have been a fire.” He looked at Murray. “I hope we can go inside to see how bad the damage is and if Nash needs assistance.”
Murray snorted. “He wouldnae take it even if we offered.”
“Then maybe we don’t give him the chance to refuse. I have a plan.”
Murray sighed. “Of course, ye do.”
He spoke low so only Murray could hear. Ines exchanged a look with Miss Wellesley, who seemed annoyed to be left out of the conversation. A few moments later, the coach slowed, and Mr. Fortescue opened the door and jumped out. No one emerged from the house to greet them and after Murray exited the coach, the coachman called down, “Are you sure this is where you wanted to go?”
“This is Wentmore,” Murray said. Then he looked back at the women. “Stay here while we go inside and do a wee bit of reconnaissance.” He started away.
Emmeline turned to Ines. “This looks worse than I imagined.”
“It doesn’t appear anyone lives here,” Ines murmured.
“Or if someone does, he does not welcome visitors.”
Just then a crash echoed from inside the house, and the women exchanged worried looks. The crash was followed by the sound of raised male voices. Then the door banged open and Murray flew out. When he turned to look at the coach, blood ran down the side of his cheek.
“Caramba!” Ines said. She jumped out of the coach, but Murray had already gained his feet and was running back into the house. The door closed behind him. Miss Wellesley joined Ines on the weed-filled drive, and they listened to more shouts and then the sound of a rifle or pistol firing.
“I’ve had enough of this,” the coachman said. He jumped from the box, untied the trunk and various boxes strapped to the back of the coach, and dumped them on the ground.
“You can’t leave us here,” Emmeline argued.
“Oh, yes, I can. I agreed to drive the man to Scotland. I didn’t agree to this.” He jumped back on the box, called to the horses, and drove away before the women could say another word.
Ines watched the coach disappear around a bend in the road. “I don’t know whether to be terrified or thrilled.”
“I feel a bit of both. Should we go inside and tell them?”
Another crash made both women jump. “Perhaps not quite yet,” Ines said.
The door burst open again, and this time Murray fell out. He clutched his arm, blood seeping through his hand. Ines gasped, and he held up the bloody hand. “Dinnae fash, lass. It’s a scratch.” Then he winced and sank to his knees. Ines ran to him and put her arm around him to steady him.
“Is it your arm?” she asked, though she already knew. Her head was spinning and panic seeped in.
“Aye.”
“What happened?”
“The bastard shot me.”
Ines gasped then stared at him in stunned silence. Emmeline was not so passive. She looked at Ines and Murray then seemed to make a decision. She straightened her shoulders and stomped past them. “This has gone on long enough.”
“Dinnae go in there, lass!” Murray called. But she ignored him and opened the door then closed it after her. Murray looked at Ines, who suddenly realized she had no idea what to do next. She’d never seen a pistol ball wound before. She had no idea how to treat it or help Murray. She just knew she could not allow him to die. He stared down at her for another moment, and she became increasingly aware of the warmth of his body and that her arms were wrapped around it. She should let go, but she needed to steady him. Or perhaps she needed him to steady her.
“Did that scratch on my heid damage my brain, or did ye speak tae me in English?”
Ines opened her mouth, but it was too late. As Catarina always said, Ines’s face was an open book, and Murray had read the writing there.
“So ye do speak English.”
“I—” But what excuse could she give?
He held up a finger, cutting off her stuttering reply. “We’ll talk aboot it later. Right now, I need tae fall over.” And he did, taking her with him.
He landed on top of her, pinning her to the drive. It had once been a gravel drive, but she was thankful for the overgrown weeds to cushion her. Still, she could feel jagged pieces of gravel cutting into her back.
And yet, Ines didn’t mind the weight of him. He was warm and solid, and he smelled woodsy and clean.