eased himself into the space, his booted feet crunching on the broken glass pane of the other window, which had now become the floor, and then knelt down beside the immobilized girl.
Christ, the poor lass was shivering, her whole body trembling. Her breathing came in short, shallow pants. There was a small cut upon her pale forehead oozing blood, but other than that, Hamish couldn’t discern any other obvious injuries.
“Lavinia. Can you hear me? Does anything hurt?” Hamish tugged off a damp glove and laid a hand upon her shoulder. He squeezed gently.
At his touch, the lass looked up and began to shake her head. “No, no, no,” she whispered hoarsely. Her expression was wild. Distraught. Her gaze skittered to his and then away again, seeking out a dark corner of the cab. “No, no, no. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead.”
Hamish frowned. “Tilda’s safe, if that’s who you’re worried about, lass.”
“No.” Lavinia began to rock back and forth. Tears streamed down her face. Her words tumbled out between her frantic gasps for air. “No, they’re not . . . they’re not safe. They’re d-dead. I . . . I can see them . . . there . . . over there . . . Mama and Papa . . . There’s too much blood. I can’t, can’t stop it. Can’t help.”
Realization hit Hamish like a facer to the jaw. What a prize idiot he was. Lavinia wasn’t here with him. Not really. She was caught up in some other horrendous memory. A living nightmare from her past. He’d seen it before in men he’d served with in battle.
He experienced it far too often himself . . .
He needed to bring her back to the present.
“Lavinia, look at me, lass.” He carefully grasped her chin and turned her head toward him. “It’s me. Lord Sleat. I’m here with you now. I’m just going to check you’re not injured, and then I’m going to get you out of this carriage. Do you think we can manage to do that?”
Her gaze connected with his, and even in the gloom, he could see she recognized him at last. That she wasn’t mired in her terrifying memories any longer. She nodded. “Yes.”
“Good, lass. Tell me if anything hurts.” Hamish tugged off his other glove and then quickly and lightly ran his hands over her skull, along her arms and collarbones, then over her legs and down to her booted ankles. She still shivered, but her breathing was beginning to slow. “Everything seems fine. Do you think you can stand?”
Again she nodded. “I . . . I think so.”
“Here we go.” Hamish slid an arm about Lavinia’s slender frame and helped her to rise.
She leaned against him, her head on his chest, and he tightened his hold when she swayed on her feet. “I f-feel a b-bit giddy,” she murmured through chattering teeth. “And c-c-c-cold.”
“You’ve had a bit of a knock to the head, I’m afraid.” The rain had turned to mizzle, and Lavinia’s dark brown hair was covered with a gauzelike veil of tiny droplets. “We need to get you somewhere warm and dry.”
“I’d like th-th-that.” Her fingers curled into the lapels of his greatcoat as though seeking the warmth of his chest beneath the damp wool. “A c-cup of tea would be n-nice.”
“You can have whatever you like, lass. But first let’s get you into my carriage. I’m sure Tilda is anxious to see you.”
As Hamish lifted Lavinia out of the ruined cab, she looked down at him and gave him a tremulous smile, then an earnest, whispered thank-you that lit her lovely deep brown eyes. And even though the day was gray and miserable and filled with terrible, heartrending things, Hamish suddenly felt as though there were a break in the clouds and the sun had come out.
But only for a few fleeting seconds. The space between one breath to the next. Because in the midst of that dizzying, glorious moment, Hamish was also struck by a lightning bolt, a horrifying epiphany that made his blood run colder than the sea crashing against the rocks below Muircliff in the depths of winter.
For the very first time in his misbegotten life, he might be in danger of feeling something beyond lust for a woman. Emotions he’d never thought could exist within his granite-hewn heart threatened to stir: warmth and tenderness and something akin to affection.
And he’d never been more terrified.
Graitney Hall, Gretna Green
Graitney Hall was the loveliest inn Olivia had