Page 61 of The Winter Husband
He headed toward the bedroom, saying, “Bring scissors.”
The wave of bile surged a little higher. She headed to her sewing basket on leaden feet and rifled up the scissors. When she joined him in the bedroom, He was already sitting on the bed’s edge. She climbed up behind him. The knife, welling with blood, pinned his clothes to his body, so she snipped the leather of his jerkin and linen of his shirt away. She trimmed carefully, as if she could sew up the deerskin later, as if a few stitches would make everything right again.
Panic threatened, but she choked it down as she pulled the cloth free of the weapon.
“It was Fortin,” he said, his voice thick. “And Landry.”
She already knew. When she’d peeked through the bedroom window at the sound of men grappling, she’d seen a flash of Fortin’s demonic face. “There was a third man, too.”
“Yes, the first shooter.” His lids drifted closed and jerked open again. “A hired killer, I can only guess. The cousins wanted to make sure the odds were in their favor.”
“Save your strength, Lucas.” The men were dead, better to focus on what they had to do now. “Can you lie on your stomach?”
He shifted his legs onto the bed and eased down, turning his head on the pillow as he lay flat. The knife hilt jutted out of his shoulder at an angle.
Impossible, this.
“Two hands,” he muttered, his eyelids sinking. “Pull it out at…the angle it went in. Straight and steady.”
“And after?”There will be an after.
“Cover the wound. Press hard.” He shifted his body and grunted, his muscles bunching against a jolt of pain. “Just…stop the bleeding.”
Her hands went numb. She flexed them to force feeling back.
“I’ve been hurt worse, Anentaks.” He fumbled for the wooden spoon he’d set on the commode table. “You can do this.”
He set the handle between his teeth. She positioned her hands on the hilt of the knife. The chill of the ivory against her palm startled her, kicking up a memory. She’d gripped another knife once before, in a similar moment of terror, with her future hanging in the balance.
Lucas was her future now.
Hehadto live.
She hauled on the bloody knife until it budged. Lucas made an inhuman sound around the wooden handle clenched between his teeth. She gripped harder and gave another pull as his body seized and then went limp. The spoon handle fell out of his mouth just as she fell back on the bed, the blade free.
Clattering the weapon onto the commode table, she tugged on the bed linens and pressed a wad atop the bleeding wound. His upper torso rose and fell under her hands, proof he was still breathing. She put her weight into the pressure, praying with new fervency.Don’t die, Lucas. Please don’t die.Her wrists grew sore, her shoulders ached, and a splotch of blood soaked the linens.
When she couldn’t press any longer, she gently lifted the linen. It hadn’t completely stopped bleeding, but the flow had slowed. She laid fresh linens on the wound and tied fabric around his shoulders to keep the cloth in place.
Sliding off the bed, she kneeled beside it. “Lucas?” His eyes didn’t open. “Lucas…tell me what to do.”
A lock of hair had fallen over his forehead. She ran her fingers through it, combing it off his face. His breathing was labored, but steady. It would be a while, she realized, before Lucas would be able to tell her anything.
Stay calm, he’d told her before.
Don’t be afraid.
She gathered her wits and assessed the blood splatter all over his clothes. She didn’t know whether it was his or that of his enemies, but she knew she had to find out. She pulled and tugged at his clothing until she found a dozen slashes, still beading blood. Fortin had been a deadly artist with his knife’s edge. She cleaned the smaller wounds, bound the deeper ones, and then covered him to keep him warm. When she finished, she pressed her nose against his hair, closing her eyes against tears.
She would be his star maiden now.
She wouldn’t fail him.
Squaring her shoulders, she stepped into the chaos of the parlor. She put away the dinner dishes and swept up the broken glass. A howl from the far distance wasn’t a new sound in the winter night, but Lucas had taught her predators were drawn to the scent of blood. A chill slid down her spine. Bracing herself, she stepped outdoors and eyed the three dead men sprawled under the light of the newly-risen moon. Slinging the rifle across her back, she retrieved Lucas’s deer sled from the barn and got to work. One at a time, she rolled the bodies onto the sled and dragged them into the barn. Moonlight helped her keep an eye out for wolves. It also illuminated the bullet wound in Landry’s side.
Her aim had been true.
She’d killed a man. Her stomach roiled. She managed to keep herself from emptying the contents until after her grim task was done.
