The Heiress Bride - Catherine Coulter [41]
“No,” she said. “Not entirely. I could look at you naked until I die. Even your feet are lovely.”
“You’re always taking me off-stride, Joan. I like it sometimes. Also, just being naked isn’t the same thing. What will you do when you’re lying on your back in bed naked and I’m standing over you, ready to come to you?”
“I don’t know. Close my eyes, I suppose. It sounds rather alarming, though, but not repellent, at least not with you.”
He grinned. “I should like to do something about this right this minute. At least within the next hour, at the most. But your brothers are here and I don’t think Douglas would take it kindly were I to throw you over my shoulder and haul you upstairs. Tonight then, Joan. Tonight.”
“Yes,” she said, and stood on her tiptoes, her lips slightly parted. He kissed her lightly, as he would an aunt, and released her.
Abbotsford Crescent was only a fifteen-minute walk from Reverend MacCauley’s residence. Colin had stopped Sinjun and was pointing out an old monument from James IV’s reign when suddenly, without warning, there was a pinging sound and a shard of rock shot up to strike Sinjun, slicing her cheek. She’d moved in front of Colin and bent over to look at those age-blurred words just a moment before. She jumped now with the shock of it, and slapped her hand to her face. “What was that?”
“Oh hell,” Colin shouted, and pushed her to the ground, covering her with his body. Passersby stared at them, hurrying their step, but one man ran over to them.
“A man shot at ye,” he said, spitting in the next instant in disgust. “I saw him, standing over there by the milliner’s shop, he was. Are ye all right, missis?”
Colin helped Sinjun to her feet. Her hand was pressed to her cheek and blood oozed between her fingers. He cursed.
“Ah, the lassie’s hurt. Come along to my house, ’tis just over there, on Clackbourn Street.”
“No, sir, thank you very much. We live just in Abbotsford Crescent.”
Sinjun stood there numb as a frozen toe, listening to them exchange names and addresses. Colin would come by and speak to the man later. Someone had shot at her. It was incredible. It was unbelievable. She still felt no pain in her face, but she felt the wet, sticky blood. She didn’t want to see it, so she just kept her palm and fingers pressed tightly to her cheek.
Colin turned back to her, frowning. Without a word, he picked her up in his arms. “Just relax and rest your head against my shoulder.”
She did.
Unfortunately for both of them, Ryder and Douglas had just returned when Colin walked in with her. There was no way to hide the blood still seeping from between her fingers, and thus there was pandemonium and flying accusations and questions and yelling, until Sinjun calmly said, “That’s quite enough, Douglas, Ryder. I fell, that’s all, I just fell like a clumsy clod and cut my face. Stupid, I know, but at least Colin was there with me and carried me home. Now, if you will both just be quiet, I should like to see how much damage there is.”
Of course the brothers weren’t at all quiet. Sinjun was carried to the kitchen, just as she had once taken Colin to see to his cut lip in the London Sherbrooke kitchen, a fact that wasn’t lost on him, she saw. She was set down on a chair and told to hold still.
Douglas automatically demanded warm water and some soap, but it was Colin who firmly removed the soft cloth from his hand and said, “Take your hand away, Joan, and let me see how bad it is.”
She closed her eyes and didn’t make a sound when he touched the damp cloth to her flesh, wiping away all the blood. The shard of rock had grazed her, and not deeply, thank the good Lord. It looked like a simple scratch, and for that he was grateful, what