Page 98 of Feathers in the Wind
Deliverance slumped against him, quite limp, her eyes closed and her face ashen. Her hat and respectable cap had been lost in the flight and her dark brown tresses tumbled loose over his arm. Impulsively he tightened his arms around her slight figure. It had been his mad suggestion to go to Ludlow. What perverse fate had put the Farrington brothers in their path? Now Deliverance had been hurt, and he was to blame. He shuddered to think what Sir John Felton would say when he heard about his daughter’s injury.
“Deliverance?” he whispered. “Where are you hurt?”
Receiving no response, he flung himself off the horse, and lifted her down on to the soft grass of the clearing. Her cloak fell away. The sleeve of her left arm was dark and wet with blood. He swore under his breath. If Deliverance Felton died because of his reckless action, not only did he risk Sir John hanging him on the spot he would never forgive himself.
Fumbling for a pulse in her neck he held his breath.
“Thank the Lord,” he said aloud as the slow, steady beat pulsed beneath his fingers.
He steeled himself and with shaking fingers he undid her cuff and without ceremony tore the sleeve to the shoulder, revealing the wound left by Charles Farrington’s pistol ball.
Mercifully, on close inspection, it appeared to have only grazed her arm, and the bleeding had all but stopped. He tore a strip of cloth from the hem of her chemise and bound the wound.
A stream flowed through the clearing and he tore some more cloth, wet it, and bathed her face, silently exhorting her to wake up. It seemed like an age before he was rewarded by the fluttering of her eyelids and a little colour flowed back into her ashen cheeks.
“Welcome back,” he said gruffly.
“Ow!” Her brow puckered when she tried to move her arm. “What have you done to me?”
“A pistol ball nicked it. You’ll live,” he said.
She frowned. “A pistol ball?” She struggled to sit up and looked around her. “Oh, I remember. The Farringtons… have they followed us? Are we safe? Where are we?”
“To answer your first question, we got away, although undoubtedly they will search for us and will have the road to Kinton Lacey well patrolled. As to the second, I don’t know where we are. I just put heels to the horse and fled. You’ll have to show me another way to get back to the castle without running into the Farringtons.”
She squinted at the horse. “That’s not our cob.”
“No, I borrowed a better looking horse that just happened to present itself at an opportune moment.”
Deliverance ran a shaking hand through her tangled hair. Her shoulders heaved, and she let her hand fall before turning to look at him. Her mouth drooped at the corners and tears filled her eyes, clouding the sky blue to a dreary grey.
“There’s something I should have told you.” Tears glinted on her eyelashes. “Jack and Penitence were betrothed before the war.”
Luke rose to his feet. With his hands on his hips he glared down at her. “Why didn’t you tell me this from the first? It changes everything.”
Her mouth trembled. “How? I just saw it as unfair that two people who loved each other had to be torn apart by this cursed war.”
He shook his head. “It betrays a weak link, Deliverance.”
“But Pen is utterly loyal, Luke. She would never betray us.” She looked up at him, the tears rolling down her cheeks and regret for his harsh tone plucked at his conscience. “Will it be all right, Luke?”
He knew what she meant. She had remembered the terrible gun and the ruthless efficiency of Farrington’s well-trained troops. Luke resisted a sudden, inexplicable urge to draw her in his arms, kiss away the tears and tell her, yes of course it would all be all right.
He would be lying.
When he didn’t respond, she lowered her head, tears dropping on to her skirts. She wiped her face with her left arm. “Poor Kinton Lacey,” she said in a voice muffled by her sleeve. “It was never built to withstand a weapon like that.”
Luke had no comfort to give her. Kinton Lacey could withstand bows and arrows or at the worse, trebuchets, not a siege gun the size of the Thunderer.
He knelt down beside her. “Deliverance,” he said, using her given name for the first time. “Deliverance,” he repeated softly and laid a hand on her dark head. “What do you want to do?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I just can’t give it up, Luke.”
He touched her hair and she leaned her head against his chest, letting her stroke the dark, tangled locks without protest. She had shown incredible bravery and kneeling on the ground with this strange, defiant little woman in his arms, he made a silent vow to do whatever it took to protect her, save her castle, and make it right for her. He folded her in his arms and brushed the disordered hair with his lips.
What was he doing? Sir John Felton’s daughter— He rose to his feet bringing her with him. She sagged at the knees and he caught her before she fell.
“We have to keep moving, Mistress Felton,” he said. “Farrington’s men will be looking for us.” In a softer tone he added, “I need to get you home. You’ve lost a deal of blood. Now, can you stand ifI let you go?”
