands and ripped it to her waist. Caroline cried out with indignation as the door burst open and her cousin charged into the room, followed closely by four armed dragoons.
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Colleen French is a multiple award-winning and bestselling novelist, daughter of bestselling novelist Judith E. French. Colleen French has written more than 125 novels under several pen names. Colleen's print books have sold more than 1 million copies and been translated into Bulgarian, French, Italian, Mandarin, and Spanish. Colleen's Native American novels are inspired by her English, Scottish, Irish, Welsh, and Lenni-Lenape ancestry and the Del-Mar Peninsula near the Chesapeake Bay, where her family has made its home for more than 300 years. Colleen French was awarded The Diamond Award for Literary Excellence from the State of Delaware. Her books appeal to readers of C. J. Petit, Shirleen Davies, Karen Kay, Madeline Baker, Elle Marlow, Ellen O'Connell, Caroline Fyffe, and Hannah Howell. She can be contacted at [email protected].
BY COLLEEN FRENCH
Scottish Fires Series
HIGHLAND LADY
HIGHLAND LORD
HIGHLAND BRIDE
Destiny's Daughters Series
THE PRINTER'S DAUGHTER
THE BOOTMAKER'S DAUGHTER
THE FUR TRADER'S DAUGHTER
CAPTIVE
FIRE DANCER'S CAPTIVE
FORBIDDEN CARESS
HEAVEN IN MY ARMS
HIS WILD HEART
IN CLOSE PURSUIT
IN LOVE WITH THE KING'S SPY
MY SAVAGE LORD
OUTRIDER
PASSION'S SAVAGE MOON
SAVAGE SURRENDER
SWEET DECEPTION
THE ENGLISH LADY AND THE IRISH ROGUE
THE HIGHWAYMAN AND THE LADY
THE OFFICER'S DESIRE
THE RUFFIAN AND THE ROSE
WHISPERED PROMISE
The Officer's Desire Page 37
