Page 78 of Crash Landing
“Are you all right?” Trajan asked.
“Never mind about me! Are you all right?” She tried to struggle to her feet, but he would not allow her up yet.
“Stay down,” he growled.
“I will not! Trajan! You’re hurt!”
He attempted to deny it.
“Then whose blood is that dripping onto me?”
Chapter Fourteen
“You must letme up!” Florence cried, trying to wriggle out of his grasp and examine his arm that he insisted was not bleeding. “There’s a crimson streak running down the length of your jacket sleeve. Let me up, Trajan! The cur must have run off by now.”
“No, give it another moment.”
Hadthe assailant run off? Or was he waiting to take another shot?
“I hear shouts and dogs barking,” she said. “Your footmen must be after him by now. How did he get past them? Herbert was patrolling with one of your bloodhounds.”
“I know.” This was what worried him most. Trajan ignored his arm and nudged Florence down again. “Blast it, Florence. That shot was aimed at you.”
A gift from Frampton. That vindictive lord’s retribution because of those infernal letters.
“Let me have a look at your arm.”
“No, it is only a flesh wound.” He was more worried about Florence and the safety of his footmen. Had the assailant slain any of his men?
He heard more shouts from outside the window, and footsteps now resounded through the hall. His cousins had set aside their billiards cues and were running to him.
He finally allowed Florence to sit up, for his dogs were howling right outside the window.
Edgar peered in. “Your Grace! You are hurt!”
“Nothing serious. Get the dogs onto his scent.”
“Herbert’s got Dodger on him right now. Alvin’s gone for the other dogs. I’ll help him.”
The cousins burst in just as Edgar disappeared.
Andrew rushed to Trajan’s side. “You’re bleeding! And Florence! There’s blood on you, too!”
“It’shis. Not mine. He’s the one that who was shot.”
“He grazed my arm,” Trajan said. “That’s all. Sebastian, take Florence upstairs to Hermia and keep them both safe while—”
Florence grabbed hold of him. “Don’t you dare go after him. Oh, Lord. You are a bloody mess! He might have killed you! Trajan…oh, Trajan… I told you I am nothing but trouble.”
Timmons rushed in next, followed by several more footmen. Trajan’s entire jacket sleeve was now a dark-red splotch of blood.
“Your Grace!” Timmons gasped, and his eyes rounded in alarm.
“I’m fine. Take weapons,” Trajan commanded, knowing he was going to punch a wall in frustration if one more person told him that his arm was bleeding. “We’ll search the grounds in pairs.”
Ignoring Florence’s protests and Sebastian’s gripes about having to stay behind with the women, he strode to the gun cupboard, unlocked it, and handed out weapons.
“Give me one, too,” Florence demanded, following after him and staring at his injured arm with an abundance of concern.
