Page 62 of The Texan Duke
Could a hunter have shot Connor? Granted, this was McCraight land, but poachers had been known to come onto their acreage. Yet they hadn’t had a problem for years, ever since Gavin had made sure that all the crofters had a subsistent income. They would never starve and consequently didn’t need to hunt illegally.
But there were plenty of people in Ainell Village who might have been poaching. Anyone could’ve taken a shot at Connor, especially since his leather coat made him look like a large elk.
When Elsbeth said as much to him, he gave her a look like she was slightly demented. Or weak in the mind.
“It’s possible,” she said, annoyed.
“Not very probable,” he countered. “I think whoever took a shot at me knew exactly what he was doing.”
She sat back on her heels and considered that someone had tried to kill him.
What a ghastly thought. No, worse than that.
Her stomach churned.
If he hadn’t pushed her to the ground, he would probably have been struck directly in the chest. She would be sobbing over his lifeless body, instead of trying to tend to his wound.
“I won’t leave you,” she said. “I’ll protect you.”
He closed his eyes and laid his head back against the tree trunk. “God help me.”
“What, exactly, does that mean?”
“That if I am so infirm and unable to protect myself to the degree that a delicate woman has to do so, I must be more badly wounded than I thought.”
“I am not delicate,” she said.
He opened his eyes at that comment and studied her.
“Even in that voluminous red cloak of yours, Elsbeth Carew, you’re very delicate. You walk with a certain grace, I think. I’ve yet to figure out what it is. Perhaps I should just ask you to parade in front of me for an hour or two until I can work it out.”
“You’re delirious,” she said. “We need to get you help and quickly.”
“I’m not,” he said. “Although I’ll admit it smarts a bit. I think our shooter has left.”
She was afraid he was losing too much blood. What was she going to do? She looked at him, still large and impressive sitting at the base of the tree, and then at Samson.
He was right, though; no shots had come for quite a few minutes. Did that mean that the shooter had given up and gone away? Or was it simply that he was waiting them out, hoping they would emerge from the woods?
“Here,” she said, raising his left hand and placing it against the wound. “Hold that tight until I come back. Don’t let it go.”
“I’m cold,” he said. “You strip me practically naked and it’s damn cold out here.”
She frowned at him again. “You’re very argumentative when you’re not feeling well. Did you know that?”
“I will apologize later,” he said, reaching for his coat and pulling it over his wound. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked as she began to cautiously move away.
She glanced back at him and made a motion with her hand. He didn’t seem to understand that it meant be silent because he said, “Elsbeth, where the hell are you going?”
Now was not the time to give the Duke of Lothian lessons in etiquette. A severe frown would have to do.
At the edge of the forest she stood, scanning the castle, the cliff area, and the far trees. She couldn’t see anything.
Slowly, she emerged from the trees, heading to where Samson stood beside her mare.
Nothing happened.
Nobody shot at her when she grabbed Samson’s reins and made her way to a fallen stone near the edge of the forest. She was going to have Connor stand on it so he could mount the horse.
