Lady in the Mist - Laurie Alice Eakes [125]
“I’m not dead.” Her voice was rough and quiet, but not breathy.
“Thank God.” Dominick doubled over and pressed his cheek to hers. “I thought . . . But what’s wrong? Did you fall? Where are your servants?”
“Not . . . expecting me.”
“They should know. They should be going with you. They—oh, Tabitha, what hurts? Should I carry you?”
“No. No. I just fainted when I tried to get up. And my shoulder.” She shifted a bit and moaned. “It starts bleeding again if I move.”
“Bleeding? What’s wrong with your shoulder?” Dominick made himself straighten and slipped one hand beneath her head. The sand was damp, but he didn’t know if water or blood accounted for the moisture. “What should I do?”
Never had he felt more useless than he did at that moment. If his education and rank hadn’t prepared him to carve roasts and polish silver, it most certainly hadn’t prepared him to manage a wounded female. The thought flashed through his mind that this was why he wouldn’t survive in America as a free man. If he didn’t have money, he needed practical skills like knowing what to do in an emergency. And he didn’t have a bit of a notion on how to proceed.
From the sand, Tabitha chuckled, albeit hoarsely. “Dominick, you look like you’re going to swoon. Sit back and put your head between your knees.”
“It’s the blood.” He rose, walked to the water, and splashed cold Atlantic water on his face, then returned to kneel beside her. “I’m all right now. Tell me what to do.”
“If you can lift me, I think I can manage from there. It’s just . . . a scratch. And my head . . .”
“Just a scratch.” Dominick’s voice took on a brisk tone. “And a blow. How did you acquire these wounds?”
“The little matter of a knife and . . . I don’t know what. But later, please. I’m freezing.”
That was something he could manage. He pulled off his coat and tucked it around her. When he reached her left shoulder, he found the scratch, the stickiness of drying blood. Sliding his fingers into her hair, he discovered a swelling lump over her right ear.
“Better?” He gathered her, coat and all, into his arms and rose to his feet. “Mermaids don’t weigh much, I see.” He smiled down at her lovely face, so close to his, nestled against his shoulder.
She smiled back. “You Englishmen are stronger than you look.” Her eyes gazed into his, dull with pain despite the generous curve of her lips. “Will you take me home?”
“I’m not strong enough to stand here holding you all day.” He brushed his lips across hers. “And I want you in a condition to tell me what happened. You left for Norfolk yesterday morning and now I find you lying on the beach in Seabourne.” He started walking as he babbled. “If the sun hadn’t shone off your face, I’d have thought you were more flotsam.”
“I nearly was.” She closed her eyes. “Dominick—” A shudder raced through her and up his arms. “Do you have your knife with you?”
“Ye-es.” He drew her closer and wished her house weren’t another half mile away. “Why?”
“Someone tried to kill me.” She wrapped her uninjured arm around his neck. “No, not some—”
He tripped over driftwood, jarring them both.
“I’m so sorry.” The scarred skin on his back pulled taut. “I won’t do it again. I promise. I won’t—”
“Shh.” She pressed her fingers to his lips. “It just . . . hurts a bit. But I don’t think it’s deep. It doesn’t seem to be bleeding anymore.”
“No, it’s just sticky.” He tried not to gag. “Is Patience there to help you clean it? I don’t think I should.”
“No, you shouldn’t. Patience will do well, though. You can guard us.” She grasped a handful of his hair as though it were a lifeline. “Dominick, it’s not Mayor Kendall. It’s Harlan Wilkins.”
Her head ached. Her shoulder stung. But she was free of sand and dried salt water. Dominick sat beside her on the garden bench, and she felt safe, warm, cherished.
He looked grim