bloodstains on her left side.
He stepped forward and boldly took hold of her hand, sliding his other arm around her waist as she stumbled. “You’re wounded,” he said and, instinctively, drew her close.
Her face tilted up, and her eyes searched his, their faces mere inches apart. He stared into the depth of that velvety blue as it shimmered with tears—and became lost.
“Easy now.” He spoke softly, so low that only she could hear, and brought his hand up to sweep away the tendril of copper that lay pressed against her cheek.
Trace could make out the telltale rise and fall of her chest. Her mouth upturned seemed to beg for his lips. He shouldn’t, but he leaned closer anyway. Her eyes closed, and she swooned against him. “Querida,” he rasped, and scooped her boneless form into his arms to carry her up to the clearing.
Her lips parted with a soft sigh as he laid her body on the ground away from the carnage at the wagons. “Mrs. Thornton,” he called out again. When she didn’t respond, he put his hand to his mouth, clasped the supple leather of his gloves between his teeth, and pulled his fingers free.
Laying two fingers against the delicate skin on the side of her neck, he gave a sigh of relief as the steady thump of her heartbeat graced his fingertips. He cut a glance back over his shoulder at the bodies. Trace prayed she had not wandered closer and found the dead. Whoever did this may not have realized she’d survived. She must have spent last night hiding in that thicket. He retrieved his canteen, pulled the bandana from his pocket, and tilted the container to dampen the cloth. A brush across her lips and, to his relief, her mouth parted with a soft sigh. “Good,” he said softly, before his eyes moved to the ragged hole in her blouse. Grimacing, he did his best to pull the matted cloth away from her fragile skin, and she let out a low moan. Trace swore under his breath and cursed her husband as his fingers moved to the buttons.
“Forgive me,” he told her. Working quickly, he undid the top two buttons of her shirt and swept the cloth, plus the strap of her chemise, from her shoulder. A dark, jagged wound cut across it. The bullet had dug deep, but it hadn’t lodged in her shoulder. Easing her flat, he doused his kerchief with water and did his best to clean the wound.
As he dabbed at the dried blood and felt the skin beneath his fingers quiver, his own blood boiled with resentment. He poured more water on the cloth and ground his teeth together in hopes of freeing himself from his anger. “It will be all right, Mrs. Thornton, it will be all right,” he repeated, and wondered who he was trying to reassure, the unconscious woman or himself.
****
Mary Rose ached as if every bone in her body had been shaken loose. A repetitive sound drew her back through the labyrinth toward consciousness. With an urgency she could describe only as fear, she fought through the dark fog that enveloped her and tried to move. A groan of pain broke through her lips to accompany the deep throb in her shoulder.
The sound continued, something biting deep in the earth, a soft swoosh, and a pause as it ripped the dirt away. Torn between wanting to play dead and wanting to know, her heart beat with rapid thuds. Please, God, let me wake up, she prayed. The process seemed so simple; however, opening her eyes meant dislodging the weights that pressed them closed. Her tongue brushed across her lips.
“Help me,” she tried to say. Her words were garbled, unrecognizable from her scratchy throat. She swallowed and hoped for enough moisture to help the raw feeling. “Help me.” She called one more time, drawing from the deep reserve of strength close to her soul. “Help.”
The small stones under someone’s feet crunched as footsteps approached. An odd jingle filled the air. She recognized the roll of a spur.
“Mrs. Thornton?”
She couldn’t recognize the deep male voice, but she knew she’d heard it before.
“If you can, open your eyes. You are safe.”
Safe. The word made her his to command. Unsure of anything except the sound of his voice, she grasped his urging as a lifeline. Holding on to the need to find an end to this nightmare, she battled the sluggishness of her soul. Her lashes parted from her cheek