It wasn’t right that Colin should be relieved by this—something that, at this hour, couldn’t mean anything good. But it would delay him from his bed awhile longer, and therefore he was grateful for it.
He and the major swiveled and strode quickly to the front door. The knocking was louder now; it was as if someone was pounding with two hands flat on the smooth wood surface. Colin reached the door first. He gripped the handle and wrenched it open.
It was a woman—that much was apparent immediately by her flowing garments. It took a second for Colin’s eyes to adjust to the dimness, but then the lantern the major held splashed a beam of yellow light over her.
Colin took in wild curls, a roundish face, big blue eyes. And blood streaked across the fabric of her white dress. Smeared across her cheek.
He knew this lass. His heart began to beat painfully against his breastbone. “Lady Emilia?”
The woman released a great sob and threw herself at him. He stumbled back a foot before he regained his balance, his arm coming around her to hold her steady. “Oh, Sir Colin, thank God.” She wept into his chest, her fingers curling tightly into his shirt. “Please help me. Please!”
The major had stepped outside and scanned the street as Colin awkwardly patted Lady Emilia’s back, cursing his body at its flare of awareness of her body pressed against his. He’d admired Lady Emilia from afar for a long time now, ever since the Highland Knights had been assigned the task of guarding her father, Lord Pinfield. Who, as it happened, was a complete bastard, and Colin had been more than a little relieved when that assignment had ended.
Evidently finding nothing of consequence, the major returned and closed the door behind him.
“Come,” Colin said, as gently as he could to the sobbing woman in his arms. “We’ll go to the drawing room, and you can tell us what happened.”
She pulled back slightly and seemed to try to gather herself, but her breaths were coming in great heaves, and tears streamed incessantly down her cheeks, streaking through the blood that made Colin’s own blood run cold.
“Yes,” she managed. “All right.”
Keeping his arm around her to hold her trembling frame steady, Colin led her back down the corridor to the drawing room, noticing her halting steps and her grimaces of pain as she walked. What the hell had happened to the poor lass?
Colin directed her to sit on the sofa when they entered the drawing room, and she complied, gingerly sitting on the edge. Colin sat beside her.
“Are you injured, milady?” the major asked.
Lady Emilia just stared down at her lap, her shoulders heaving. The major’s lips tightened. “I’ll fetch Claire,” he said, and Colin nodded, sensing another woman’s presence might help. Plus, if Emilia was hurt, Claire could assess her injuries and treat them.
The door closed softly behind the major, and Colin sat, chewing his lip. He didn’t know what to do. He’d never encountered a woman in this state, and seeing this particular woman in distress made something dark and angry swirl within him. He wanted to go find the person who’d done this to her and kill him. Slowly and painfully.
Gently, he grasped a wild curl that had fallen over her face between two fingers and tucked it behind her ear. Then he took her hand— Goddamn, it was cold, like a small block of ice. He chafed it, trying to infuse some warmth into it. Emilia allowed him to touch her, to move her hand, but she didn’t look at him; she kept staring down at her lap. He knew she was still crying, because her shoulders heaved and tears dripped with hot splashes onto his hands.
“Shh, lass,” he murmured. “You’re safe now. I promise. You’re safe.”
She didn’t respond. She seemed frozen in her misery. Still chafing her hands—first one, then the other—he looked her over, trying to find the source of the blood.
It wasn’t difficult to find. Her lower back was soaked with red, the color shocking in its brightness against the stark white of her dress. Colin ground his teeth. She was still bleeding.
He couldn’t help himself. “Damn it, Emilia,” he said, his voice so raw it ached. “Who did this to you?”
For the first time since he’d opened the front door, she looked at him, her eyes wide, their gray-blue depths fathomless. A tear crested at one of the bottom lids and slid down her blotchy face.
“It was my father,” she whispered.
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Highland Awakening Page 25
