Blackstone's Bride. Bronwyn Williams

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СКАЧАТЬ forward, falling one step back. “How on earth am I going to get you up the steps and inside?” she wondered aloud.

      He held up a shaking hand, silently pleading for time to catch his breath.

      Just as well, because she needed time to think. There was no way she could drag him inside without his cooperation—at least not without aggravating his injuries.

      “What to do, what to do?” she murmured, not expecting an answer and getting none. She had managed to help cousin Annie from her bedroom to the front parlor so that she could watch the passersby, but by that time her cousin had weighed barely eighty pounds. This man was built like…a man.

      “Who are you? Who did this terrible thing to you? It wasn’t the work of an animal, I don’t see anything that looks like teeth or claw marks.”

      Might as well talk to a rock. The poor man was past answering. It was a wonder he’d managed to get this far.

      “Where did you come from?” she asked.

      Could he have been coming to help her get away? Had he somehow heard of her plight and come to help, and been caught on his way up the hill?

      Lord, she didn’t want to be responsible for this.

      She couldn’t even summon help from any of the Millers, not until she knew who had done this awful thing…and why. If it had been Alaska, he wouldn’t even need a reason, not if he’d been drinking.

      “Now,” he panted after a few minutes.

      “Yes, well—all right—we’ll take it slow and easy.” She eased her shoulder under his arm, conscious of the heat of his body. Aside from the coppery scent of blood, he smelled of whiskey, but something told her he wasn’t drunk. Could he have come to buy whiskey from Alaska and got into a fight over the payment?

      At the moment it didn’t matter. He needed help and until she knew more, she didn’t dare call on anyone to help her help him. He was wet and shivering. Dirt and dead leaves were stuck to his clothes, his skin. He was barefoot. One sock on, one sock missing, which told her he hadn’t set out that way.

      “Who did this to you?” she asked again as she helped him deal with the last step up onto the porch. Something was wrong with one of his limbs. It was either broken or badly sprained. If it was broken, moving him this way had to be causing irreparable harm, but what else could she do? She certainly couldn’t leave him lying outside with night coming on.

      From the valley below came the faint sound of more shouting. Someone fired a gun. She had a feeling they weren’t hunting. They never shouted when they were hunting. At least, not when they were hunting wild game.

      Hurry, hurry, hurry, she urged silently.

      They made it through the door, and Eleanor took a deep breath and steered him toward the sofa, one of the few pieces of furniture Devin hadn’t sold. “I’m sorry we don’t have a doctor, but there’s a woman in the village below here who’s considered something of a healer.”

      He caught her hand in a painful grip. Dark eyes glittered through swollen lids.

      “What are you trying to tell me?” she whispered. “You want me to go? You don’t want me to go?”

      He shook his head, his look so urgent that finally she got the message. “You don’t want anyone to know you’re here.”

      His response said it all. What was it he feared, that this time they might succeed in killing him? “All right, just rest then for now. I’ll do what I can to clean you up, and after that…well, we’ll see.”

      She gave him half an hour to rest before she came at him with a basin and cloth. She needed to know the extent of his injuries. If the man died on her…

      He wouldn’t. She simply wouldn’t allow him to die.

      Cleaning him up was embarrassing for her and painful for him. She was no fainting maiden, afraid to look at a man’s body, for heaven’s sake, it wasn’t that. Not entirely. But no matter how gentle she tried to be, there was no way she could discover where and how badly he was hurt without causing him further pain.

      “My, you do have an extensive vocabulary, don’t you?” she said dryly the third time he let fly with a string of mumbled obscenities. At least he was speaking in words of more than one syllable now.

      “Sorry.” It was more a groan than an apology.

      “Never mind, I’ve heard worse than that from little boys.”

      She hadn’t, but he didn’t need to know it. If she didn’t know better she might have thought the twitch of his swollen mouth was a smile.

      Later that evening Eleanor lit the parlor lamp. Her guest was still on the sofa, which was not a good fit. As tall as she was, she could barely lie flat on it. The stranger was several inches taller. His neck was bent at an awkward angle that the pillow didn’t do much to alleviate.

      She eyed the distance between there and the bedroom door, a matter of less than ten feet. The cabin was basically a square, with one side being taken up by what she termed a parlor, the other with a kitchen and a closed-off bedroom.

      “We need to move you to the bedroom,” she said, standing back to survey the damage now that she’d cleaned him up some. He’d been wearing a buckskin coat, but one of the sleeves had been dangling by a thread, almost as if someone had tried to pull it off.

      He looked at her. At least she thought he did. With those swollen eyes, it was impossible to be certain. “Do you think you can move if I support your left side?” It was his left ankle that was swollen. “You could use the broom as a crutch.”

      He mumbled something and she said, “Is that a yes or a no?”

      More mumbling. One hand lifted and she thought he pointed to the window. “Close it? Open it wider?”

      More swearing. At least that’s what it sounded like. He could barely move his lips.

      Hands on her hips, she said, “All right, I’m going to suggest a few things. If I’m right, nod your head.” Which would probably hurt, too, but they weren’t getting anywhere using words. “You’re hot. You want me to open the window.”

      Was that a nod, or a negative? He barely moved.

      She tried again. “You want me to hide you in case whoever did this comes looking for you.”

      This time there was another stream of curses, followed by a groan. She leaned over and whispered, “Shh, don’t try to say any more, I understand.”

      Oh, yes, she understood. The Millers distrusted all strangers. This man was a stranger, an angry stranger if she were any judge. Who could blame him if this was an indication of their hospitality?

      “Never mind, I know you can’t talk, but you might as well know it now—sometimes I tend to talk too much. Comes of living alone,” she said as she lifted the afghan she’d spread over him when she’d peeled him down to his long underwear. That, too, was wet as if he’d been caught in a downpour—or dunked in the creek—but she hadn’t been able to bring herself to strip him completely bare.

      “All СКАЧАТЬ